The Grave Robber
I can't believe I'm doing this. Gallagher wiped a few beads of nervous sweat off of his brow. He was riding in the passenger seat of Officer Martin's cruiser. It was almost dusk as Martin pulled into the cemetery. "How will you know which one he's going to pick?" the officer asked his deputy as they came to a stop in front of the old crypts.
"Well," Gallagher said, wishing he'd never come up with this plan, "it's mostly a guess. I mean, there's only four tombs left. I have a twenty-five percent chance."
Gallagher didn't even like the odds himself, but this needed to stop. He approached the largest marble building and cut the lock himself. The wrought-iron door swung out with a creak that sent shivers up and down both the policemen's backs.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Martin asked, apprehensively. No. Gallagher took a deep breath and stepped inside, "Yes."
Martin pulled a new lock out of his pocket and looped it in the end link of the chain, the pushed the heavy door closed. Gallagher could see his coworker through the wavy old glass on the inside of the door. "Gregory will let you out in the morning." Martin said, sounding so far away and distant, outside the tomb. Gallagher wished the morning would hurry up so the senior officer could release him. He watched the cruiser pull away, distorted through the glass like a fun house mirror. The air was thick and hot, smelling of mildew and other smells that perhaps Gallagher was merely imagining. He felt as if he could smell the corpses that were entombed on either side of him. Everything was covered in a generous layer of dust and all the deputy wanted to do was quit sneezing. Or just get out of here. Gallagher sneezed again, before lowering himself to the smooth marble floor where he took a seat and began waiting.