Chapter 5

The grave yard

4 weeks later

It is not uncommon to see a backhoe at the Pinewood cemetery digging holes in the ground for new burials, but today the backhoe is lining up to exhume the casket of recently deceased Julie Jones who supposedly died in a tragic drunk driving accident while being pursued by law enforcement. The autopsy report came back with the cause of death undetermined due to a lab report that showed her blood glucose at the time of death to be so low that it was immeasurable and the fact that the wood projecting from her breast did not pass through her rib cage into her lungs.

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According to the report, the accident should have been survivable. For his efforts, deputy Mark Sanders has been placed on paid leave pending an investigation and the body of Mrs. Jones is going to be thoroughly checked for the cause of the abnormal lab finding. Along with the items recovered at the crash scene, a bag full of diabetic supplies was located in the back of the vehicle and only partial smeared finger prints could be lifted from the vials of insulin.

The only problem today is that the backhoe has unearthed several planks of wood that should not have been in the freshly filled gave site above where the casket should be. In a moment the operator, the cemetery staff as well as local law enforcement realize that there is a hollow area where the casket should lie, and that they have unearthed a tunnel where the casket once was.

“Hold on,” the sheriff yelled to the backhoe operator raising his hand to make sure he had his attention. The scoop rose from the hole and turned to the side and unloaded allowing the bucket to rest on the ground. The sheriff looked down into the hole and saw that the wood they had torn through was keeping the soil from caving in on the tunnel below, which looked like it was lined on four sides with wood. Whoever dug and re- enforced this tunnel had gone to a lot of work.

“What the Hell?” the manager of the cemetery said. We put her in the ground four weeks ago, how in the Hell did anyone manage to tunnel under there and remove the casket?”

“Give me a hand,” the sheriff said looking for the best way to enter the hole they had dug. The sheriff squatted down and put a leg on the incline slope of the hole and gently slid his weight down to the bottom where the smaller hole was visible through the broken wood planks. He removed his flashlight from his belt and poked his head through the wood plank hole and shined the light and to his amazement saw that the tunnel ran the length of the row of graves and that his light was unable to see the end.

The tunnel was straight, meticulously crafted and lined on all four sides and nowhere in his view were any of the caskets that should have been where they were buried. On the other side, the tunnel ended at the grave of the person buried after Jones and the end was unfinished dirt almost waiting to be continued as the graves progressed through time.

“What do you see?” the manager asked.

“You have a huge problem,” the sheriff replied. I think someone is trying to put you out of business.

September 1968

In the basement of the house stood a young female ogre of twelve years named Greta.

She stood in the cool damp room waiting for her uncle who told her to go downstairs and wait for her. The basement had a cement floor, and had cinder block walls with small windows that let in just enough light to show off the spider webs in the ceiling joists. She listened to the creaking sound from the wooden stairs as Jack, her uncle waddled down the steps and into the room she was standing inside waiting.

Jack stood four feet tall, about average for an adult ogre of fifty years, with an untied bathrobe and socks holding a beer and a cigarette in each hand. “Greta,” he said. “Be a good girl and get your uncle an ashtray.” Greta looked around the filthy room and couldn’t find anything that looked like an ashtray.

“I don’t see one,” she said politely.

“Son of a bitch,” Jack said scratching his ass against an old chair. He flicked the ashes from the cigarette onto the cement floor and pushed them around with his huge feet to make sure there were no lit embers that could catch any of the junk in the room on fire.

“That’s ok,” he said and pulled the chair around and sat in it with his legs crossed. The bath robe slid off of his leg and his scrotum could be seen hanging a foot down from his hairy mid section. Greta looked at Gary’s disgusting hairy body and tried not to look directly at the dirty parts Gary was so proudly presenting to his twelve year old niece.

“It’s ok, you can look.” Gary said. “All the boys in your school have one too, you’ll see them sooner or later.” Gary took a drag off his smoke and then took a drink from his beer and set it on the floor.

“What do you want?” Greta asked. “Why did you ask me to come down here?”

“Well, now that you are living with your aunt and me, I thought I would show you around some of the house so you would feel comfortable.”

“Why the basement? Will my room be down here?”

“No, your aunt insisted your room be next to ours, this is where we want to make a fun room for you.”

For a second Greta smiled and then it disappeared. “What kind of fun room?”

“You know, a place where you can play with your dolls and dress up,” Jack replied.

“I’m not a kid anymore, I don’t play with dolls.”

Jack looked at Greta’s chest and saw how her breasts were starting to develop and then at her hips and saw how they were beginning to widen and round out a womanly figure.

“I see that,” Jack replied. “You are quite the attractive young lady,” he said with an evil smile. “You know, there is something that I need to tell you, and this might be a bit hard to take so I will understand if you get a little scared.”

“What is it?” Greta asked.

