An Uninvited Guest

What the heavy rain and spades revealed.

AN UNINVITED GUEST

 

The rain storm had begun while Neville, his wife Romy, and his mother Charlotte were watching a film on television. Inside the cosy living-room of the cottage where Charlotte had moved to after the death of her husband, the three adults were feeling drowsy and content. The heavy raindrops attacking the French windows were of no importance to any of the dwellers. By midnight, all three were tucked up in bed and fast asleep, while outside the rain continued punishing the earth.

 

Neville woke up suddenly and felt freezing cold. He put out a hand to pull the duvet and blanket to cover himself with. Nothing was there. He felt for his wife, and no wife either. Then he turned on the bedside-table lamp and saw that all the bed covers were missing, and his wife too. He sat on the edge of the bed, his mind was in a turmoil, and put on his slippers and his dressing-gown. He went to the bedroom next door and switched on the light. It was the same there, no mother and no bedclothes. From where he was standing on the top floor landing, he could just make out a faint light coming from the living-room, and the aroma of toast and drinking chocolate. Neville carefully walked downstairs, all the time wondering what the two women in his life were getting up to at such hours. He opened the living-room door, and his mother said, “Don’t turn on the light, he might see us.”

Neville was more perplexed than ever. “Who might see us?”

Romy, from the depths of the opened sofa-bed covered with the bedclothes, informed, “The next-door neighbour is digging at the end of his garden. Can’t you hear the sound of the spade turning over the muddy soil?”

Neville saw that his wife was snug and comfortable on the sofa-bed, and said, “You’re supposed to be in bed with me, not down here peering through the windows on a dark rainy night. Move over and let me get in with you. What a thing to do leaving me without bedclothes on a terrible night like this one.” Neville removed his dressing-gown and then slid inside the lovely warm bed alongside his wife, who offered him some drinking chocolate from a thermos.

“I see you two have got it all set up here. Next time you fancy midnight parties, please inform me in time, so that I don’t wake up shivering with cold.” Neville drained his mug of drinking chocolate, stretched out, and fell asleep.

Charlotte, Neville’s mother, was lying down on a smaller sofa-bed and staring out into the night. It was she who had heard the sound of digging when she had gone downstairs for a glass of water. Romy had woken up on hearing her mother-in-law’s bedroom door open and close, and had followed her down. The pair of them had made the decision to open up the sofas and spend the time keeping an eye on the digging man. It wasn’t long before all the members of the little family had fallen asleep in the warm, cosy living-room leaving the bad weather and the man outside.

 

The next day was Saturday and so nobody was in a hurry to get up early. Neville woke to the smell of hot breakfasts being prepared. He was alone in the sofa-bed and felt much better than in the early hours when he had been frozen stiff, as he put it. His wife came in, and said, “Hello, Sleepyhead. The breakfasts are almost ready.”

“What’s my mother doing outside in this weather?” Neville asked his wife.

“The dogs and cats have been digging around at the end of our garden, where it seems another man was also digging.”

“I’d better go and help her. The dogs and cats do look rather muddy, don’t be too long or your breakfast will get spoilt.” Romy left the living-room, and Neville heard her open the back door for his mother. He went upstairs to the bathroom, where he had a hot shower and dressed himself in thick, strong clothes. Then he went downstairs to the kitchen for breakfast. He wasn’t at all interested in anything to do with the digging in their or anyone else’s garden. After breakfast the rain had ceased, but the air was still full of moisture. The lawn was a green slushy mess. Neville put on his Wellingtons and waxed raincoat and went out alone into the garden to see if there was any good reason to think the man had been up to no good. The dogs were standing by the French windows, scratching at the window panes and barking on seeing him outside. Charlotte, who was an apple-shaped elderly lady and very lively to go with it, went and stood beside the dogs and watched with them, as Neville was trying to make some sort of sense of the night’s digging. Romy was upstairs making the bed and generally tidying up their bedroom. Neville, meanwhile, was standing in oozy grass and could see clearly that the earth on both sides of the fence had been recently dug. He could also see where the dogs had made an effort at digging under the fence. There was nothing to do while the earth was so wet and he decided to see about a solution when the soil was nice and dry again.

Neville went back indoors to see his mother and his wife dressed for going out. “Where are you two going?”

His mother replied, “We’re thinking of going for a walk on the footpath that runs between the graveyard and our gardens. Someone’s been in our gardens and the only way they can get into them is through the back gate.” So saying she opened the front door and stepped out into the street. Neville closed the door behind them, and they all got into the car for the short drive to the village.

