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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2172836
Rated: E · Short Story · Horror/Scary · #2172836
A GRAVE THAT WOULDN'T STAY FILLED.
BoBo Gets a Home

A GRAVE THAT WOULDN'T STAY FILLED.
"C'mon Bobo, you gotta get moving. You're gonna be late."

BoBo stood leaning against the bathroom counter. His six foot tall, three hundred pound frame consumed the mirror's reflection. Not yet dressed for the day, his massive forest of chest hairs stood erect from the chill in the air. His biceps were in the flexed position, set for his personal adoration as the morning portion of his routine. BoBo's jet black hair had been slicked back and his jaw freshly shaven with a dust broom of a mustache the only remnant of facial hair. The clock on the shelf, currently being ignored by BoBo, read seven-o- two. His regimen was never to be interrupted by the mere nuisance of a job calling.

Betty hollered through the door yet again. "BoBo, you can't lose another job. Please hurry and I have to get in there too," she said with her aggravation causing her voice to quiver.

BoBo arched his brows at the man in the mirror and mouthed the words, "Hurry, honey!" in dramatic fashion. He was instantly reminded of their sex-life with Betty's lackadaisical enthusiasm. BoBo figured that he deserved better, better sex, a better job, a better life, and anything better than Betty. He finished his morning ritual by polishing his teeth to a glossy finish recommended by four out of five dentists.

He brushed by Betty in his escape from the bathroom hoping to avoid her further nagging. Instead, he ran directly into the woman and almost bowled her over like a ten pin with his massive size.

"BoBo, be careful! Eww, you're all oily," Betty screamed

"Yep, baby oil. Gotta keep the bricks oiled," he said, as he flexed and posed.

"Just gag me! When are you going to grow up? Never mind just go to work. I've got to get moving," Betty said rolling her eyes in exasperation.

"What do you have going today?"

"Showing a property on North Shore Drive at nine."

"The one by the lake?'

"Yes, why?' she said momentarily curious because BoBo had never shown the slightest interest in her job.

"Oh nothing, just always thought that was a beautiful place. Lots of acreage and green grass. I could see us living there," he said, setting himself up for criticism without even knowing. BoBo was focused on other thoughts.

"If you could keep a job longer than a month, we might be able to afford a place like that someday."

"Yeah, you're right. Gotta go."

He traveled down to the bedroom and dressed quickly, oddly choosing to forego his final mirror primping. For once, BoBo was excited to get where he was going.

"Love ya, see you later," he hollered as he ran out the door. BoBo was out of the house before Betty had finished her morning routine.

He crawled into his tan Honda Accord looking like a lemon squeezed into a blender. Today, he ignored his anger at being forced to drive the tiny vehicle. Betty just didn't understand the needs of a man. He had tried to explain it to her once that if she treated him like a man, he could be the man that she needed. She had turned it into an hour-long lecture of why he needed to show more effort. BoBo felt like a very large clown in a very tiny car and it irked him. He pointed his small car with the oversized man towards North Shore Drive.

When he arrived at the property, he let himself in through the window. With him, he carried a shovel garnered from the trunk of his Accord. He searched each room to decide the best place to carry out his deed. He had chosen the burial spot on his way in the house, thinking Betty at least deserved a lakeside plot. He waited in the dark for his loving shrew to arrive.

Betty pulled into the driveway at eight thirty, as she believed a good realtor was always prepared. She sat in her car, a silver Lexus, for a moment admiring the house and the beautiful property. Her thoughts drifted to BoBo and his mentioning of the desire to live here. The house had been on the market for a very long time. She knew she could buy it for a song. Betty had used the house for her own getaway oasis on occasions. She would need new personal accommodations, but that could easily be arranged. It was ridding the property of her skeletons that worried her. She decided BoBo was worth the effort.

Stepping into the house, she set her briefcase next to the doorway. She called and canceled the showing for the morning. She danced from room to room with thoughts of decorating the place. Betty was excited about surprising her man. She even chose a room to put Bobo's exercise equipment and mirrors. She walked into the last bedroom and a heavy metal shovel crashed hard into the back of her head. She fell to the ground. BoBo stood over her surveying his work. Betty squirmed on the ground like an earthworm searching for dirt. He swooped her up in his arms and carried her to the lake. BoBo dug into the dirt that Betty searched for.

Betty lay on the ground waiting next to the tomb Bobo was creating. He heard clinking sounds with each shovel of unearthed dirt. His intensity grew as the hole grew deeper. BoBo sought to bury his bad life, bad sex, bad job, and his bad Betty. His vision of the dirt held all things new. He failed to notice the bones that clinked against his shovel. The clavicles and scapulas tossed behind him into the piled earth caused no discernment. The phalanges that hung loosely to the grave went unobserved. It was only the ten skeletal craniums that caused him to pause. BoBo stood upright, staring at the skinless heads of the unknown. Questions frolicked through his mind, but fright entered and remained as the rows of perfect smiling teeth registered his understanding. His moment of awareness was short-lived.

Betty took the opportunity to grab the shovel and bring it down hard against BoBo's skull. Blood flowed freely from the fresh indent in the man's brain. The contents of his shallow cranium leaked out like a faucet in the summertime. Face first into the freshly carved grave, BoBo landed unconscious and seizing in sporadic bouts of pre-death. As he inhaled his last breath, he aspirated the very dirt he had dug.

"Damn BoBo, now I have to bury them all over again! By the way, did I ever tell you about my previous lovers? They liked this house too!"

Word Count 1121

© Copyright 2018 L.A. Grawitch (lgrawitch at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2172836