The Well

We found it when we were digging a well for the Briers. We weren't more than three feet down when my shovel hit something hard and brittle. We heard a snap. JP dropped to his knees and reached in like he was hauling up crab pots. He opened his hand and there was a human rib in it. He held it like you’d hold a robin’s egg. We looked at each other with eyes like cups. Down in the hole was a man. He'd been in there a long time, by the looks.

He was all bones. I said something about the police, and JP said this wasn’t exactly what you'd call an emergency situation. Man must have been dead twenty years. Mouth open to the world. All his spaces filled up with dirt. I could see all the bones of his wrist. Everything was still there. Except a couple ribs, courtesy of us.

We didn't know what to do. The Briers would be furious. Anything that slowed down work made them furious. A three-day rain last year had Mr. Brier yelling and cursing and calling us cowards. You can't explain that painting fences in the rain is a poor idea. So we made a big show, loading up cans of paint and brushes. We ended up sleeping in the truck, under the trees.

So this. This would send Brier over the edge. But how could we keep quiet about it? I thought maybe we could phone it in anonymously, but JP pointed out that no one but us would have been up there to find him. He was right. Brier be damned, we had to tell someone. He could still have his people waiting on him, watching windows and trying to hold back the clock.