The Tale of Wasper John

“How long are we gonna stay in this god forsaken cemetery?” Ron asked Max.

               “All night if we have to,” Max spit a thick was of tobacco out of his mouth. “We’re not leaving until we find John Morris’ stash.”

               “Are you sure it’s even here?” Ron seemed defeated already.

               “Look if you don’t want to help me dig then leave and I’ll keep the money,” Max was already tired of his nagging questions. He wouldn’t have even brought him if the money wasn’t buried in one of these graves.

John Morris was an old mining prospector who struck it big when he fell into a sinkhole that had huge veins of gold stretching for thousands of feet. He extracted all of it and bought himself a mansion in this forest. Many stories have arisen about his behavior after he found that shaft and built the mansion.

Tales of the Occult and midnight rituals. Some said he sacrificed goats and sometimes humans. What was know for sure was he had started a following, a cult, which lived in the mansion with him. After he died the cult all went away, but none of them took anything with them. All of his money was in gold bars and he had it buried with him when he died.

“What about the curse?” Ron seemed frightened.

“What of it?” Max laid his tools beside the gate into the cemetery.

“Well I don’t want to die. Especially the way the old man died,” Ron whispered as Max tore away the chains to the gate with his cutters.

“You actually believe that mumbo jumbo?” Max spat at Ron’s feet. 

“The curse says that Wasper John will claim the life of anyone who comes after his money. That he will kill them just like he was killed by them waspers,” Ron explained.

“How did he die?”

“Well it goes like this. John was up in the mountains with a few cult folk sacrificing some poor virgin. But she broke free and ran. They chased her up a tree where she looked around for some way to get out. She found a wasp nest and broke the branch with it on it. The nest fell and landed on John’s head. Waspers don’t even need a reason to sting you, let alone having a head break through their home. They say his head was so swollen that it was the size of the nest when they broke it off him.”

“Let me ask you something, how could a ghost kill someone with wasps? How many death curses have you had experience with?”

“I guess you’re right,” Ron still seemed scared. “Well where are we gonna start digging?”

               Ron had brought up the big question. Where would they begin? John wasn’t buried with any grave marker, and only the members of his cult were allowed at the funeral. Even though the yard they entered was labeled a cemetery, there was no markers and John was the only one buried in it. They might just be here all night. The place was huge.

               “I figure we start in the center and work our way out. We each dig a hole about six foot deep and repeat as necessary until we find it,” Max had planned this out like a game of Battleship.

               “Man we’re gonna be here forever. Why don’t we just rob a liquor store or something?”

               “This has less chance of us getting locked up. I also don’t know of any liquor stores that keep gold bars.”

               “How do we even know he is buried with it?” Ron was full of annoying questions tonight.

               “You heard that fella in the bar. He used to be part of the cult. He was buried with it because they think he is supposed to take it over to the other side and then bring even more back with him when he rises again,” Max recounted the tale he overheard at the bar. Some of the cultists were at the bar talking about it to each other.

               “What if one of the cult members already took it?”

               “You heard them, they believe all that shit about him coming back. They wouldn’t want to upset the dead bastard. Now dig,” Max handed Ron a shovel.

               Hours went by as the two dug a few holes roughly six feet deep and a few feet across. Ron was growing weary and it showed. He stopped to have a cigarette.

               “How do we explain the money?” he asked.

               “What do you mean?” Max understood the question but he wanted Ron to articulate. It was eerie at how quite things were and the talking seemed to help his nerves. Not that he believed in the curse, but he was curious if any cult members still came out here five years after John died.

               “Say we do get the gold, how do we explain the way we acquired the sudden wealth,” this was the first time Ron seemed almost optimistic about the whole idea.

               “We wouldn’t. We’d sell a bar or two in a pawn shop over in Willton to get the funds to move. We’re gonna get out of this shit town and start new lives in someplace like Wisconsin.”

               “Wisconsin?” Ron was puzzled.

               “Hell yeah Wisconsin,” Max dug his shovel into the soil. “Best cheese you could find. The temperature isn’t dog shit either. I’m tired of humidity. My ass is a bigger swamp then the one we’re in right now.”

               “Gross. I would like to try the cheese though. And isn’t Seattle in Wisconsin?”

               “Yeah, sure,” Max wasn’t listening, his shovel had struck something hard. “I think I found something man.” He dug his shovel down again and struck something solid.

               “Yeah? You find it?”

               “I don’t know. Come over here and help me. Whatever it is it’s big.”

               “You think his face will still be covered in wasper stings?” Ron asked morbidly.

               “It’s been five years, I don’t think he’ll have a face at all anymore.”

               They focused on digging, unearthing the giant box that lay buried beneath them. By the time the top was revealed they knew they had found it. It wasn’t an ordinary casket. The length was right but the sides were wider. It was made for a really fat man, two people, or a man with gold surrounding him.

