Turner admitted the dots from O'Connell's perspective of event had taken a shape at last. The first fragment or the most important one had occurred twenty years ago when Turner was a skinny man with age favoring him. The thirty six years old individual enjoyed being a hippie since his childhood. It was the reason why he had left his house at Alabama an early age. Since the sane day he neither missed Alabama nor what he had left behind with hope that they weren’t missing him either.

But for some months he was unwell so he had decided not to travel more for some days. Soon he managed to get a source of income in a local cemetery in Portland. Months later, he was named Turner aka Undertaker. Working in there, alone for months, inside a hut had made him turn his mind against his restless nature. He dropped the idea of being a hippie again. For all of his life he had been travelling and now he understood where all journeys ended at. It was where he worked at.

One night, Turner was busy in reading Reader's Digest magazine when he heard some people scream after entering inside cemetery. He was used to of silence but the three guys came up to swearing and trash-talking.

"You guys shut your fucking mouths or I'll impale them for you."

Turner went out of his bed with old double nozzle gun, "Move your asses outta here right now."

Those three men were now staring at him. An Afro – American came close to his face which made him scared. The negro said like he was commanding, "Listen, dork…nobody tells us what to do. And not a grave digger like you. You shut up!"

"W- wh – what do – y – you want? Turner stuttered.

Turner had the gun and he wasn't meant to be scared but he couldn’t control his fear. But he couldn’t afford showing it because it could make them to seize the gun.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"No. The questions becomes, what do you want?"

"Huh? Why would I want anything –?"

"For a job you do every day."

"You want me to bury a coffin or what?" Turner guessed when he squinted at a coffin on which two guys were sitting.

"This proves you ain't so dumb." The person said and pulled out two notes from his shirt pocket and soon the dollars were on the hands of Turner.

It was two hundred dollars. Most of all, it was too much for a coffin to be buried. He could bury dozens of it by the amount he had received.

"You must be wondering why I am paying you this much. Twenty is for the labor you're gonna do and rest is for keeping your damn mouth shut."

"I can keep my mouth sewed for two months with these." Turner grinned.

The Afro – American guy checked the coffin and said to Turner, "I want this buried right now."

"It will be sooner than you can expect. Yesterday I had dug a pit which is unused till now. People don’t die very much these days."

They looked at the pit which Turner was talking about and without even uttering a word, shared glances and left from the gate.

Turner stuffed money in his jacket pocket and then he began to wonder how he was going to drag coffin to the pit. Other days, other times, there would have been bunch of people for the same work. He wished there were wheels on coffin's base and then started to push the coffin with all his strength.

Holy Mary, I forgot the shovel. How am I supposed to undo the pit? Then he looked at the coffin's edge. The coffin was locked as expected. He went inside his house and when he returned back with a heavy shovel accompanying him. He heard sound of something being pounded somewhere.

He deduced it to be his heartbeat or the zeal he was having but heartbeats never had come from coffins. In return, confused, he knocked on the coffin's roof.

In return the sound of hitting of padded wall came.

Is someone alive here? He questioned and looked at the lock