“You know this house is a few hundred yards from the cemetery, and it used to belong to the care takers years ago.”

“I didn’t know they owned it.”

“That’s ok, point is that they used to display the bodies upstairs in the living room before they built a proper funeral home downtown. For years and years, bodies would be on display in the casket before they would take them over to the cemetery for burial.

“That’s gross,” Greta said.

“That’s not all,” Gary replied and stood up covering his privates with the robe and tightening the belt to keep it in place. He walked over to the side of the room closest to the cemetery and put his ear to the wall and looked back at Greta. “At night you can hear them rolling over in their graves trying to claw their way to the edge of the cemetery.”

Greta stood silent watching her uncle.

“Once they found a tunnel where a corpse had dug fifty feet to the edge and climbed out to the surface.”

“Why not tunnel straight up?” Greta asked.

“The cemetery is hallowed ground. Bodies without souls can no walk upon the top, they have to burrow underneath until they reach normal ground to surface. This wall has double the cement to keep the dead from tunneling into this house from the basement, but that doesn’t stop them from trying. I have often heard scraping on these walls and wonder how close they have actually come to breaking through.”

“Why don’t you move then?” Greta asked.

“We bought this on auction for five grand. For that kind of money they could have dead bodies in the basement, on the roof or in the pool for all I care.”

“Aren’t you scared?” Greta asked.

“No, I learned a long time ago that the undead only seek children.

Someone like you would be perfect. Once they kill you, they skin you and use your skin like a pantsuit. It makes them feel whole again. They have no need for adults because our skin is old and wrinkled and not good material for a body suit.

Greta didn’t know what to think, this was all new to her and it hadn’t all sunk in yet. She had only been in this house since the child protective services dropped her off to stay with her aunt and uncle the night before. He family situation was filled with alcohol and abuse, and seeing her uncle dressed only in a robe standing in a dimly lit basement room didn’t make her feel much safer. She did know that living so close to a cemetery was creepy enough, and now that she knew the house used to be a make shift mortuary made her want to run out the door and never come back.

“You don’t believe me?” Jack asked digging for another smoke from the pocket of his robe. “Tell you what, I’ll leave you down here for the rest of the night and you can listen for yourself. You’re aunt is at work till 2am so she won’t make any noise, and I’ll be very quiet so you can hear the sound of the scratching and digging. Sometimes you can hear them scrape on the concrete floor if they try to get in from under the house.

Greta began to look around for any other way out of the room, she was scared and ready to run away if she had the chance. “You are not going to make me stay in this room by myself,” she said.

“Do you think I would let them get to you?” Jack said with a grin. “I lock the doors every night and keep a loaded gun by every door and window in the house. I stay up most of the night waiting to see if anyone comes around and if they do, bam, I take care of them. I am your protector.”

“How many of them have you killed?” Greta asked.

“You can’t kill the undead sweety, you can only dispose of their bodies.

Once I have rendered them unable to move, I chop them up and burn the bodies.”

“So they only come out at night?” Greta asked.

“Yes,” Jack replied with curiosity. “Why do you ask?”

“Then why don’t you go out during the day and dig them up and burn them ahead of time. Beat them to the punch.”

“You are a very smart little girl, my brother may be a drunk and a bastard, but he raised a very smart girl. The reason is because people don’t like it when you dig up their family members and burn their bodies. They paid good money for them to be buried and expect them to be there when they visit each year to set plastic flowers on the headstone.”

Greta began to sweat and then noticed that Jack’s belt on his robe was starting to loosen, it fell to the ground by his feet allowing the front of the robe, now free of the belt to come apart exposing is chest and genital area. Jack did nothing to stop the belt from falling or his robe from splitting apart. He smiled at Greta to gauge her reaction to what she was seeing and for a long moment both stood silent as Jack took another drag off his smoke and Greta began to tremble in fear, not from the dead bodies trying to get to her, but from her uncle who now stood before her with his penis dangling towards the floor.

“You ever seen a man naked?” Jack asked with a smile?

Greta shook her head no and sight of her uncles huge sex organ scared the piss out of her. She had babysat and changed many a diaper and knew what boys had between their legs, but never had she seen a grown man standing before her nude.

“Don’t be scared, it’s nature. In our house we run around naked all the time,” Jack lied trying to convince Greta he was as normal as could be. “Hell, I have to tell your aunt to put on a bra half the time because I don’t want her tits getting saggy.” he Patrickled trying to lessen the tension in the room. “I see you’re getting your tits,” he said pointing to her chest with his smoke. “I want you to feel comfortable here in the house, take off your shirt,” Jack said with a smile.

“I don’t want to,” Greta whispered.