Saturday was market day in the village and as soon as they arrived there, the trio split up. Neville went to the hardware store to buy sturdier locks for doors and windows. Romy went to see what was on offer at various stalls. Charlotte went to visit an old friend who decorated glass and ceramic.

 

In the hardware store, Neville got into conversation with the owner and two other men who lived not far from him.

“Have you heard that last night someone was heard digging in the early hours of the morning?” one elderly man asked Neville.

“Yes, I’ve heard something about it. Does anyone know who it might have been?” Neville asked.

“The general idea is that it was a man who lived here in the past,” the second man said. 

“Then the question is who and why should anyone be digging during the night?” the elderly man asked.

The second man, who answered to the name of Stanley, said, “That’s what we aren’t sure about. The police are investigating it.”

Neville paid for the articles, and said, “I wish you good luck in your search for the midnight digger. Good morning.”

As he was walking along the road he thought that he’d better not say anything to his wife or his mother. The pair of them were capable of believing anything, however absurd it might be. However he realized that the owner of the hardware store had kept quiet. Perhaps he’d sold the spade to the man.

Romy loved walking in the market. There were always new things to see and rifle through. She had bought many DVDs and books that were being sold off cheap, as the shops were no longer selling many of those articles. The whole market area was covered by giant awnings which kept the pouring rain from landing on the goods and the public. Strange as it may seem, there were always many people out and about in the market whatever the weather.

Romy had made a friend among the stall holders. Her name was Lizzy, and she had an eye for good make-up bargains, and gossip. That particular morning when all was wet and miserable, Romy happily went to see Lizzy. The stall holder was rubbing her hands to keep warm, she was wearing a padded jacket and a woolly hat. She was also very well made-up.

“Hello, Lizzy. How are you today, apart from feeling frozen?” Romy asked.

“Not so bad, though I can’t tell you how much coffee and tea I’ve drunk, trying to keep warm. Have you heard a rumour about a man who was seen digging in a garden in the early hours of this morning?”

Romy gave a weak smile and said nothing. That didn’t deter Lizzy, who was ready for attention, in fact anything to take her mind off the cold, rainy day. “The man in question is an old resident of the village, but it’s queer that nobody knows his identity.”

“Why should a man dig in a garden in this weather? It doesn’t make sense,” Romy said to Lizzy.

“Maybe he buried something there a long time ago,” Lizzy answered and then seeing a possible customer approach her stall, stopped talking to Romy and paid attention to the newcomer.

Romy moved on, and went up to a stall that sold fleece blankets. She purchased several, and was about to receive her change, when there was an altercation at another stall. Everyone in the vicinity stopped and stared at the two elderly men who were causing the affray.

“I’m telling you that it was Job Frimly, who has returned looking for the booty,” said Barry Grimes, the older of the two men.

“Job died awhile back in prison, and so he’s hardly likely to come back. Anyhow, nobody knows for certain who carried out the robbery. It was always assumed it was him, but he never said he had done it, so why do people now say he’s come to get back what he stole?” said Jack Tranter.

Romy turned to the stall holder and asked, “What are they talking about?”

The stall holder, seeing a willing listener, said, “Some years ago now, there was a series of robberies here in the village. No one saw or heard anything. It was as if they were committed by the invisible man. Then last night and previous nights, the sound of digging has been heard in the oldest part of the village.”

Romy thanked the man for the information and came to the decision to look for Neville and Charlotte.

Charlotte was a gossipy lady, who loved a scandal, and was always on the spot when there might be the possibility of a good one coming to the fore. Nancy had been a source of fantastic pieces of gossip in the past, and Charlotte was keen to hear if there was any kind of a story in the digging man. Nancy was dusting her wares when Charlotte rang the doorbell to the shop. Nancy opened the door for her.

“Hello, Charlotte. I haven’t seen you in a while. How’ve you been?”

“Quite well, thank you, Nancy. How much do you know about the digging man? He’s the talk of the village and there are stories for all tastes, like robbery, and burying treasure. It all sounds very silly to me. We heard digging last night coming from the bottom of our garden,” Charlotte said, hoping Nancy had something to tell her.

“There are several men digging in that part of the village. My husband is one of them. He might even be the one you heard last night. Long before the houses where you live were built, that land belonged to the church. In fact, it formed part of the graveyard. The church needed a lot of money for roof repairs and doing up the work inside, so it sold off the oldest part of the graveyard, thinking that as the people buried below had been down there so long, they wouldn’t mind making room for a good purpose.”

Charlotte sat down on a chair beside the counter. “What are your husband and the other men digging for?”

