I imagine this patch might have once contained lots of plump orange pumpkins, but now any remaining pumpkins are smashed and rotting—partially eaten by animals. My sneaker squishes right into the innards of one of the pumpkins, and I wince. When I get home, I’m going to have to figure out a way to clean my sneakers, because right now, they are covered in dirt and pumpkin goo and probably some of Mrs. Bennett’s blood.
“How about over here?” Nathaniel kicks at a patch of dirt.
Because of the impending winter, the ground has hardened, but it feels slightly softer here. Maybe.
Without waiting for an answer, Nathaniel deposits his wife’s body in the dirt. He holds out his hand, and I give him one of the two shovels. He digs the blade of the shovel into the soil and grunts slightly, and then it gives way. After scooping out three shovelfuls of dirt, he looks up at me.
“What are you waiting for?” he asks. “I brought two shovels for a reason.”
I look doubtfully at the shovel in my hand. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to dig a grave for my math teacher. I just want to go home. Why didn’t I just stay home tonight? I could be cozy in my bed, reading a book of poetry.
“I’m cold,” I say, because it seems like as good an excuse as any.
“So digging will warm you up.” He pulls off his own black beanie to demonstrate how toasty warm he is. “Come on. I don’t want to be here all night.”
He is staring at me like I don’t have a choice. I pick up the shovel and stick the spade into the earth. Not surprisingly, it feels like I’m digging into a rock. The dirt barely crumbles. But Nathaniel is still watching me, so I try again. The second time, I am more successful, and the third even more so. When I scoop out the dirt and throw it on the side, I’m careful to avoid the body wrapped in the navy sheet.
“There you go,” he says. “Now let’s do this quickly. We don’t want to still be digging when the sun comes up.”
I don’t know when the sun comes up exactly, but it’s barely after midnight. The idea that we could be digging for the next six or seven hours is nothing short of horrifying. It’s enough to quicken my pace.
We dig mostly in silence for the next ninety minutes or so. Once we get through the first layer of soil, it’s a lot easier and we start making good progress. Soon enough, we have a hole in the earth about six feet long by two feet wide and now about two feet deep. We both climbed into the hole when we hit the one-foot mark, and it feels a bit like we’re digging our own graves.
Nathaniel pauses and wipes some sweat from his forehead. Despite the freezing temperature, we both took off our coats about an hour ago. “Okay,” he says. “Lie down.”
I stare at him like he has lost his mind. “What?”
“We need to make sure the hole is the right size,” he says impatiently. “So you need to lie down so we can measure. You’re about the same size as she is.”
“I don’t want to do that,” I say in a tiny voice.
Nathaniel throws his shovel on the ground. “Do I have to fight with you to get you to do every part of this?”
There’s a dark look in his eyes that is unfamiliar to me. I thought I understood him better than anyone in the world. I thought I was his soulmate. But it’s beginning to be clear to me that there’s a side to Nathaniel that I don’t know.
“What were those red marks on her neck?” I ask him for the second time. But now with more urgency.
“What?” he says.
A gust of wind whistles past my ears and I shiver. “Those red marks on her neck. I’m sure they weren’t there before. They almost looked like fingers…”
Nathaniel stares at me, his body rigid. “What are you saying?”
“Nothing. I just…”
He blinks at me. “Are you suggesting that I am responsible for the marks on her neck?”
I open my mouth, but the only sound that comes out is a tiny squeak.
“Are you suggesting,” he continues, “that she wasn’t actually dead when you left the room?” His voice drops several notches. “And that she woke up while you were upstairs and threatened to ruin me?” His voice drops even lower, until it’s almost a hiss. “So I had no choice but to strangle her to death…with my bare hands?”
I can’t even breathe as he gazes at me, his usually mild brown eyes very dark in the dim moonlight illuminating the inside of the grave. We stare at each other through the haze of the frigid pumpkin patch for what feels like an eternity and a half. The way he said those words sends a horrible chill down my spine. I had no choice but to strangle her to death with my bare hands. It sounds so real—like he means it.