Ashley Winslow was the perfect daughter. She had perfect grades, played on the high school soccer team, dated the quarter back of the football team, was the homecoming and prom queen, and was a beautiful blond. She eventually moved onto law school, married her college sweetheart, had a couple of kids, and came home each Christmas to spend time with the family. Mister and Misses Winslow were so proud of her; she was the first and only Winslow to go to university. She had a perfect life, a perfect family, and a dull story. This is not about Ashley’s perfectly dull life. No, this is about her brother, Orvall.

Orvall, the short kid with the straight red hair and coke bottle glasses, never cared for school. He put his time in and graduated with average marks. Sports did not agree with his short, stocky build and the balls seemed to gravitate towards his freckled face. He had had a thing for Becky Marks, the cute brunette from down the street. She was more beautiful than anything he had ever seen, but he never talked to her. He never got marriage, the stork never showed up with his own little bundle of “joy”, and every Christmas he had to put up with Ashley’s screaming bundles of “joy” instead. His parents had given up on him the moment he slid into this world. He was named after the male nurse who had fainted in the delivery room, well that’s what his mother told him one night anyway. She meant it as a lighthearted joke, but Orvall knew better. Misses Winslow had her tubes tide when he was just five months old. I suppose she did that to prevent another Orvall from showing up.

Unknown to the Winslow family, Orvall had found his calling. He learned that he was one hell of a grave digger. Not the kind who digs the holes for the over-priced caskets. No, he was the kind who would sneak into the cemetery at night and dig up those over-priced caskets. Orvall was damn good at it too. That was until the night he got overconfident and sloppy.

“Marshal Parkway,” Orvall whispered to himself, as he knelt down to see the dates etched in the dull granite tombstone; 1850-1933. “Too old,” Orvall said as he moved past the modest tomb stone and deeper into the Kingsland cemetery. He had learned that if they were buried in the 30’s, the coffins he would dig up would be bland and cheap. The depression had hit everyone hard, and the body inside wouldn’t have anything worth taking. Families kept the good stuff Orvall reasoned, and why not? It’s not like a body six feet under needs anything. Opening those coffins was like opening that Christmas gift you saw stuffed away in your parent’s closet. Sure, you still wanted it, but you knew what’s in it, and the surprise was gone.  He loved the surprise.

He quickly learned that the expensive boxes held expensive people, and expensive people had expenses stuff. Jewels, watches, even cash the odd time. In fact, a little over a year ago eighty-year-old James Henry Mallwik had footed the bill for Orvall’s new shovel.

“Are you sure Mr. Mallwik?” Orvall had asked as he fumbled around in the dull moonlight, coming across a couple hundred-dollar bills. “Well, that’s right decent of you,” Orvall said as he folded the bills and stuffed them in his pocket.

“Hello there Jane Maryway,” Orvall said, admiring the Italian marble tombstone he had spotted as he moved deeper and deeper into the cemetery. “What brings a young girl like you out on a night like this?” The sixty-year-old had only been in the ground two years, and the quality of her headstone told Orvall she more than likely had some good stuff down there. “Would you do me the honour, no, the privilege of joining me for a night out on the town?” Orvall thought this is what going on a date must have felt like. The excitement and the danger all rolled into the moment as your heart races, and you try to still your shaking hands as you took her by the hand. It was the perfect summer’s night for both a date, and grave robbing. Summer was the best time to going digging anyway.

Orvall’s first dig had been on October 14th, 1973. He had been fifteen at the time and thought that leading up to Halloween was the perfect time to dig up the dead. The crunching of leaves as he wandered through the graveyard had caused too much noise, and he had found that people like to hang around graveyards during fall. Freaks, he had thought as he wandered far enough away so none of them would see him and his father’s old shovel.

That winter, Orvall had learned that it was no good to dig then either. Once you dug through the snow (which required a snow shovel), you had to try and force your way through the frozen ground (which required a regular garden shovel). Not only was it awkward to bring two shovels of varying size and weight with you, it was just too much work. Orvall never got more than an inch or two into the ground after shovelling the snow for ten minutes before he was too tired to keep digging.

Digging in the spring was just a muddy mess. Mud was heavy, and the hole never stayed open for long. For ever pound of mud you threw out, two pounds would slide back in. After a year of trial and error, Orvall had found that summer was the best time to have a night out.

Orvall never heard the distance slam of a car door as he worked away toward his date, and he never saw the faint red and blue flashes scattering the night like crows through the old elms. His vision had tunnelled, and there was no turning back. Orvall knew he was getting close, he was sure he could make out the white casket under the remaining dirt; the prize was almost his. Orvall hoped that Ms. Maryway had a white gold necklace for him. His mother’s birthday was coming up, and he wanted a necklace to match the earrings he had dug up a couple weeks ago. He did most of his gift shopping this way. The pocket watch he had got his father for Christmas a few years back had come from a gentleman named Jerry Marks, and the large gold hoop earrings he had given his sister a couple of weeks ago, for her thirtieth birthday, where from ninety-four-year-old Matilda White.

