Sunday Scribblings: The Rest of the Story

This week's Sunday Scribblings prompt is the rest of the story.

He turned around to take another look. The body laid still in the back seat. He turned to the road ahead, water spewing from the mouth of Hell. The blades were turned on full blast. He hadn't expected such a violent storm, but there was no time to spare on hesitation. A soiled Earth would feed on flesh, whole, tonight.

The road had taken him far out of town. He would reach the farmhouse soon, where a sodden field waiting to ready itself for Spring, soaked. His eyes drifted towards the man more so than the road. Laying at rest, his chest settled.

He pulled over to the side of the road, angling the car perpendicular to the field. The rain pouring on his thoughts. His plan was clean and clear so far. At this point, he would feed the mouth.

He moved the hair out of his eye, sighing with relief, the blessed rain had washed the crime out of his clothes. He opened the truck and secured a shovel under his arm. He teetered the body out of the car, sludging though the softened earth. He kept his cool, knowing that the mouth would be ready, filling with water.

The hole was easy to find. He smiled at the Stygian night. Soon enough, his debt would be payed forever. He spoke aloud, asking the mouth if it was hungry yet, mocking its hold. The listless body waiting while he deepened the hole. He heard a mutter. He assured himself that it was a hunger groan, the mouth would suffer no longer.

He pulled the body over his shoulder, stumbling to the edge of the hole. The weight of the man had doubled, his body covered in scorched holes. He beckoned the River of Styx hoping it would quickly devour his burden. He heard another moan. The slightest bit of warmth panting against his neck. This couldn't be. He had made sure that this wouldn't be. He throw the body in. Because it couldn't be.

He grabbed the shovel, sending clumps of mud into the hole as it continued to fill with water. The man from the backseat of the car swayed slightly in the slush, with eyes opened. He was sure that the mouth would know. He worked ferociously through his fear. Mud and water covered the man. The body, which was filled with life howled back at him. He covered the hole.

The mouth would swallow soon and it would know. He throw the shovel on top and scrambled through the field to his car. He had heard the moan and watched the eyes open. He feed the mouth a living soul. He sat against the wheel of the car, knowing that the mouth would soon ask for more.