by: Meadowmufn
Sheriff Rosco P. Coltrane sat in his patrol car, perched on the crest of a hill overlooking one of the main country roads in Hazzard county. His eyes strained to keep watch in the waning light. He hated working Halloween night, as there were more calls than usual, mostly about juvenile delinquents playing tricks on the Hazzard citizenry.
Several hours passed uneventfully and Rosco dozed off. Flash napped next to him, her head resting on his left leg. Suddenly, the cb crackled to life, the voice on the other end jolting Rosco awake. He grabbed the mike and responded, “Sheriff Roscoooo P. Coltrane, heah. What is it, Enos?”
“Sheriff, I just got a report from ol’ Russell Crawford. He said he saw some dark figures out in the cemetery a little while ago.”
“Oh, Enos. It’s probably just some kids gettin’ into some Halloween mischief. They’ll be long gone by the time I get there,” Rosco replied.
“I don’t know ‘bout that, Sheriff. Russell says he still hears some noises out there. Been goin’ on for near an hour now,” Enos explained.
Rosco sighed and rolled his eyes. “Ok, Enos. I’ll head on out there n’ check it out.” Rosco slammed the cb mike back on the hook and roused Flash from her spot on his lap. “C’mon, Flash. We got some official p’lice business.” He took a deep breath. “At the cemetery…”
Rosco started his patrol car and headed down the hill, lights flashing, but siren silent. Within a few minutes, he pulled up to the gates of the cemetery. He grabbed his flashlight, patted Flash on the head, and stood for a minute looking through the gates of the cemetery in apprehension.
By now, it was completely dark. He could barely see the dark monuments and tombstones rising from the ground. He clicked on his flashlight, but it quickly flickered out. He angled it up to look at the bulb and shook it. The beam flickered back on, blinding the sheriff. “Jit! Jit!” he exclaimed, dropping the flashlight on his foot. He picked up the flashlight and rubbed his eyes.
The sheriff pushed open the cemetery gates and they gave way slowly with an audible groan. Rosco hesitantly stepped forward, a sudden cold breeze freezing him in his tracks. He looked back at Flash leaning her head over the patrol car door, the blue and red lights flashing in the eerily silent night.
He turned back towards the cemetery, summoned all the courage he had, and proceeded forward. The beam of the flashlight swept over the weathered grave markers, casting dancing shadows on the trees and tombstones behind. The sheriff’s heart slammed against his ribs with each step.
The wind picked up again, cutting straight through him. Rosco grabbed the lapels of his jacket with one hand and held them together as best he could. His heart nearly stopped as he swore he heard his name spoken through the chilly gusts. Sheeeriifffff!! Sheeeriiiifff Roscoooo?!
“Ooh jit!” Rosco whipped around, flashing a beam of light on a statue of an angel. He nearly dropped his flashlight at the sight. He backed slowly away, shaking from fright and shivering from the cold. He heard the voice calling his name again, clearer than before.Rooooscooooooo! It made him jump, causing him to lose his footing. He found himself struggling to maintain his balance, arms flailing. The flashlight fell forward and landed on the grass, while Rosco fell backwards into an open grave.
The hole was deep and dark. He cowered in one of the corners, terrified. He could make out a dark figure in the grave with him. It called his name again, “Rosco?” Rosco tried to scramble up the side of the grave. With each attempt, more dirt rained down into the hole. “You can’t get out,” the figure spoke.
Out of pure terror, Rosco jumped as high was he could, grabbing a hand full of grass at the edge of the grave. He managed to get a foot hold and pull himself out. He bolted through the cemetery tripping over tombstones and stumbling as he ran.
He spared one glance back only to see the beam of the flashlight dancing, projecting out from the bottom of the open grave. He slid to a stop by his patrol car door, his hands shaking so hard that it took several attempts to grab the handle and open it. The patrol car roared to life and spit gravel and dirt as it tore down the road out of sight.
Back in the grave, Hobie sighed in resignation. He’d fallen into the grave a few hours ago after wandering into the cemetery in a drunken stupor. He’d tried futilely to climb out of the grave himself and thought perhaps Rosco could give him a hand. He’d have to wait til morning for the mortician to bring a ladder. Well, at least he left me his flashlight, he thought.