               “Whose gonna open it?” Max asked, now suddenly aware of the curse. The casket was covered in runes and symbols of eldritch design.

               “This was your idea Max. You open it. Believe me now about the curse?”

               “No, just thought you wanted to show some balls for once. I’ll open the god damned thing.”

               “But those runes.”

               “Probably mean nothing,” Max explained. “Most cults just write shit they’ve seen on movies or tv. See that one at the top there? That was on Ghost Nabbers.” Max pointed at symbol he was sure he saw before, looking like a cross with an oval on the top.

               “That’s an Ankh,” Ron surprised him with his knowledge. “It’s Egyptian.”

               “See? The cult was full of shit,” he grasped the side of the lid and tugged. It wouldn’t budge. “The thing must be stuck, help me out.”

               “No way. I ain’t gonna be got by no curse.”

               “Just help me shit brain, or I’ll get the bigger cut.” Ron grasped the side and together they still couldn’t get it to budge.

               “Must be welded shut,” Ron said. “What’s that noise?”

               “I don’t hear anything,” Max listened closely.

               “It sounds like waspers.”

               “Now you’re being ridiculous. Ain’t no wasps around here,” Max began, but suddenly he thought he heard a mild buzzing. He shook his head and cleared his ears and the noise was gone. “Hand me the crowbar.”

               Ron proceeded out of the grave to get the crowbar. The sound of wasps had died down but Ron was watching over his shoulder. The crowbar wasn’t in the bag.

               “The crowbar isn’t in here,” Ron whispered down at Max.

               “Did you check the bag?”

               “Of course I checked the bag! Where else would it have been, in your ass?”

               “Alright alright,” Max got out of the grave, making his way to the bag. He rummaged around in it. “Not in the bag huh?” Max pulled out the crowbar with a smug smile.

               “But, I, it didn’t- it wasn’t,” Ron stammered, having swore he searched the whole bag.

               “Whatever. I’m definitely getting seventy five percent now,” Max jumped back down in the grave. Ron searched the bag again, unsure how he missed it.

               Max went to work with the bar, placing the hook under the lid and prying at it. Still wouldn’t budge. Frustrated, Max slammed the crowbar into the casket creating an indent. As the idea struck him Max yelled back to Ron.

               “Hand me the axe.”

               “You got it,” the axe was lowered down to Max. Taking the handle Max hoisted it over his head and brought it down hard on the lid. A loud whack echoed throughout the cemetery followed by another. The lid was chipping away with each lick when suddenly the axe struck metal.

               “What kind of casket is this?” Max lamented as his efforts were continually thwarted. “Ron, hand me the dynamite.”

               “Really? Isn’t that extreme?”

               “Yes. But this fucking coffin isn’t what I’d call normal. The inside is lined in steel,” he swung the axe down again, barely making a dent.

               “Here you go,” Ron handed him the sticks of dynamite. Max only needed one, he wanted to blow the lid off, not the coffin to pieces. He lay a stick down and set the wick at a couple inches to give him time to get out. He struck a match, it went out. Then another. There was no wind down here.

               “Have a zippo? These matches keep blowing out,” he tossed the matchbook away.

               “Yeah I always got one,” Ron handed him his lighter, a stainless steel zippo with an engraving of a cross. Max brought up the zippo to the fuse and lit it, sparking up as Max hurriedly scrambled out of the grave. Ron and Max back far from the grave and waited for the boom. It seemed like forever as they waited, but no explosion occurred.

               “What the hell?” Max slowly crept toward the grave, as he inched closer to the edge he couldn’t hear the fuse. Looking over into the grave he could see the dynamite was laying there bereft of a spark. The fuse was now only a nub. Max climbed down to inspect it and suddenly the fuse lit itself. Ron was there by then and was able to pull Max out of the grave in time before the whole damn thing blew up.

               “Jesus Christ that was close,” Max yelled as the debris flew down over their bodies splayed out on the ground.

               “Ever seen dynamite do that before?” Ron asked seriously. “It’s the curse.”

               “That’s no curse, just bad dynamite,” Max brushed himself off and stood himself up. “Besides, wasn’t the curse supposed to kill us with wasps?”

               Max walked over to the grave and smiled. The casket was blown apart, Max couldn’t see everything in it but he saw something glinting in the lamplight. He leaped into the hole and began removing the rest of the debris. Ron got down to help him when he let out a scream.

               “What? What is it?” Max asked as Ron tore the dirt walls, trying to crawl out of the grave. Looking down at what Ron saw his heart skipped and his instinct told him to jump out of his skin. Sitting amidst the gold bars wasn’t a body, nor bones or dust. It was a wasp nest.