“Get out of the hole,” a distorted voice echoed through the night. “Put your hands up and get out of the hole!” The police had been looking for Orvall for a while now. Cemetery after cemetery had been desecrated by his digging, and they finally had him. “I said get out of the damn hole!”

Orvall stuck his head out slightly, hoping that he would be able to make out how many of them had come to get him. The officer talking through the megaphone was a tall and lanky fellow with an awesome handlebar moustache. The only other officer with Handlebar was a squat, pudgy woman who was wearing far too much blue eye shadow. Hell, Orvall was able to see how much she had on from down in his hole in the dead of the night. He would be able to lose them, his ego thought, well at least the fat one. Got to make them think I’m going to cooperate, Orvall thought with a grin.

“Okay,” Orvall called out. “I’m coming out.” It was always a hassle to get out of the hole, and his lack of height and athletic ability did nothing but add to this problem.

“Drop the weapon!” Officer Handlebar yelled once he saw the shovel in Orvall’s hands. “Drop the weapon!”

“Okay,” Orvall threw the shovel into the hole. “I dropped the weapon.”

“Step forward, slowly, that’s the way.” Orvall did as he was told. He felt like he was walking through water, and right when he was about to be grabbed by Eye Shadow, he threw his legs into high gear and ran into the night. “Damn it! Why do they always have to do it the hard way?” Handlebar asked, Eye Shadow just shrugged her fat shoulders. She asked if they should go after him. Handlebar said that they should indeed go after him, and they headed into the cemetery.

Orvall ran as fast as his legs could carry him. This was the only moment in his life that he ever wished he was more like his sister. She would have been able to run forever, and make it to safety, but he didn’t have that option. He had to find somewhere to hide so he could rest his screaming legs and let his lungs cool off. The hedge not far ahead of him looked like as good as any other place.

The thorns and broken sticks cut his arms, his legs, his face, and any other exposed piece of flesh as he threw himself into the bush. He could hear the footsteps of Handlebar and Eye Shadow coming closer, their boots tromping through the soft summer grass and their flashlights pushing away the darkness. He madly scrambled as deep as the bush would let him and hoped that it was enough.

“The hell did he go?” Handlebar asked aloud. “There is no way that fat little shit got away.” Eye Shadow just shrugged her shoulders; she didn’t care where he was. She actually wanted him to get away, because if he got away, she could avoid all the paperwork that would be involved if they did catch him. “Officer Mallory, search quadrant two.”

“Quadrant two, sir?” Eye Shadow asked out of habit.

“Yes.” Handlebar kept shinning his flashlight all around him, his eyes scanning the thorny hedge.

“Where is quadrant two exactly, sir?”

“Over there,” Handlebar pointed with a heavy sigh, “from that big elm over there, to about that gate over there.”

“Yes sir.” Eye Shadow rolled her tiny eyes in her massive head and sulked off to quadrant two. Orvall heard all of this from his bush, holding his breath the whole time. He had got as low as he could and hoped that they wouldn’t find him. Handlebar walked toward the hedge, He knows I’m here, popped Orvall’s brain. Sweat slid down his face, as he realized his doom was close at hand.

“I know you’re around here you little shit. Just come out, and I’ll forget this little stunt of yours. Hell, I might even throw a good word in for you to the judge. Not that it will help though.” Handlebar skimmed the area with his flashlight, saying that last bit under his breath. “If you are who we think you are, then I doubt anything I’ll say can help you at all. You’ve made quite the name for yourself with your little business of grave robbing,” Handlebar mumbled to what he thought was the empty night. Orvall knew he was caught, but he kept still. If they did find him, they were going to have to pull him out on their own. There is no way he is going to turn himself over to the police.

“But I guess that’s how life goes. I’m guessing mommy and daddy didn’t love you enough or some shit; not enough hugs and what not. Well guess what sunshine, that’s life.” Officer Handlebar lowered his light, “it’s not all sunshine and rainbows. It’s about working hard”. Handlebar was at a loss for what to do next. He could try and keep talking, maybe convince him to come out, or he could accept that he got away.  Unknown to Handlebar, he had stopped mere inches from Orvall’s face. They were so close that Orvall could smell the fake leather of police issue boots. “Lost him,” Orvall heard the officer say under his breath, “shit.” Orvall waited in the bush as Handlebar called to Eye Shadow that the little shit had got away. “God damn it,” Handlebar said as he holstered his flashlight. “Oh well, it’s just a matter of time before he hits another graveyard. We’ll get him then.”

Orvall stayed in the bush until he could no longer hear the heavy boots of the officers. And for good measure, he did not dare move until he heard the police car drive away. It took Orvall a good couple of minutes of struggling, and aggravation before he was able to crawl free to safety. He chuckled to himself as he brushed the dirt and debris off his clothes. Orvall had not felt like that in a long time. He had not felt that alive in a long time. It was such a rush running from them: running from the law. “This is what being high on life feels like eh?” A sly smile slid across his face, “I like it”.