Jack shrugged his shoulders and stepped closer to Greta putting his hands on her shoulders. “Now in my house, we have to live by my rules, and in my house we listen when the adults tell us what to do. I am the only one here that will protect you from the dead bodies that try to break in every night and for that I expect a little co-operation from you.” Jack put the smoke between his lips and reached down to Greta’s shirt bottom and slowly lifted her shirt. She looked down and then away when she saw his massive penis starting to become erect. Jack quickly had her shirt raised above her bra and stared down at her cleavage. “Damn girl, you got some nice tits for how old you are,” Jack said with the smoke still between his lips. “Now, you have two choices girl, one, do exactly what I say and tell no one and I make sure you are safe from harm, or two, defy me and I will let them get to you and skin you alive. It’s your choice.”

Greta started to cry and raised her arms allowing her uncle to remove her shirt exposing her top covered only with a bra. He tossed her shirt on the chair behind her and moved in closer.

Present day

At the grave site, the sheriff called in the city street and sewer crew to help investigate the tunnel they had uncovered. The back hoe widened the hold enough for two people to climb down into the tunnel and electricity and lights were ran down the hole to light up the underground passage. The leader of the department, Ed Reese, dressed in a protective suit aimed the halogen work light down the length of the tunnel that ran north for about a hundred feet. The light barley lit up the end of the tunnel making it difficult to see if it turned to the right or left.

He crawled forward a few feet and banged his fist on the wood planks the lined the top of the tunnel to see how sturdy they were. He was amazed at the craftsmanship and how new the work looked. The tunnel was straight, the floor was even and all the slats on all four sides were tongue and groove fitted creating the illusion of a seamless edge that ran the length of the tunnel. What he didn’t see where any caskets or the remains of anything that should have been under the headstones. The tunnel was around three and a half feet tall, five feet wide and went on for as far as the eye could see. Ed clicked on his headset radio and spoke to the crew above. His voice was amplified by the work truck radio parked near by. “This is pretty weird,” Ed said. “Somebody went to a lot of work here and it’s going to take us a while to figure out where this goes. Not sure if we can get a g.p.s. signal this far down under the ground, but if we could we could map this maybe.”

The assistant street and sewer manager, also dressed in protective clothing yelled to his boss who was now twenty feet into the tunnel with a flashlight. “There’s no way a g.p.s is going to work down here,” he shouted. “Do you think it’s safe enough to check out where this thing leads?” the assistant asked.

A few moments later Reese replied over the speakers, “Yeah, I think we can trust this, as long as we keep the back hoe close by and we have oxygen tanks with us for a cave in, we should be ok. Whoever built this did a very good job. They must have spent a lot of time down here.”

***

Five and a half hours later a large group of onlookers and media had shown up to see what was going on with the sheriffs cars and work trucks. Someone had leaked that there was something discovered at the cemetery and many from the town were curious to see what they had discovered. In the tunnel, Ed and a small crew of three had crawled the length of the tunnel and found it turned to the east and kept going for three hundred more feet. Every thirty or so feet the tunnel jutted off to the right and ran the length of that row of graves, all the caskets were missing. So what they had was one long tunnel running east to west the length of the entire cemetery on the northern side of the cemetery with side tunnels that jutted off and ran down the length of each row of graves. From a map point of view, it would have looked like a giant comb, only at the far east end, the first row of the tunnel continued on past the graveyard towards an old house a hundred or so feet from the edge of the cemetery. The house that used to be the old mortuary back at the turn of the century, and was currently owned by a fifty nine year old ogre named Greta Handle.

Greta lived alone in the house, she had inherited it from her uncle and aunt after they had been found murdered in the basement back in 1981. No one knew who had killed the couple, just that Greta found them both dead and the house was now hers.

That night, the tunnel crew crawled the distance from the graveyard to the house where they found the end of the tunnel blocked by a wooden door. They tried to push on it to open it but it was well built and locked from the other side. It was now up to the sheriff to figure out what was going on so he banged on the front door to see if anyone was home. In a few moments, the door opened and Greta, now much older and greyer stood before the sheriff with a shotgun in her arms pointed at the ground.

“What can I do for you officer?” Greta asked. She was dressed in a house coat with no shoes and looked like she had been drinking.

“I have some questions for you if you don’t mind, can the deputy and I come in?”

“Fuck no,” Greta replied. “Do you have a search warrant?” she asked.

“No, but I’m sure I can get one,” the sheriff replied.

Greta stepped forward forcing the two officers to back up onto the porch further and let the door close behind her. She kept the shotgun in her hand ready if need be. She looked over at the graveyard and saw the trucks and workers moving around like ants working hard doing something. “What are you up to?” Greta asked. “You’ve been messing around over there all day.”

“I’m not going to beat around the bush here,” The sheriff stated. He paused and continued. “There is a tunnel that leads to your basement and we would like to know what it is doing there?”

