HOW DARK AND STORMY WAS IT? : ‘Bitter Poison’

An evil wind howled through the decaying sycamore trees, sending a flurry of dead twigs and brittle leaves crackling across the weed-infested graveyard.

Suddenly, a bolt of lightning split the midnight sky, casting a strobe-like illumination across the rows of granite headstones and masonry crypts. Within seconds, the blast of thunder sent hundreds of vampire bats flying into the night. Several of the hairy creatures swarmed around the shadowy figure of a man carrying a large crowbar.

“Shoo, you bloodsuckers!” the man cried, waving his heavy crowbar through the air.

A steady rain began to fall, and the man stumbled along in the darkness with only the help of a small flashlight. Quickly the rain turned to torrents, whipped by strong winds and accented by blinding bolts of lightning and deafening explosions of thunder.

The man trudged on through the thick mud, finally stopping at a large granite crypt near the far end of the graveyard. As he cleared the sticky cobwebs from the name marker, his face melted into a wicked grin.

“Now I can get what’s rightfully mine!” he cackled breathlessly. In his mind’s eye, the man looked back to the circumstances that had brought him to this eerie place on this stormy Halloween night. He bristled as he thought about how he had been cheated by his decrepit Aunt Sophie who now laid, freshly entombed, in this damp and musty crypt. As the heavy metal door creaked open, he shined his flashlight into the depths of the granite chamber, where six cobweb-covered caskets and one obviously fresh coffin, lay in a neat row.

“Oh, there you are, Aunt Sophie,” the man chuckled wickedly, as he spied the shiny casket. “It’s a shame you couldn’t have shared your wealth with your loving family.”

The man stood for a moment at the entrance, seemingly lost in thought. The wind-blown bushes scraped against the side of the open door, making a chilling sound--like that of a person, not yet dead, trying to scratch his way out of a coffin.

The man could feel his muscles tense as he thought about how his Aunt Sophie had refused to lend him money to start his new business. She had already financed enough of his schemes, she had told him. And then, to make matters worse, she had gone on to foil his best plan of all. His face grew red with rage as he thought back to a perfect plan gone sour . . .

The poisoning had been easy. A few drops in Aunt Sophie’s evening tea had been enough to kill the frail old woman, and the doctor had quickly chalked it up to death by natural causes because of her advanced age. But then, with the reading of the will, came the bombshell. It seemed that Aunt Sophie had left her home and her money to charity, and had requested that she be entombed wearing all her expensive jewelry.

“Selfish old woman,” the man snorted as he moved toward his aunt’s coffin. “That jewelry must be worth at least 50 grand.”

Using his crowbar, he quickly pried the lid off the casket. Shining the light into the satin-lined coffin, he was shocked at what he found inside . . .

But before he could utter a sound, there was a huge crashing noise behind him. Shining the light toward the noise, he was horrified to find that the huge metal door of the crypt had slammed shut. As he ran toward it, a familiar voice suddenly crackled across the room:

“Yes, the door is locked, and the coffin is empty except for this tape recorder. I am, indeed, still alive.”

The man began to shake uncontrollably as the message continued.

“When you’ve had the same tea every night for 50 years, it’s easy to tell when something is different about the taste or smell. I knew immediately that there was a bitter poison in my tea that night. I just didn’t know which of my greedy relatives had done it, so I decided to set this trap, with the help of a few friends.

“Although I did donate most of my money to charity, I took enough with me to live comfortably for the rest of my life in Mexico, away from those who only wanted my money.

“So adios , my dear . . . and by the way . . . I made certain that the metal door would seal itself so tightly that it would become virtually airtight and soundproof. According to my calculations, you should run out of oxygen in about six hours. Feel free to make use of my casket. It is, after all, our family crypt.”

With that, the wind-blown bushes were not the only thing making sounds like the undead trying to escape from their graves.