Dirt piled up on the dew-covered grass, the constant crunching of the shovel into the Earth harmonized with the tones of crickets. Dinh poked his head up from the hole, the darkness within which had now become impenetrable by moonlight, and grasped around blindly over the ground for his lantern.

Climbing up out of the small crater and into the cool night air, he observed his surroundings for a moment, resting his muscles. He was dressed in a black tank-top and grey pants, both of which were smattered with dirt and betrayed his bizarrely skinny frame. His dark hair was speckled with streaks of white, and grew down to cover his eyes, which seemed to be weighed down by perpetual dark circles.

He had left a gas lantern next to the hole, believing it would ward off evil spirits while he worked, a superstition he’d inherited from his father, who had trained him in the family business. After making sure he was alone, he grabbed the handle of the lantern and pointed it downwards into his small tunnel. The light pierced the shadows to reveal a sealed coffin buried beneath the Earth.

“Finally,” he gasped, relieved. The first half of his work was done, now all that was left to do was pop open the case and make off. He laid his shovel upwards in the hole and reached back up to its edge, where a black leather belt was laid out containing a myriad of tools: a skeleton key, a crank, a screwdriver, a hammer, a rubber ducky. His hand met the small crank which, after being wrestled from its loop, fit splendidly into a circular opening in the bottom right corner of the box, the lock for the coffin. After a minute of turning, he felt a release in the lid, prompting a satisfied “hm!” from him.

Prior research had led him to this particular grave in the hopes of it containing a newer casket, one which was not fastened by nails but instead a rotating lock system which was considerably less noisy to open up.

Dinh opened up the death-box to find a well-preserved corpse, one which could not have been more than a year old, by his estimate. Opening up the rest of the casket revealed a feast of valuable heirlooms left lying carelessly at the deceased man’s side. The young grave-collector meticulously searched through his possessions: a gold pocket watch which had ceased functioning, a silver rosary, and a suspiciously long box laid out on top of the corpse. All the while he made certain not to disturb the body, after all, his father taught him it was disrespectful to meddle with the dead; their possessions, on the other hand, were worthless to both the afterlife and the worms. The business of grave “collecting” was held in high esteem by the close and limited members of his family, though it was a profession kept in the dark to protect them from the more prejudiced people of society.

After placing the watch and rosary next to the mouth of the grave, Dinh curiously grabbed the long box and hopped out to examine the contents within. Placing it on the ground as he knelt in the soft grass, he studied it by moon-and-lamp-light. The case itself was made from an expensive black wood, and locked by two latches, each with a seemingly different keyhole. This was no matter for him, and after reaching for his belt he produced a skeleton key, aptly named. He slid the key into the locks, turning each with a small clicking sound. Unlatching the case, he opened it to reveal a wooden scepter, its top crowned with a solid gold head sculpted into the shape of a cow’s skull.

“Is this real gold?” he wondered aloud, tossing the scepter from one hand to the other. It hit his palms with a considerably lighter weight than one would expect from looking at the object. After scratching at it, sniffing it, spitting on it, and tossing it up into the air a few more times, Dinh came to the conclusion that it was, in fact, real gold.

“This’ll go for a lot,” he muttered to himself, as a pure and innocent smile crossed his face.

“How much?”

Fear pierced the small bubble of happiness around Dinh’s heart; never in his three previous years of grave-collecting had he been caught so red-handed.

“S-sorry?” he replied, slowly turning around to face the owner of the confrontational voice. To his surprise, he saw no one standing before him.

“I asked how much you think it would go for?” the voice had a sharp coldness which did not help Dinh’s already trembling state. Strangely, however, he could not place the direction the words came from, until the realization hit him.

Dinh peered down into the grave; his eyes gazed upon the corpse, sitting upright, with one knee pulled to his chest casually, his eyes bright and awake, returning his gaze. Its face, yellowed with death, was distressingly relaxed, with a faint, knowing grin across its dark lips.

“Gah!” Dinh shouted fearfully, grabbing his shovel and slamming it wildly down into the hole with the flat of the tool. The corpse simply raised his arm and deflected the blow with ease. Dinh fell back onto the ground, only to watch as the dead man rose from the crater, propelled upwards as if by an unknown force.

“L-l-look, mister, I didn’t mean anything by taking that, I-I mean, what were you gonna do with it anyway?” Dinh sputtered out, holding up his hands in a frantic defense.

“You still haven’t answered my question, kid.” The living corpse was dressed in an ornate black suit, with white rose patterns sewn into the fabric. He stance was one that imposed upon Dinh, the dead man’s confidence was unbearably persuasive. His question seemed to be one posed out of sheer curiosity, such that Dinh found himself wanting to comply.

“W-well, I think- and I would have to take it to an appraiser and all- but I think I could get about six grand for this-”

“Wow, that much huh?” came the reply, swiftly cutting him off.

“Yeah, I figure this is maybe five-and-a-half ounces, which I could spin into roughly that much if I find the price of the wood.”

“Do you do this often?”

“Yeah this about my third run this month here, the people here have a lot of good stuff they took with them.”

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“Impressive, how much you make from this business?”

“Oh, maybe nine or ten grand on a really good month.”

“Wow, what a gig.”

“Yeah, you know, it pays the-” Dinh paused for a moment. “Hey, wait!” he cried. “I’m not gonna sit here and have a conversation with a corpse! I need to get back home and pawn this stuff off!”

“Well, I’ve got some bad news for you, kid,” the living dead crooned.

“What’s that?” the grave-collector spat back.

The corpse tilted its head and pointed at the scepter with a pale finger. “I can’t go back to sleep as long as you have those things.”

“What? Why not?” Dinh asked incredulously.