“Shit,” Greta said aloud shaking her head. “I knew somebody would find it one day and I guess this is the day.”

“May I ask what the tunnel is for?” the sheriff asked.

Greta stood looking at the sheriff and then over at the work site and in frustration let out a sigh. She shook her head and scratched her chin with her free hand and though for a moment. “Are you arresting me?” she asked.

“Yes,” the sheriff replied.

“For what charge?”Greta asked.

“I’m not sure exactly sure. We can talk about it down at the law enforcement center. For now I need to advise you of your rights.” The sheriff read Greta her rights and cuffed her and put her in the patrol car. She sat in the back seat looking at the array of electronics covering the front dash and then back to her house where she had lived since she was a child. No longer were the undead going to come after her now she thought to herself, in a way, she finally escaped from the Hell she had been living most of her life.

The sheriff got in the car and turned on the ignition, he called dispatch and told them he was in route with an arrest and would be back at the station in twenty minutes. The car took off and sped down the lane past the cemetery and past the street and sewer crews who were watching her drive away for good in custody.

***

At the station, Greta was led to the interview room and allowed to sit without her handcuffs. It was a small room, a table and four chairs with a camera in the upper corner of the room and a microphone resting on the table. Once again the sheriff reminded Greta, on digital audio and video, of her rights and offered her something to drink. She declined.

“Miss Handle,” The sheriff said. “We found the statute in question and you are being charged with one hundred and thirty four counts of unlawful taking from the cemetery association. We would like to know why, and how you managed to conceal your activities for so long.”

Greta looked up at the camera and over to the microphone and then back to the sheriff.

“I want a lawyer,” she stated

“I thought you might say that, according to federal law, ogres are not covered by the United States Constitution and do not have the right to a lawyer.”

Shocked Greta replied, “Then why did you bother to read me my rights?” she asked.

The rights I read you didn’t include a right to a lawyer, you watch too much Law and Order. Ogre rights are different, just like vampire and troll rights are all different.”

“But I still have the right to remain silent?” Greta asked.

“To an extent, if I feel there is probably cause, I can kick the shit out of you for a confession. That is unique to ogre law, can’t do that to a troll, they had better representation. You’re founding fathers were a bunch of fucking retards.” Greta sat dumbfounded.

“So, Miss Handle, what’s up with the tunnel to your house?” the sheriff asked.

Greta sat silent for a while and blinked her eyes as she thought of what to say. The sheriff leaned back in his chair and took a drink of his diet soda and scratched his ear watching to see if Greta would start talking. He tapped his fingers on the table top and let out a sigh and then clicked off the recorder. He leaned back towards the door and yelled, “Give me the cattle prod, this is going to take a while.”

Greta, startled, looked over to the sheriff and said, “Fine, I’ll tell you,” and with that the sheriff clicked the recorder back on and Greta began her story. “From the age of twelve to twenty five my uncle abused me in the basement of his house. It was constant, it was brutal and I had no way out because my aunt supported him and let him do this to me.

He told me that if I ever told anyone he would let the dead from the cemetery come and kill me. He told me that he was the only reason why I wasn’t dead and that the sex was my way of paying him for protecting me.”

“Did you believe him?” the sheriff asked.

“Of course I believed him,” Greta replied.

“Your aunt and uncle were murdered back in 1981, is that correct?”

“Yes,” Greta replied.

“No one was ever charged in that murder, is that correct?”

“That is correct.”

“Who killed your aunt and uncle?” the sheriff asked.

“I did, that fat fucking piece of shit tried one time too many and I finally let him have it.”

“And you aunt?”

“By that time she was participating, I had to kill them both. They were getting older and I was in my prime. They couldn’t keep molesting me forever.”

“Why didn’t you dispose of their bodies like you did the others?”

They didn’t die on hallowed ground, they weren’t going to come back and get me. I did eventually get their bodies though. Once they were dead, I started to tunnel to the cemetery and fish out the caskets one by one. It took me years, but I finally got them all including my aunt and uncle and burned their bodies in the out building like all the rest.”

“Where are the caskets?, that is a lot of material to dispose of,” the sheriff asked.

“Not if you compact it down. A casket under two thousand pounds of hydraulic pressure will crush down to the size of handbag. You can stack one hundred or more handbags in a shed very easily, and the wood ones I just burned so that was even less to dispose of.”

“What did you do with the ashes from the bodies? Put them in a dumpster for the trash to pick up?” the sheriff asked.

“No,” Greta replied, “I couldn’t risk the dead from reforming and coming back for me so I encased the ashes in wet concrete and used it to make blocks that I used to line my house and garden. Since the ashes and bones were locked up in the concrete blocks, the dead could no longer get to me.”

The sheriff took a deep breath and leaned in close. “This all started back in 81?” he asked.

