A Knock at the Door

A Knock at the Door

By Richard Strack

The man she buried is back. He’s knocking on the door late at night and he’s covered in dirt.

“I want to get that new murder mystery book to read in my grave,” said the dead man with a laugh to his wife.

He “died” five days ago after falling off the roof of their Iowa farm house while he was replacing a few old shingles.

His wife, Sheila of 14 years was the beneficiary of a life insurance policy worth three million dollars. Following his so - called death, the company had done their due diligence with a customary investigation to confirm there was no foul play before they would authorize payment.

But they missed a few details.

They didn’t know that she buried Rick in the backyard plot with a breathing tube planted six feet into the soil. They never knew she and Rick had installed a wooden door underground covered by a blanket of stones above the grave that she opened late at night to give him food, water and a book he could read by flashlight. They decided it was best that Rick stay in the grave until the check came in case someone might see him alive on the property.

The company had never considered that the coroner who signed the fake death certificate confirming Rick died from head trauma was their friend and that when the check arrived, the three of them would hop a plane to Costa Rica and live there happily ever after.

The plan was perfect except for one thing. Rick was unaware that Sheila and Jack the coroner had been having a torrid affair with carefully orchestrated rendezvous in the barn whenever Rick drove to town for horse feed, tractor parts, and miscellaneous supplies.

While he lay buried in the cold crypt of wet dirt weathered by downpours of Iowan summer rains, Rick dreamt of warm Caribbean breezes and sipping pina coladas on the beach with his wife and his friend and living a life of luxury in a country where the American dollar stretched a long way.

Above the ground, Sheila and Jack waited eagerly to escape Iowa. The check had arrived that day and once Jack removed the tube from the grave, Rick would suffer a “second death,” this one by suffocation.

That night, the breathing tube suddenly provided Jack with another purpose as he lay asleep inside Mother Nature’s womb. He was awakened by what sounded like muffled voices coming from the nearby barn. He lifted his head to get a better listen.

“I transferred the money to an account in Costa Rica,” said what he was able to identify as Sheila’s voice. “There will be no suspicion whatsoever because a lot of Americans living during the winters in Costa Rica set up accounts there.”

“The man who bought my house moves in tomorrow,” said a voice Rick recognized as belonging to Jack. “I have no family and I left notice that I am retiring from my coroner’s job and moving to Canada.”

“We leave at 10 am tomorrow,” said Sheila. “I have the plane tickets and I put a down payment on a beautiful villa with ocean views from every room.”

“So, crime really does pay,”,” said Jack with a chuckle.

The next sound from the barn that Rick heard were moans coming from his wife’s mouth. Enraged and fueled by a monstrous rush of adrenalin, he began to dig himself out.

Yes, the man she buried is back and knocking.

“Who could that be at this hour?” Jack asked Sheila from inside the kitchen of the farmhouse.

“Oh, it’s probably the kid next door,” she said, “I told him to come by late tonight to pay him for taking care of the animals until the bank forecloses the house and they will be sold at auction.”

“My goodness,” said jack. “You did think of everything, didn’t you?”

“There’s just one thing left to do,” she said,” and that’s to pull the breathing tube out of the grave.”

Another knock and Sheila opened the door.

“Oh my God!” she screamed. Standing there was Rick, covered from head to toe in wet dirt, his eyes glaring and his face scowling. He thrust his hands to push the door open wider and he charged inside like a raging bull.

“You bitch!” he shouted. “How dare you!”

Jack appeared from behind Sheila holding a gun.

“Shoot him!” Sheila screamed. “He’s already dead! No one will suspect anything.”

Jack pulled the trigger and dropped the gun. Rick collapsed to the floor.

“See if he’s dead!” Sheila demanded. As he bent over Rick’s body, another shot was fired. Jack winced as he reached his arm around his back. The very last thing he saw was Sheila holding the smoking gun.

Ten minutes later, Sheila rolled Rick back into his grave and on top of him, she pushed Jack’s corpse into the hole. She shoveled the dirt back and pulled out the breathing tube.

Three days later, Sheila took her last sip of a Margarita as the sun rose at high noon over the ocean on the beach in Costa Rica. What a lovely day it had been so far. She returned to her villa and at about 2pm, there was a knock on the door.

“Oh my God!” she shouted. Standing there was Rick dressed in a tropical shirt and khaki shorts. He pushed his way inside and pulled out a gun.

“Hi honey,” he said calmly. “I bet I’m the last person you’d ever think you’d see again.”

“How did you…” her words quivered off of her tongue.

“You might be a smart woman, but you have a short- term memory problem. The gun Jack shot me with had two bullets I had placed into the chamber. The first was a blank. Remember I told you that was to scare away the foxes from our chicken coop? The fake bullet stunned me so bad I thought I was about to die. You didn’t realize I still had a faint pulse. The second bullet was real just in case I had to shoot a fox that was attacking the chickens. Of course, it killed Jack and that bastard deserves to be in the grave you dumped us in. When you left, I regained my strength and dug myself out again.”

Rick smiled. “Now I have no problem killing you for what you did to me,” but I’m not too keen about getting caught and going to prison. So, here’s the deal I put together so you, my love, can still get away with murder. I have arranged for a driver to be here in ten minutes. He will take you to the bank and you will transfer the three million dollars to a new account under my name that I have set up. The driver will then take you to the airport to get the ticket I left for you that will fly you back to Iowa.

“You remember the kid next door that you paid to feed the animals? Well, the boy came to the barn one afternoon to ask to borrow a chain saw and he overheard us talking about our plan to fake my death and steal the insurance money. He told his dad who then told me he’d tell the police unless I paid him 50 grand. I had to borrow the money against the house to keep his mouth shut, but then I told him that if the plan worked, I’d sweeten the deal and pay him another 150 grand to buy the farm. I kept this a secret from you because I was afraid you might back out of the plan.”

I will send that money to him tomorrow. He expects you back tonight to sign the property over to him.”

Rick let out a big belly laugh. “How’s that for a smart plan? An insurance policy for an insurance policy!”

Sheila packed her suitcase. Her ride arrived and as she walked toward the car, Rick shouted, “I’ll be drinking pina coladas tomorrow on the beach!”