Swimming Pool

Swimming Pool

The cold was setting in as the sun fell behind the tree line of my backyard. The house my Grandfather left me was among the first built in this little mountain town of Cherryville. I loved it -- a mineworker’s community in the middle of a rainforest, strategically located with access to the network of logging roads and gold mines. We had been digging all day and around six Marcie brought out a fresh pot of tea for us to warm up. I took a few sips and pulled my gardening gloves back on, stepping down into the pit we had dug over the past few days. This is the site of our new swimming pool, hopefully, by next Spring. I picked up the shovel and started back at it, pulling out as much soil and rock as possible. Marcie joined in beside me and we got a great rhythm going to complete our last push before dark. I hoped we’d get to a depth of nine feet before hitting bedrock, but I’d have been happy with seven. We were about six feet down at the would-be deep end when Marcie’s shovel struck something solid. It didn’t sound like rock, it was more of a tinny, metallic sound. We dropped our shovels and crouched down to investigate, pulling away the compact dirt and clay with our hands. The smell of damp decay and soil permeated the air. The metal box was dark green.

“What the –”

“It’ a box. It’s like an old military ammo box!” Marcie said, tugging on its handle.

“Let me help, here!” I used all my strength to wiggle it free as she pulled.

With a final heave using her legs for leverage, the box released from its tomb, sending Marcie flying onto her back. It was caked in dirt, rusted and carried some weight. As the wind picked up, knocking over the deck chairs and table, smashing the teapot on the deck, I reached out to help Marcie up. When she stood, she looked different. She seemed younger, revitalized… more energetic. I thought she’d be angry.

“Let’s take it inside and see what… whatever it is!” She smiled.

“Yeah. Ok, yes, but let’s clean it up a bit more first.” I said and we did.

We brought it in and put it on the Kitchen island. The words struck me right in my gut as I read it. In stencilled paint, it read ‘RCME Tactical Kit’. Stepping well away from it and as Marcie reached to open the hinged lid, I grabbed her hand and pulled her toward me.

“Ow! What’s wrong?” She slapped me on the shoulder with her free hand.

“We don’t know what’s in there. Could be explosives, or some crazy biological shit.”

“Oh. Damn. You might be right.” She pulled her arm away from my grip.

“We should probably call the bomb squad,” I suggested.

“Really? The bomb-squad? You mean Jeff from Arlington’s Mine?”

She was right. There is no bomb squad here. Jeff was the only dynamite handler we could name and he lived in a trailer just ten minutes away.

“Well, ya. Should we call him over?” I suggested, warily.

“Let’s call him, but he might be drunk already.”

“Call. I’ll put the box back in the yard.” I said and Marcie nodded.

I stepped toward it, then carefully lifted the handle and put my other hand beneath it. I carried it like it was a sleeping baby, but it made me feel nauseated. I set it down outside, gingerly. Marcie couldn’t take her eyes off it. She laid down her phone.

“Fuck it. Let’s just open it up.”

“This is not how I picture us dying.” I said, “No Jeff?”

“Quit being a wimp – This could be an artifact. It could be worth money!”

“Aghhh.. Okay, but let’s – we have to be careful.” I relented.

Marcie walked over to where we had sheets of plywood stacked against the wall, under our bedroom window. She dragged one over and leaned it, giving me an inquisitive stare. I went to the pile and dragged a second board over, placing it against hers.

“Cool?” She asked.

“I’m not going to open it. I’ll hold the boards. Finders’ keepers, I guess.”

“Okay! I’m going to pop it open.” She said, picking up a discarded hand-shovel.

I braced the two boards, on the ready as she approached our discovered relic.

I could hear her prying what sounded like metal clasps popping loose. I heard a strange hissing as though decades of trapped air was escaping.

“Bang!” Marcie screamed.

I jumped, nearly dropping the plywood onto her. “Don’t!”

As she laughed, her cell phone rang, startling me again. It had to be Jeff.

“Ya. Uhuh. No, it’s real military stuff. I’m about to open….” She put him on speaker.

“Do NOT open that box.” Jeff yelled through the phone.

“I’ll be there in ten.” He said and hung up.

“Uh, Marce… I think we should listen to…” I ducked. She was going to open it.

A few seconds of worry passed when I heard the screaming.

“Whoah! Dude!” Marcie’s voice trembled and pitched like I’d never heard. When I saw her face, I dropped the boards. She jumped out of the way of the falling plywood, picked up the metal case with both hands and marched back into the kitchen.

I was right behind her to see her lay it down and proceed to remove stacks and stacks of wrapped paper money. Cash. Lots of it. I couldn’t believe my eyes. There had to be thousands.

“Holy!” I said, grinning.

“Finder’s Keeper’s, right?” She laughed. I was dumbfounded. It has to be my grandfather’s stash. He couldn’t have intended for anyone to find it. The wind blew stronger outside, rattling our windows. Between the crumbs and placemats and the dirty cups on the table, we were looking at about two hundred and forty thousand dollars in old, out-of-print cash. The stink of it was consuming the tiny kitchen as Marcie started to bag it all up. She ran it over to our linen closet while I closed up the canister and sat down. A beautiful moth fluttered into the light fixture and cooked itself dead on the bulb. I was shivering badly, but it was warm inside.

The knock on the door was loud and urgent. Jeff’s voice boomed.

“Hey, I’m here! You guys okay?”

We didn’t move. We waited. He pounded at the door, knocked on all our windows, yelling.

“Hey! It’s Jeff!” He kept circling the house. Presumably investigating.