“Yes, I’ve been digging for over thirty years. I was to the point where I was digging out new graves a week after they were put in the ground.”

“We came looking for a specific body, that’s how we discovered your tunnel, how long after you pull a casket do you dispose of it?”

“The casket gets crushed right away, the body has to dry a bit so it burns instead of cooks, so I dry them out for about two weeks in my out building.”

The sheriff perked up for a moment and thought maybe they had the body they were looking for after all. “How many bodies do you have in the out building now?” the sheriff asked.

“Two, a woman and a man, I was going to burn them on Friday.”

The sheriff got up, left the room and keyed his radio to his deputy back at the cemetery.

“Check the out building, there are two possible bodies there and one of them may be who we are looking for.”

The deputy replied, “Do we have a warrant?”

“Not required, these are ogres, go check and if you find anything call me back right away. If one is Jones, we need to get her to the crime lab for processing as soon as possible.”

Chapter 6

The Trial

Frank Borman paused for a second and leaned back from eating out his reporters pussy on his desk to ask her a question. “Do you think it’s a conflict of interest to cover your husbands trial?” he asked Shirley, wiping off the goo from his chin.

“Shirley shook her head and squinted her eyes at her boss and said,” You stopped licking my crack to ask me that?”

“I don’t want my readers to think I’m biased or anything.”

“If you don’t want to finish, I can go down to the press room and have Mitch pick up where you left off. He eats one Hell of a pussy.”

Frank looked back at Shirley with disgust, I ought to fire that guy you know, if he didn’t know about my little operation in the basement, he would be very expendable.”

“Who would do your dirty work for you?” Shirley asked clamping her knees back together. She slid her butt around and put her feet back on the floor in front of Franks desk, she then stood up and bent over to pull her panties and slacks back up.

“What are you doing?” Frank asked. “I wasn’t even getting started yet. I have a raging hard on.”

“You want to talk or fuck?” Shirley asked.

“Both, can’t we do both at the same time?” Frank asked.

“No, I am not discussing my husbands trial while you drop a load in me. I have a vibrator in my purse, I’ll finish when we’re done talking.”

Frank felt his erection drop and his mood change and got a horrible case of blue balls. “I think I should cover the case,” Frank stated as a matter of fact.

“Oh no,” she replied. “That prick made my life Hell for far too long. He was inattentive, selfish, spent too much time on his hobbies and took me for granted. I took him for granted and was selfish myself, but that doesn’t matter, it’s all about me,” she said with a smile.”

“I run this paper, and I will decide who covers the trial. If you covered the story, CNN would be down here doing a story on you and that is the last thing I need. So that’s official, I will cover the case.”

“Fine,” Shirley replied, “Then you can get Mitch to give you head, I’m done with you.”

Frank took a deep breath and looked down to the button on his desk that triggered the trap door and for a moment thought about sending her to the basement. He placed his finger on the button and smiled at her as she looked back at him with her hands on her hips and a smirk on her face. “You know I suck the best dick around,” she said. “You want to give that up for some stupid appearance of conflict?”

Frank leaned back in his chair and took his hand off the button. “Fine,” he said. “You can cover the case, and if CNN shows up, what the Hell, the more publicity the better. I can sell more papers and make even more money. Hell, with that kind of fame and fortune, I wouldn’t have to resort to second hand pussy like you anymore. I could find me some triple A twat.” Frank said with a grin.

An hour later

In the courtroom, Mark Sanders was escorted to the defendants table wearing an orange jumpsuit and hand cuffs. At the table, the cuffs were removed by the bailiff and Mark was allowed to sit down next to his lawyer Buffalo Bill Tanner. At the prosecutors table sat the county attorney Lyle Manning and the assistant county attorney Anne Springer. The court room was about half full and Mark’s cheating whore wife Shirley sat in the first row of the gallery with her pen and paper ready to write down all the good parts of the trial. Also present in the gallery was Gary the diabetic vampire who had his blood sugar under control and Mitch, the man from the pressroom who was fucking Mark’s wife. Judge Thomas Keene presiding.

“All rise,” the bailiff stated in a loud yet firm voice.

The people in the gallery and the attorney’s and defendant stood up as the judge entered the courtroom dressed in his black robe. He sad down and said, “Be seated,” and everyone sat down. “Bailiff,” the judge said looking down at his notes. “Present the case.”

“The county of Milford verses Deputy Mark Sanders for the murder of Mrs. Julie Jones.” the bailiff stated.

“Prosecution, please call your first witness,” the judge stated. County attorney Manning stood up and said, “I call Linda Cummings to the stand.”

Linda, the barmaid from the Roadside bar stood up and walked over to the witness stand. The Bailiff signaled for her to raise her right hand. “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth so help you God?” he asked.

“No,” Linda stated smugly.

The prosecutor stood up and said loudly, “You’re honor, may I have permission to treat this woman as a hostile witness?”