               “It’s a fucking wasper nest Max,” Ron’s tears could be heard as he got himself up out of the hole.

               “Ron,” Max gathered himself. “Ron, calm down. The nest is empty.”

               “The hell it is I heard the buzzing,” he was further away from the sound of his voice. Max took a shovel and poked the brown wad of chewed wood that was once a wasp nest. “Seriously it’s empty.” Max grabbed the bulbous object and held it over his head.

               “Why the hell isn’t there a body?” Ron cautiously walked back.

               “Who cares? The gold’s here man. Look!” he dropped the nest and turned back to look at the glorious riches. There must have been at least fifty bars stuffed in the coffin. “Grab the bag Ron.”

               Ron handed Max the bag and he began stuffing it with the gold bars. Each one was heavy, denoting their value. This was the best thing to happen to Max in his life.

               “Uh Max,” Ron called to Max who was too busy taking the gold to hear him. “Max?” he spoke louder until he had to shout, “MAX!”  

               “What? What is it? Get down here and help me,” he turned to see the color draining from Ron’s face.

               “Wa-wa-wasps,” he gasped pointing at the nest. To Max’s horror there was now a dozen wasps covering the nest. Max backed away as the nest began to bounce. A thick ichor started to pour out of the bottom, a black ooze that formed a puddle. The puddle began to grow and take shape, even more wasps were crawling on the nest now. Max was transfixed with the site before him.

               More and more the ooze took shape, lifting the nest off the ground. It seemed like the mass was growing legs, as two supports were created for the nest that was now more wasp than nest. Max broke his gaze and began climbing up out of the shaft. Ron was already running out of the cemetery in horror struck panic. Max couldn’t resist the urge to turn and look again.

               The nest was now affixed atop a humanoid shape, including arms and legs. The shape had no clothes but was pitch black showing no detail. The wasps crawled up and down the body as the form lurched forward. Not fully complete, the movement was slow and methodical. Max’s mind reeled in horror as he ran to catch up with Ron.

               They cleared the swamp and got back to Max’s truck. Hopping in Max turned on the truck, his headlights came on revealing a fully dressed man standing in front of the truck, with a wasp nest for a head. Max floored it, running over the monster as the tore out of the swamp as fast as they could.

               Peeling out onto a main road the two managed to collect their thoughts. Ron was the first to speak.

               “Fuck that was Wasper John. Fuck fuck fuck we are so screwed man.”

               “I ran over him, there’s no way he could catch up to us. Fuck, he’s real?” Max looked in the rear view to see if he was following. Nothing. He breathed heavy.

               They got all the way back to Max’s trailer, the sun was beginning to rise and their fear was slowly creeping away. Something about sunlight made on feel safe. Unlocking his door the pair made their way into the trailer. Ron made his way to the fridge to get a beer.

               “Hey Max want a beer?”

               “No, get me two.”

               Ron opened the fridge door and grabbed the beers. When he turned back to Max he dropped the beers. Max was laying on his couch, sprawled out and not moving. The closer Ron got he could see the vacant look in Max’s eyes. Upon reaching him Ron saw the wasp crawling out of Max’s mouth. Ron turned to run, Wasper John was standing behind him, making Ron scream. Thinking quick Ron dodged the grasp of John and ran to the entertainment center where Max kept his prize baseball bat signed by Mark McGuire.

               As Ron turned back Wasper John was gone. Looking around Ron tried to leave the house but as he opened the door Ron saw thousands of wasps on the glass of the storm door. He tried the windows but they were all covered too. Ron was freaking out, swinging the bat wildly at a few wasps that made their way into the house. No sign of Wasper John.

               Ron went to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. Opening it he placed a rag inside, he had a surprise for Wasper John. The buzzing now was intense, he heard it everywhere. Ron was going to make a break for it, just run through the door and out to safety when Wasper John made his appearance. A mass of wasps clumped together in front of the door to assemble the monster. Ron lit the bottle and threw it at John.

               The creature lit up, he thought he heard it screaming. The nest started to tear away, revealing the head underneath. It wasn’t the face of a man, but that of a wasp. It’s mandibles were as big as chef knives. Wasper John made his way to Ron, who was swinging the bat as he approached. The bat caught John in the side of his wasp head, knocking the flaming figure back. Ron took another swing when John grabbed the bat and pulled Ron in towards him. Ron caught on fire as John sunk his mandibles into his neck.

               When the fire department showed up there was nothing left of the trailer. No bodies were discovered. No one ever heard from Ron and Mark, but there was stories. Some people heard the commotion that morning when the trailer caught fire. Everyone who watched heard the terrible buzzing and the screams from inside. Everyone knew what had happened. Now no one enters that swamp anymore. For at night you can hear the wasps if you listen, and if you get close enough to where two grave robbers woke up Wasper John; you might just hear the screams too.