“You see,” the corpse began quite formally. “My spirit is an exceptionally vengeful one, and as it goes I can’t rest as long as I have a lasting grudge, such as somebody, you know, looting my grave.”

Dinh was visibly upset, leaning forward aggressively with a crossed brow. “Hey! This isn’t looting, it’s collecting! What are you even going to use these for? Worms aren’t impressed by this stuff!”

“Do you know who I am, kid?” the zombie posed. He pointed to the head of the grave, where an ornately carved tombstone read “SIDIAN STONEWALL.”

“Sidian Stonewall?” Dinh asked.

“Sidian Stonewall!!” the cadaver yelled to high heaven. “Founder of Stonewall Law Firm and Associates! In life, I made more money in one week than your mother made in her whole life!”

“I don’t have a mother,” replied Dinh innocently, as if to correct him softly.

“Shut up!” cried Sidian, with a tone of ramping madness. Suddenly, he cut his rant short, and his face returned to its previous charismatic mold.

“Say,” he began again. “There is one way to get me to go away.”

“Ok, what then?” Dinh begged. Not only did he want to rid himself of this man, but he wanted to make a profit off of the night; after all, the bus fare to this side of town was not cheap.

“If another one of my grudges is taken care of, then I should be satisfied enough to go back to sleep while you hop off with those things,” Sidian explained.

“Great, so what do you need me to do?” the grave-collector asked.

“There’s another man in this cemetery, his name is Ellen Gardet. In life, he was my sworn rival in the law business. Personally, I think he’s the one who poisoned my cup, but by the same token I poisoned his too.”

“You two poisoned each other?” Dinh beseeched, concerned.

“Yeah, so I guess we’re even. I need you to break that, I want to win. Go retrieve that damn jewel I know he’s been buried with.”

Thus, the mission was given. Located across the way from Sidian’s grave was a great stone mausoleum. Dinh wondered why such a big-shot like Mr Stonewall had such a comparatively small resting place. The Gardet mausoleum was seemingly impregnable, great stone barriers erected on all four sides barred all entrance, save for a separate slab of rock placed in the opening of a single wall. Only a machine could remove the intimidating obelisk and clear the way to the entrance.

Dinh, in response to this obstacle, held out his shovel, pulled it back over his shoulder as if a javelin thrower, aimed near the top of the slab, and launched it with incredible force at the wall. The shovel smashed into it with such power that it was toppled over with seemingly no effort. Impressed at his own strength, the young scrawny man hopped over to the entrance, picked his shovel back up, and proceeded into the tomb.

Inside, the darkness of the crypt pressed down upon him so heavily it threatened to crush him had he not had his little lantern. Dinh looked about, spotting a descending staircase to the underground. He plunged into the Earth, down about twenty steps, until he reached a small room in which a single coffin was laid. He unscrewed the seal, produced his crank once more, and turned the lock.

Popping open the coffin greeted him with a body that looked much worse for wear. Atop the chest of Mr Gardet lay a small box, which Dinh promptly snatched, checking for any other valuables. After confirming that all he was buried with was the singular box, Dinh set to work sealing the casket up once more. When that was done, he produced his skeleton key and opened the little crate to find a spectacular red jewel, one which glimmered even in the limited light of his lantern. His eyes widened in wonder at the little treasure. He closed the box up, locked it, and waltzed out of the tomb, not bothering to re-erect the entrance slab.

In the moonlight, Sidian remained sitting atop his headstone, waiting patiently for Dinh to return. He came skipping back to the grave, holding the locked box in his hand.

“Oh, fantastic, my friend,” the cadaver called as the grave-collector approached..

“Yep, here you go!” Dinh remarked, holding out the box.

Sidian took it out of his hand and attempted to open it.

“It’s locked,” he said, suspiciously.

“Oh, sorry about that,” Dinh said, taking the box back and pulling out his key.

“I just need to make sure you aren’t trying to trick me, kid.”

“Don’t worry…” he assured him, turning the key in the lock and pulling it back out.

Sidian reached for the container, his eyes glimmering with anticipation and hunger. His facade of cool confidence began melting away, revealing an animalistic greed most people have the etiquette to hide. His cold, dead hands slowly lifted the top jaw of the box upwards, his eyes soaked in the sight of his achievement.

In life, Ellen Gardet had been his fierce rival in business. Their families extended back for generations into the local history; it was a common belief in both clans that their respective great-great-great-great grandfathers had stolen precious objects from the other. From the Gardets, a gold-headed scepter; from the Stonewalls, a radiant crimson jewel. His whole life, Sidian had been unable to reclaim the gemstone, and settled for taking the Gardet treasure to the grave. Now, in death, he had finally obtained what he so desired.

The box opened.

A yellow rubber ducky sat in its velvet folds.

“W-what-?” choked Sidian, what little soul he had left slowly dropping away. All his life, all his ambitions, squandered in this one moment. He was paralyzed with a falling heart.

Taking the opportunity, Dinh whipped around and delivered a swift roundhouse kick to the corpse’s chest, knocking him back into the grave.

“You-” the undead man shrieked, his words tipped with a stinging venom as he hit the padded bed of the casket below.

Dinh jumped down in pursuit, using his foot to kick the door of the coffin shut as he fell, trapping Sidian. Swiftly, he used the hand crank to seal the casket once again. He leaped back out and grabbed his shovel, piling dirt back on top of the coffin. From inside, the corpse banged furiously on the door, his fury not comparable by any man who has not yet been so close to the edge of life.

Within a few minutes’ time, the grave was covered up as it had been at the night’s birth, and the young grave-collector patted down the Earth into an even plane.

Sighing and wiping his brow, Dinh looked over at his newfound profits, the watch, rosary, scepter, and most of all the jewel.

“What a strange man,” he thought. “I wonder what could make someone like that…”

He turned back into the night and began his trek back to the world of the living.