“Yes you may,” the judge replied.

The prosecutor walked over to Linda, who was now sitting in the witness stand and stopped for a moment to look at her. “You’re a big girl aren’t you?” he asked.

“Fuck you,” Linda replied.

“You’re honor, may I punch the witness?”

“Not at this time, I want to see where this is going,” the judge replied.

Prosecutor Manning, with a smirk on his face looked at Linda and asked, “Is it true you screw most of the guys who come into your bar and sell yourself for money to the ones who will pay?”

“Objection ” Buffalo Bill yelled standing at the defendants table. “This woman’s moral attitude has no bearing on my defendants case.”

“Your honor,” Manning stated smugly, “I wasn’t trying to trash this woman’s morals, I was trying to hook up for after the trial. If this woman puts out for free, I want to know about it.”

“You may answer the question,” the judge said.

“You should know judge,” Linda said, “I charged you fifty last time.”

“Ma’am,” the judge stated, “I am not a witness and I am not on trial, please answer the question.”

“Yes, I fuck for money, I fuck for attention, I fuck for food, I am a whore, are you happy?”

Prosecutor Manning, grin on his face, stated, “My happiness is not on trial here.”

“And the life of my vagina is?” Linda asked.

“Next question,” the judge stated picking his nose.

“On the night of September first, did you see the defendant, Deputy Mark Sanders in the Roadside bar?”

“Yes, yes I did.” Linda replied.

“Do you recall what he was doing there?”

“He came in response to the 911 call when Gary had a diabetic reaction and passed out.”

“Is Mark some sort of EMT?” Manning asked.

Buffalo Bill stood up and yelled, “Objection you honor, this woman is no mind reader, how can she possible know what deputy Sanders qualifications are?”

The judge paused for a second. “Are you a mind reader?” he asked Linda.

“A little,” she replied. “I can tell right now you are thinking about my tits,” she replied.

“Over ruled,” the judge said. She is a mind reader.

Manning once again stated the question.

“Honestly, I have no clue if he is an EMT. I know he is a cop, I know he is a pretty good guy and doesn’t hassle me when I sell drinks to minors.”

“Objection ” Buffalo Bill yelled from his table. “My client is not on trial for allowing minors to drink.”

“Sustained,” the judge said in a disheartened tone. “Next question.”

“On that night, did you in fact hand Deputy Sanders a bag filled with insulin supplies?”

“Yes I did,” Linda replied.

“Why?”

“Because he was going to follow and arrest that drunk cunt and it was her husbands bag and he was in the ambulance being taken to the hospital.”

“Do you know if Deputy Sanders has any experience with insulin?”

“You ask him,” she said sarcastically.

“I will later,” Manning said shaking his head. “Your honor, may I punch her now?” he asked.

“I will allow it,” the judge said and the bailiff backed away from the witness stand.

“What the fuck?” Linda asked looking around. “You’re going to let him punch me?”

The judge raised his hand and Manning stopped in his tracks. “Are you pregnant?” the judge asked. “I only ask this because you seem to be a raging whore and I have no idea if you use protection.”

“I am not pregnant,” Linda replied. “And I am not a whore, I get I.D. from everyone I screw. I don’t fuck just anybody.”

“Would you fuck a bum for twenty dollars?” the judge asked.

“I plead the fifth,” Linda replied and the judge motioned for Manning to proceed.

“Hold on, ok, I’ll tell you what you want. What was the question?” Linda asked.

“Do you know if Deputy Sanders has any experience with insulin supplies?”

“No, I am unaware of any knowledge Deputy Sanders has with insulin supplies.”

“Then why did you give him the bag?” Manning asked.

“Are you fucking deaf? I said it was so he could return Gary’s bag to him.”

“You expected Deputy Sanders to pull over Mrs. Jones and bust her for DUI and then nicely hand over a bag full of diabetic supplies? Who does that?”

“I was trying to be nice,” Linda replied.

“Sounds like you try to be nice too much for your own good. No more questions you honor,” Manning said.

“Your witness,” The judge stated to Buffalo Bill.

Buffalo Bill, who looked nothing like the original Buffalo Bill stood up and scurried over to the stand like a little rat. He was short, had short arms and legs and looked like on of those guys from Willie Wonka, they guys with the orange hair. “You’re honor, if I may call you that you dirty bastard whore buying cheat.”

“You may,” the judge stated.

“I would like to put this bag filled with insulin supplies into the record.” Buffalo Bill stated in a tiny Hobbit like voice.

“So be it,” the judge said holding his head on his hand bored.

“Linda? May I call you that? No one seems to know your last name.”

“Yes, you may call me Linda,” Linda replied.

“Can you tell me, in your own words, what happened the night in question?”

