Moths fluttered around the light of the flashlight and Paul slapped at his arm, at the mosquitoes. The young engineer was trudging across the field, loose soil from the morning’s excavation crunching under his boots. He had only stepped out of the cool compound a few minutes ago, but his t-shirt was already sticking to his back, adding to his discomfort.
Paul headed towards the excavator, taking leaps over soil mounds and navigating his way around the last tree to be torn down that day. He put his flashlight away as the temporary lights set up around the dig cast a low glow. He saw the excavator driver had left his post after finishing his job of creating a long void in the ground for the next section of the carriageway.
He was searching inside his pockets for the measuring tape when his foot hit something hard, causing him to fumble onto the dirt. Grit entered his mouth; Paul coughed and spat. Gagging, he rolled onto his back and sat up. In the dim light he could see a sharp corner sticking out of the soil. With a sigh, Paul stood and stepped towards the object.
He slapped the dirt away from his behind before pushing the loose earth away from the top of the sharp corner.
A red, leather box.
The case wasn’t big, about the size of an A5 piece of paper. It was sealed shut with a golden hasp. The engineer knew he should leave it as it was and report it to his supervisor; this could be a major archaeological artefact for all he knew. But his eyes were drawn in as though the box was hypnotising him. His mind became murky and his vision blurred as he stared at the box.
With a click the lock unfastened and the lid opened a crack. Paul was shook out of his trance.
Wiping his damp forehead with his high visibility vest, he licked his lips and grasped the lid. With a deep breath, he opened it before shrieking and dropping the case.
There was a skull.
A child’s skull, with pieces of rotting flesh attached to the bone and some lying on the ground where the skull had landed.
Paul gagged and looked away, bile rising in his throat. He breathed deeply, thankful a breeze had picked up.
When the shaking in his hands had stopped, he peered back and noticed a brown square sticking out from the open box. Slowly, Paul reached for the paper and put it higher up where the light could illuminate it.
There were words written in blood – still fresh.
Paul blinked away tears and read:
When the last tree of this ancient land falls,
A never-ending horror will be at hand.
Paul raised his eyebrows, unsure what to make of the words. Then he remembered the chopped branches of the tree he had walked over. His eyes flicked to the distance where the moonlight caught the brown wood on the ground.
A glint behind the broken tree caught his eyes. He squinted as a figure in a reflective vest appeared. Paul felt his muscles relax – it was the excavator driver, back from his break.
‘’ave a look at this mate!’ Paul shouted as he crossed over the site.
The driver simply stood, his head lowered, hard hat throwing his face into darkness.
Paul stopped a couple metres away from the driver. Staring, he said: ‘Dave?’
A guttural sound reached his ears and Paul realised it was coming from the driver.
Laughter.
Paul took a step back.
The driver raised his head, his laughter growing more animal-like. The shadow creeped away from his face until the light revealed hollowed out eyes and sunken skin wrapped around bones. Part of his flesh was torn from his cheeks, revealing a gyrating tongue.
The driver walked towards Paul with heavy steps.
Paul froze.
U. M. Babar
Usama is a construction professional from London and a keen fan of all things construction and horror.
