Member-only story
FLASH FICTION
A Mansion, a Coffin
A story about digging graves
The mounds of dirt piled high as some of the tree tops, their dark-auburn mixed umber hues standing out like the bent knees of slumbering giants, in stark contrast to the greenery of the lawn, and the rustling leaves. The trucks continued to bring more in, a seemingly ceaseless caravan of removed earth, the wind stealing back what it could in brown tufts of dust.
Nearby, the mansion stood silent and still, as any building should, but shrouded in an air of strange solemnity, its large front windows bathed in reflections, but lifeless as the eyes of a corpse that needed a loving hand to close them. People in yellow hardhats walked to and fro, holding up
instruments to survey the site, rolling and unrolling large sheets of paper, amid the thundering roar of diesel engines and giant wheels kicking up shredded bits of grass for the breeze.
Troy Mallick listened to the chatter over the walkie, chewing on a mint-flavored toothpick, watching the preparations with a sense of awe-struck cynicism. He looked at the mansion, a building most people he knew would kill to live in, and he felt a cold hand stir the hairs on his neck. This was beyond the levels of human extravagance he had grown accustomed to. The
yellow strips of tape across the door…
