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This story came to me while I was waiting for my wife to get done at work. I remember it really well: I was sitting in the car reading, when I saw this old guy park in front of me, go to his trunk and take out his metal detector and then proceeded to search the part for valuables. It was the genesis of a story idea, so I took out my laptop and started writing it and in a couple of hours I had the story pretty much done. Sadly it's not really something that would work in publication, but I like what it became.
The day Mike got his metal detector, he knew his life would be changed forever. He’d bought it on a hunch: not the kind where you think you’ll get the result you want; this was the kind that you couldn’t ignore: a strong almost physical force pushing inside your chest, trying to burst through your ribcage and scream at you to go do something. In this case, his gut was telling him to get a metal detector. He’d had small hunches before, but never one this powerful and demanding. So he did what he was told, even if it might be a digested blob of mustard telling him.
The official price of the metal detector at Rex’s hardware store was $500, but it was currently on sale for $450. Mike had another hunch, this one small. It was one he always felt when he saw a good deal. Buy it, his small intestine whispered. He talked to the guy behind the counter who looked too young to be a Rex, but maybe they just named their kids Rex to keep the family name going. He asked him what was the best metal detector he had. Rex asked him what he was looking for.
“That’s none of your business,” Mike said, actually thinking for the first time: what exactly was he searching for?
“I don’t mean to get personal,” Rex said, “only it really depends on what you’re looking for. If it’s just any old piece of metal, then they’re all good. If it’s gold and valuables you’re looking for, then you want that one.”
He was pointing at one of the machines next to the one that was on sale, the Explorer 3000. It was $600.
“That’s the one you want if you’re looking for things like money and jewelry. And if you’re looking for something that’s got only a bit of metal in it, like it might be stuck with something else that’s not metal, like a hinge stuck to a door, then you want the Surveyor, which is that one right there.”
This time he pointed to the one that was on sale.
But before he even pointed, Mike felt the rupturing hunch explode in his gut again.
“That’s the one I want,” he said just as Rex pointed to it.
Five minutes later he found himself standing outside the hardware store. It was a crisp winter morning. The fog was just burning off, but it was still chilly in the air, even with the sun out. Mike stood there with the metal detector in his hands. He hadn’t wanted a box or a bag, just the machine. It was about five feet long, all sleek black, curving at the end with funnel end attached. It looked a lot like a weed whacker. At the other end was a little control box. He supposed he could’ve asked Rex how the whole thing worked and what the bleeps and beeps meant, but he had an instruction book and he had his hunches. He was all set.
Twenty minutes later he was at the park outside his house. There were a few people walking through, going somewhere, and a couple of old timers playing bolls in the large sandbox. Mike figured it probably had a name, but it just looked like a giant sandbox to him. They played in it when they were kids, and they played in it when they were old.
He’d stopped at his house to pick up some supplies, but now he was ready. In his right hand he held his new flashy metal detector. In his left he held a toolbox with small spades and trowels, as well as some knives and spoons of different sizes. There was also a small box where he hoped to keep the treasures he found. In his back pocket was a full pack of Marlboros. He put down the toolbox, lit a cigarette, felt the smoke caress the inside of his throat, and thought for the second time about what he expected to find with his new toy.
There were no hunches now, just the regular gurgling of his intestines. He didn’t know what he was going to find. Actually, he didn’t expect to find anything. But there was the thrill of exploration and discovery. That he could feel. He’d read the instruction book, skimming over the unnecessary bits about the different parts, how to store it, keep it in good condition and crap like that, taking in the important details of how it worked. He was now ready.
He pressed the ON button and ran it over the buckles on his boots a couple of times. There were long beeps, indicating metal, so it was working. He stepped onto the grass and began waving the detector in front of him, going back and forth in horizontal lines.
He’d started at 11 AM. By 3 PM he pressed the OFF button and went home to have lunch. There hadn’t been a single beep since he’d tested it on his boots four hours ago. Twenty minutes later he came out of his house and tested the machine again. There were the beeps, strong and steady, and continued working along the grass where he’d left off. He wasn’t going to bother with the sandbox, even though the old timers had left for their afternoon naps and were done. He was sticking to the grass. For the rest of the day the detector remained silent and by 6 PM, everyone had gone home and he was alone in the park.
Mike put the detector on the ground, resting it against his leg, while he shook out his last cigarette and savored its heat, as the sun set and the air got colder.
As he took the second long drag on his Marlboro, he heard a minute beep. He moved his legs and the machine fell to the ground. He quickly picked it up and began waving over the spot in front of him, making sure he didn’t take a step in any direction. Then he heard the little beep again, just by the little toe on his right foot. He hit the volume button with the + sign a few times and ran over the spot again. This time the beep was louder, clear and distinct. Mike jabbed his boot into the spot, marking it, and shut off the machine. He looked around. Deserted.
He took out a trowel and began digging, cutting through the layer of grass and pulling it away like a scab, then digging into the soft earth beneath. With each clump of dirt, he would slowly sift it onto the ground beside the hole, waiting for the piece of metal to fall out. When he got a foot into the ground, he stopped, resting, and dropped his trowel on the considerable pile of earth next to the hole.
There was a tink sound, just as quiet as the initial beep had been, but he’d heard it. He moved the trowel aside and saw, buried in the earth, something brown and camouflaged. He picked it up and wiped it clean, spitting on it to clear away the dirt. It was a coin, a large coin. Larger than the quarter, larger than the dollar or half dollar; it was an old coin.