“Wow, that would take a long time and I really am tired. I think my anemia is kicking in again. I get these heavy periods and it drains all the iron from my blood and I feel like shit for the whole week. If I don’t get some iron soon, I may pass out.”

Buffalo Bill scratched his chin and thought for a moment. “In the time you have, can you give us the highlights?” he asked.

“Sure,” Linda replied. “Gary, passed out because he forgot to eat lunch so we had to find a machine to check his blood sugar. This bitch nurse came over and tried to help but she almost choked him out with some orange juice, so then she put some sugar on his tongue and left him. I called the ambulance and they came and picked him up and took him to the hospital, Mark came in late and I gave him the bag to give to his bitch wife who had just left so that Gary would have his stuff when he got out of the hospital.”

“What size bra do you wear?” Buffalo Bill asked.

“What does that have to do with any of this?” Linda replied with a question.

“Nothing, I just like your tits,” Buffalo Bill replied. “No more questions,”

The judge, trying to stay awake yawned and stated, “Next witness.”

“The protection calls Gary, the diabetic vampire to the stand.”

Gary, sitting in the gallery on a special folding chair rocked back and forth until he could get his massive body to stand upright. He reached over and grabbed the hand rail and used it to help him walk into the main court area and over to the witness stand. After a grueling eight minutes and a lot of huffing and puffing, Gary stood at the stand and raised his right hand.

“Do you swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth so help you God?” the bailiff asked.

“Sure, whatever,” Gary replied, “Now help me up these steps.” he said to the bailiff and together they hobbled up the step and got Gary set down in the witness chair. “Do you have anything better to sit on?” Gary asked. “My ass is chafing as it is and this chair isn’t helping.”

The bailiff shook his head no.

“I got some hemorrhoid cream in my car. If you let me go get that and put some on I think I might be able to make it though this.” Gary said looking at the judge.

The judge opened his eyes and looked at Gary and asked, “What did you say? I think I dozed off for a second.”

“I need my ass cream or I’m going to die up here.”

“Objection ” Buffalo Bill yelled. “The witness is a vampire and by definition is already dead and can not die therefore his request should be denied.”

“I may be undead, but my ass hurts like Hell ” Gary yelled back.

“Your honor, are you going to let him sass back like that?” Buffalo Bill asked.

“Mr. Jones,” the judge stated in a droll sleepy tone. Please behave.

“I’m not saying a word till I get my ass cream. And you better find me a nurse to put it on because I can’t reach back there by myself,” Gary stated defiantly.

“Fine,” the judge said. Bailiff, go to Mr. Jones car and get his cream and put some on his ass.” the judge stated.

“Not to be out of line sir,” the bailiff stated, “But I am not a nurse, I am an officer of the court.”

“And as an officer of the court, I am telling you to put on some gloves before you put on his ass cream. Court recesses for twenty minutes while we take care of this issue. Court dismissed.” With that said and a bang of the gavel, the judge stood up and walked to his chambers. The members of the gallery stood up and started chatting and some headed to the bathroom. The bailiff got Gary’s keys and headed down to his car to get his ass cream with disgust. Gary smiled and let out a little fart and wondered how long it would take for the bailiff to find his cream. Then it dawned on him that he left it at home. Well, nobody’s perfect and he did manage to get a twenty minute break. Now if he could just get off the stand and get to the bathroom to pee.

Twenty minutes later

The bailiff, fresh from applying hemorrhoidal cream to the ass of Gary, the diabetic vampire addressed the court again, “All rise, the honorable Judge Keene presiding,” and the gallery again rose to show respect to the court. This time, Ury and Rita, who rarely if ever left the underside of the bridge, during the day just to be present at their friend Mark’s murder trial.

“You may continue,” the judge stated to the prosecution.”

“Mr. Jones,” Attorney Manning stated. “Are you diabetic?”

“Yes, since about, um, 1860 or so. It was right around the American Civil War if I am correct.”

“Have you always been on medication for your disease?”

“Hell no, they didn’t have medication for diabetes till recently.” Gary replied.

“How did you manage to survive for so long with no drugs?” Manning asked in a curious mocking tone.

“Diet and exercise I guess. Back in those days we didn’t sit on our asses, watch television and eat potato chips. I wasn’t always this fat.”

“I see,” Manning replied. “When did you start your medications?”

“Oh fuck, ooops sorry, I mean around 1980 or so,” Gary replied.

“What would happen if you didn’t take your medications?”

“My blood sugar would jump so high that I would get confused, start sweating, get dizzy, shit like that.”

“What does the medication do?” Manning asked.

“Do you want a lesson on diabetes? Because I can give you one. Pretty interesting stuff.”

“No, just answer the question, what does your insulin do?”

“My wife said it made me fat,” Gary said with a smile. “She was so fucking stupid.”