Marcie came to the back door and opened it for him. I shuffled in my seat, eyeing the metal box. I brushed it off a little more. I closed it and clasped the latches down. That was the first time I heard my grandfather’s voice since I was about ten years old. It was grainy and weak, like the last time I heard him speak.

“Bury me once, get ahead. Bury me twice and thrive instead.”

His voice was so clear and tangible. I took it to heart. Did he bury this money for me? I waited for Jeff to go back to the front door and threw the money-can back into the swimming pool pit. Marcie answered the front door and brought Jeff inside. He’s a towering giant compared to me. A wealth of explosive knowledge I could only pretend to be savvy with. I know Marcie likes him. I know Jeff likes Marcie. A guy can just feel that from far away and it really doesn’t matter if they talk about it. It’s just natural human business. It’s nonnegotiable.

Jeff stepped into the kitchen, his boots shedding soil at every step.

“So… where’s the bomb?” He asked, lifting up my tipped-over chair.

“False alarm, I guess. Marcie was worried about the storm.” I said.

Marcie came back into the kitchen with the bag full of money and plopped it down on the table in front of Jeffy.

I sat, grinding my molars, looking away.

“Oh my god!” He opened the bag, thumbing through the thousands.

“I guess we have to split it, yeah?” I smiled.

Marcie walked quietly behind him, grabbing our sharpest butcher knife from the block. I tried to signal to her a definite NO. I lead Jeff outside to show him the pit we found it in. Marcie hid the knife with a twist of her wrist.

“That’s the pit we found it in.”

“Okay. What is IT?”

“The time capsule my grandfather left.”

“Oh. Let me see it.”

“It’s not the best time right now,” I said, turning to stop Marcie from jabbing Jeff in the back of his neck. I stood between them, so Jeff wouldn’t see his potential attacker. In a glimpse of light, Jeff saw the metal box painted in dull forest green. He stepped down into the pit. Marcie’s eyes lit like a temporal storm, she put the knife down and walked into the pit beside him. Jeff kicked at the canister lightly.

“Feels full,” He said.

Marcie looked at me like she’d seen a ghost or something worse.

They reached out the can and brought it back to the deck. I felt a scream that shocked me deep in my soul. The skies were actively angry so I swung open the back door, went inside and locked it up behind me. I watched through the screen. They screamed. They cheered. Another two hundred thousand dollars in old cash. I ran to the closet to check, and yes, we still had the first pile of money. It was real. It was a lot of money. I hid it under our bed.

“This is fortunate!” Jeff stood, laughing as Marcie stabbed him repeatedly with a broken screwdriver. She pushed him into the pit and kicked the better part of a pile of loose dirt onto him. She came running back into the house with another serious stack of money. I thought she’d lost her mind. More likely, I had lost my own. Either way, there was another stack of money on the table. Marcie was panting, grinning ear-to-ear.

“We did it!” She said.

“What do you mean? We?

“We’re rich… the box. It’s… it’s alive!”

“Ok. Is Jeff?

“Don’t judge me, Lenny.” She said.

Lenny was my grandfather’s name. I’m Trey. Now Marcie isn’t Marcie anymore.

“Throw the can back into the pit!” I scolded. She did and fell to the floor, weeping.

She glared at the oven. The grease on top lit up in violent flame. She walked toward the linen closet, swung open the door and screeched like an ancient chest hinge. Her bones crumpled, popping and crackling as she dragged her body around, fingernails as an anchor in the hardwood. I watched and followed as she searched the house. Only stench remained where the money once was. I left her to check the pit again.

The rain was heavier, and the wind ridiculous. I could see the metal box tilting in the pit. I stepped down and in, to check it one last time before the night turned into something worse. Jeff was laying there, face-down, partially buried. His hand was outstretched a few inches from the box. I kicked at his foot, then his knee. No movement.

I guess the shoulder roll was unnecessary to get past him, but when I picked up the box, I could tell it was full again. I slid and slipped out of the dirty hole and brought it to the light of the kitchen table. Another several piles of old stinking cash were in there. I could hear Marcie, scraping along the floor. She whispered in whisps of dark smoke, but I couldn’t see her. The doors were banging and slamming from the wind. I bagged up the money again and threw the can back into the would-be swimming pool. Forks of lightning stabbed across the winter sky and the driveling whispers of my demented grandfather pierced my brain.

“Are you okay?” Marcie asked, hovering behind me in a nightdress soaked with blood.

I fled, freaked out. I sprinted away, through the back door, dodging everything. I jumped into the pit, landing haphazardly on the metal box. It was full again. I picked it up and ran into the woods. I watched the house as lightning licked down at it, and shadows enclosed my way. Taking a moment to breathe and relax, I opened the box. The money felt wet. Pulling out my hand, it dribbled blood. I threw the money down. When I raised my head again and opened my eyes, Jeff was standing there, smiling, bloodied and filthy.

“You need a hand?” He asked as he dropped a severed one in front of me. Plop. I had to hold up my fists in caution and self-defence. But there was nobody there. The Sun was creeping up over the tree line and I could see, for the first time in over a decade. I marched all the way back to my grandfather’s house. The place was still. The pit where the pool will go was empty. Birds were chirping and squirrels were climbing amongst the trees. No one died here. There was no Marcie. No Jeff. Was there ever a me? If I never find out, I’ll still be laughing. Grandpa left me a gift that ends in turmoil only once a night.

I still bury the can every few weeks, and like clockwork, it comes back filled with money. I’ll keep staying here - not because I want endless riches or violent nightmares. I have to stay here to make sure nobody else ever sets foot on this property.