Nancy poured out a cup of coffee for them , and continued, “They’re looking for bones of their dead ancestors. The gravestones were removed and lined up by the boundary wall of the graveyard, but of course the coffins with their contents were left undisturbed and covered with a lot of earth. Are you all right Charlotte?” Nancy said, looking worried at Charlotte’s face, which had lost its colour.

“Yes, I’m fine, thanks, Nancy. Thanks for the story. What have you got that’s new in the shop?”

Nancy, mollified by Charlotte’s answer, began showing her friend and one of her best customers, what her new line in hand-decorated glass and ceramics was.

Charlotte’s mobile rang, and it was Neville ringing his mother to tell her that he and Romy were in The Headless Man pub, and to meet them there.

“Nancy, I’m sorry but I have to go. Neville and Romy are waiting for me in the pub. See you next week or thereabouts. Bye.” Charlotte closed the glass door behind her, and walked briskly down the street to the pub.

 

“What would you like to drink, Mum?” Neville asked his mother.

“Nothing, thanks. I’d rather go home right now,” Charlotte said anxiously.

Romy stared at her mother-in-law, wondering what was wrong. Neville was used to his mother’s changes of moods, and put them down to old age.

They drove in silence, and Charlotte almost shot into the house as soon as the car stopped, followed closely by her son and his wife. Charlotte ran into the kitchen and started rummaging around in the rubbish bin in the cupboard under the sink. Neville and Romy simply stood there and stared at her antics. The kitchen was closed so that the dogs and cats couldn’t get in. At long last, Charlotte pulled a couple of things out of the bin-bag and stood up. She ran water over them and then showed Neville and Romy what she had in her hands. They were bones.

“Nancy told me that her husband and other men were digging at night for bones of their ancestors, whose graves were disturbed when a large parcel of the graveyard was sold off to pay for repairs to the church. This house and others were all built on what was the oldest part of the graveyard. I never said anything to you, but the dogs were digging around at the end of the garden and dug up these bones. Now, after hearing Nancy’s story, I wonder if they are human remains. What do you think?”

“I think we’d better go and see the police and take the bones with us. There are experts who can say to whom these bones belong,” Neville told his mother.

 

Police stations never close, so after a quick lunch the family drove down to the village station. Charlotte told the story about the graveyard and how the dogs had dug up the bones. The detectives were quite enthralled to listen to the tale. Then one of them said, “Leave the bones with us, and we’ll get a forensic to check them out as regards age, etc, and if they are from a local family.”

 

“I shan’t let Nancy know we found these two bones. She might be jealous, especially as her husband has been digging for a while now,” Charlotte said to the others.

 

The detectives went into the forensics room and handed over the two bones and the address where they had been found to the various men and women forensics. Several long tables already held full length skeletons. Other tables held some loose bones. Everything was labelled to make locating more bones which might be added to those already there. Once they were convinced there were no more bones to be found, the forensics would carry out DNA testing to discover if there were any descendants still living in the village.

“Will the men be digging again tonight?” one of the scientists asked.

“The rain last night loosened a lot of earth, and brought more bones to the surface, and the diggers will be keen to get it over and done with,” one detective answered.

“Why do they work at night?”

“They prefer to be unseen, as they want to avoid having a public audience. Anyone want a cup of tea or coffee?”

 

Back home, Neville, Charlotte and Romy were sitting down in the warm living-room. Neville had spoken to the neighbours and they had told them that they had also been informed about living on the old graveyard land. The family made sure the dogs didn’t get out.

Charlotte was not at all keen on having to clean up human remains for a second time. “We are invaders. We shouldn’t be here. I’m putting this house up for sale. In the meantime, we’ll go and stay in my mother’s old house,” Charlotte told them.

They weren’t the only ones who felt like invaders. At the end of the following week, some of the houses in that street were on sale. Their gardens were on land stolen from the graveyard which had been dug up anew, and now looked like the old graveyard, waiting for recently deceased to be buried. The only thing missing, were gravestones.

 

Charlotte stood in her mother’s old kitchen looking though the window, and watched the dogs chasing each other around in the garden. She knew that there would be no danger of buried bones being found there.  

 

Neville and Romy were standing in the graveyard of the local church talking to the vicar, “There isn’t any possibility of land being taken from the graveyard and sold off for repairs to the church, is there?” Neville asked. “It’s what they did where we used to live.”

The vicar laughed, “Sorry to disappoint you, but here the people are very generous, and money is always forthcoming for repairs to the church, which they consider to be theirs as much as their own homes.”

“I can’t imagine how the dead back home felt when they had their slumbers disturbed,” declared Romy.

“That’s something we’ll never know,” the vicar said.