He stood up and ran into the house, ignoring everything that had been left by the hole. He knew no one would go to the park at this time of night. It was too cold anyway to do anything mischievous.
In the kitchen he ran the coin under some water, rubbing it with his fingers until it was clear of dirt. It was a gold color, possibly actual gold; only it wasn’t as shiny as he thought gold was. He would have to have it valued somewhere. He thought he knew where there was a coin shop in town. He would go there tomorrow.
The side of the coin he was looking at had a picture of a house on it, an old mansion, like Jefferson’s, something from the colonial period. The mansion was a two-story, with four windows and a large door in the middle, along with two trees on either side of the house; they looked like oak. Mike’s excitement grew. Then he flipped over the coin and gasped. There were two words printed on the other side. They hadn’t been carved or possibly burned into the metal; they’d been printed onto the coin when it was minted. DIG DEEPER, they said.
Mike put the coin into his pocket and ran out the house, leaving the door open behind him. The park was still empty and his things were as he’d left them. He grabbed the trowel and began digging deeper, spraying the dirt out in front of him and watching for any heavy falling objects.
Ten minutes and three feet later, the hill of dirt had grown considerably, Mike was out of breath, and darkness having fallen, it was now freezing out. But he’d found something. He reached into the toolbox and grabbed his flashlight and one of the soup spoons. With the light shining into the hole, he scooped away the covering of dirt to reveal what looked like a piece of bone. He scooped further, even blowing on it to clear the dirt.
It was a finger. Using the spoon and a knife to cut around the shape, he soon discovered that it was a whole hand, still attached to an arm that disappeared deeper into the ground. He went back to the house again and came out with a shovel and began clearing a large area and digging a large hole.
An hour later, anyone walking by would have thought an archeological excavation was being conducted in the park. There was a large mound of earth, with oil lanterns, four of them, marking the boundaries of the hole. If this someone had looked into the hole, six feet down, they would have seen a man digging and clearing the dirt ever so carefully. They also would have seen more of the crack of his ass showing than they ever would’ve wanted too. But Mike didn’t care.
He knew long ago, pretty much after he discovered the hand attached to an arm, that he was uncovering a body; what he was amazed at was how intact and complete it was. There seemed to be nothing missing. The man, for he could tell from the pelvis, had been buried whole and had never been disturbed, until now.
There was no indication of clothing anywhere, not even a few rotted scraps, so either everything he’d been buried with had dissolved, or he’d been buried naked. The hunch in Mike’s gut told him that man had been buried as naked as the day he was born. All his teeth were there, and Mike even saw a gold tooth, barely hanging in the jaw. He looked up out of the hole and saw no one, then proceed to extract the gold tooth with a pair of pliers. He shined the flashlight on it, turning it around in his hand. It was a large molar, oddly shaped and there was something written on it. He brought it closer to his eyes, but was unable to make out what it said. He reached into the toolbox and grabbed the magnifying glass he’d brought with him (on a hunch, of course). He could now read the words: DIG DEEPER.
Mike didn’t hesitate. He put the tooth in his pocket next to the coin, and grabbed the spade. He aimed for the ribcage, smashed through and cleared away the skeleton, throwing dirt over his shoulder, digging deeper and deeper.
In ten minutes and just a few feet, he hit something and cleared a space around the object. This time it was a casket of some kind. There was an old rusty lock hanging from it. The casket looked to have gold on it, though Mike couldn’t tell in the weak light. But he didn’t care. He smashed the spade against the lock, breaking it, and pulled open the lid.
The casket was empty. He shined the light around the inside, looking for anything, but it was still empty. The hand holding the flashlight rested, the beam aiming straight down and then he saw the words written on the bottom.
He didn’t have to be asked twice. He picked up the casket, which didn’t weigh much, and threw it out of the deep hole. Beneath the casket he found a bottle with a piece of paper in it. He grabbed it without putting down the spade – he knew he would be using it soon. He pulled the cork out with teeth, shook out the piece of paper and read it: DIG DEEPER AND WIDER.
Mike started digging into the walls of the hole, making it rounder, wider, and always deeper.
Another twenty minutes and three feet later he found a plank of wood. There was nothing special about, except what was carved on one side of it. Mike read it: JUST A LITTLE DEEPER, AND WIDER, and tossed it up out of the hole. Except the piece of wood didn’t go high enough, the hole was too deep; it fell to the ground behind him, stabbing into the earth.
Mike dug deeper and wider, and wider and deeper; the hunch was burning and bursting to get out of his chest now, it almost felt like he was having a heart attack or some sort of seizure. But he didn’t slow with his digging.
The following day was much like the one before it, a cold wintry one, with the fog burning off around 10 AM, the blue sky revealing itself, the sun trying to heat up the cold earth, but failing.
A couple walked through the park, wrapped in thick jackets, scarves, and gloves. They stopped when they neared the center. Something had happened during the night. The couple walked through the park every day and knew it well. Where the grass used to be, in the center, there was now a pile of freshly turned earth. It looked like some giant earthworm had burst from the ground, seized whatever food it was looking for, and disappeared deep beneath the earth, causing landslides of dirt behind it.
The man stepped towards it.
“Don’t step on it,” the woman said.
He stopped and looked at her.
She was thinking of the giant earthworm. “It looks freshly turned, like it would suck you in if you stepped on it – quick mud; you’d drown in it.”
He took the hint, stepped away and took his wife’s hand. They gave the pile of earth a wide space as they went around it and soon left the park.