“You’re wife isn’t on trial here Mr. Jones, please answer the question.”

“Fine, the insulin lowers my blood sugar.”

“By what process?”

“Do I look like a fucking endocrinologist to you?” Gary asked.

“You look like a fat fuck with an attitude problem to me,” Manning replied looking to the judge expecting to be reprimanded. Instead the judge was busy looking across the gallery at Shirley Sanders, the reporter and wife of the man on trial, who was lifting her skirt enough for the judge to see her crotch. “You’re honor?” Manning stated getting his attention.

“Yes,” the judge stated regaining focus on the case.

“If you can’t pay attention, I would like to request a new trial with a more attentive judge.”

The judge raised an eyebrow in defiance and waved his hand at the prosecuting attorney. “Fine, I’ll pay attention,” the judge said and motioned for Mrs. Sanders to pull down her skirt and shut her legs.

Gary, looking dumbfounded waited to be addressed again. “Mr. Jones, again, by what process does insulin work to lower your blood sugar?”

“Can I Google it?” Gary asked.

“Nevermind,” Manning replied. “I have a handout here from the internet that states exactly how insulin works. According to this reputable website, insulin is food that tiny insects in your gut feed on that makes them grow faster and eat the extra glucose from your blood.”

“Objection ” Buffalo Bill said standing short at his desk. “This is insane, insulin doesn’t work that way at all, this is all pseudoscience and bullshit.”

“I got this from the internet so I’m sure it’s correct,” Manning stated smugly.

“My sister is a diabetic and I know how it works and it has nothing to do with insects. The insulin allows the glucose into the cells which in turn lowers the glucose in the blood and lowers your reading on your meter.”

“Touche’” Manning stated. “I bow to your superior intellect, you short fucker.”

“That’s right,” Gary said, “Now I remember, it does what he said it does.”

“Ok,” manning said in disgust. “In all of your years of marriage to Julie, had she ever given you an insulin shot?”

“Yes,” Gary stated.”All the time, I liked to get them in the butt and I can’t reach so she always did it for me.”

“Would you say that Julie had a firm grasp of the dangers of over dosing on insulin?”

“I would assume so,” Gary replied.

“In your opinion, do you think Julie would have self administered a lethal dose to herself, who isn’t a diabetic to start with?”

“You should never end a sentence with a preposition,” Gary replied.

“Didn’t you pay attention in seventh grade English?”

“Let me rephrase the question. In your opinion, would Julie give herself a shot of your insulin? For any reason?”

“In my opinion, she was a loud mouth bitch who needed to be shut the fuck up.”

The crowd in the gallery started to grumble at this revelation of Gary’s distrain for his now dead wife.

“Please answer the question,” Manning stated in a lawyerish fashion.

“I can’t answer that, she put shit in her drinks that would kill a cockroach. Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn’t. She was a alcoholic and a drug user and maybe she was so stoned that she thought she’d try something new.”

“The defense will claim that your wife self injected the insulin, but from the testimony of the barmaid, we know she didn’t have the means until the defendant showed up with the supplies. Wouldn’t being in an accident be an odd time to try experimental drugs?”

Buffalo Bill rose and shouted, “Objection, the witness can’t answer for his dead wife anymore than he can testify for Abraham Lincoln.”

“Sustained,” the judge said. “Next question.”

“No further questions your honor,” Manning stated.

“Your witness,” the judge said to Buffalo Bill.

“Mr. Jones, where were you when this was all going down?”

“It’s about time you finally cut through the bullshit and asked a decent question.”

Buffalo Bill lowered his head and eyeballed Gary. “And?”

“I was there the whole time,” Gary replied.

“Where?” Buffalo Bill asked.

“I was at the crash scene. I woke out of my diabetic coma about a mile from the bar and had the ambulance pull over. When I saw the flames a few miles over, I turned into a bat and flew over to see what was going on.”

“You can turn into a bat?” Buffalo Bill asked.

“A fat bat, but yes. I can fly for a while,” Gary replied.

“So now we can place you and my client both at the scene of the accident at the same time.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“So it’s could have been you that delivered the fatal dose of insulin that killed your wife.”

Buffalo Bill stated.

“With that line of thinking, I would have to answer yes. But don’t forget the other lady.”

“What other lady?” Buffalo Bill asked.

“Julie had a passenger, her coworker friend from the hospital, she was thrown from the vehicle when it rolled into the farmers field.”

“That is correct,” Gary replied. “So it could have been Mark, or me, or the woman nobody can find.”

Buffalo Bill’s face lit up with excitement realizing now that his client wasn’t the only one with the means, motive and opportunity. Julie had pissed off her husband, pissed off Gary and sent her passenger through the air never to be found again.”You’re honor, in light of this new information, I request this trial be dismissed.”

Buffalo Bill stated.

  To be continued...