Free Blackman's Coffin by Mark de Castrique

sleeping in the hearse with a dead man, but I figured after the coffin was loaded, no one would look to make sure the occupant hadn’t left. By the time Father discovered I was a stowaway, we’d be down the mountain and too far along our way.
    Saturday, July 5th: I heard the clock in the parlor strike two. Elijah and his helpers had loaded the coffin in the hearse a little after midnight because the Cincinnati train had been late as Father predicted. For nearly two hours I lay on my bed unable to sleep and with the clock chimes still echoing through the house, I slipped from beneath the sheet fully dressed. By the light of the half moon shining through my window, I wrote a note for Mother telling her I’d gone to Georgia. I didn’t want her to worry. Then I affixed my artificial leg, grabbed the pillowcase I’d stuffed with a change of clothes and a heel of bread from the pie safe, and used my crutches to ease out the kitchen door.
    In the distance, I heard a dog howl. Close by, I heard the steady snores of Elijah coming from around the corner of the house. He had accepted Father’s offer to sleep on the side porch and I took comfort that if the dog didn’t wake him, my climb into the back of the hearse probably wouldn’t either.
    The double doors were latched but unlocked. I realized the problem immediately. Getting into the hearse would be easy, but how could I secure the doors once I was inside? No one built a hearse expecting the rider to get out.
    The locking mechanism was a bolt that dropped into a clasp rather than slid into place. I lifted it free and opened the doors. A thin layer of clouds had shrouded the moon and in the dim light, I saw a rough pine coffin strapped down to the floorboards. Elijah’s uncle must have been a good-sized man because the coffin seemed larger than standard and the hearse was weighted down several inches. With little play in the springs, I knew the bumps and jolts of the rough roads would jar me every mile of the journey.
    I laid my crutches along the left side of the coffin and tossed my pillowcase on the right. I fished my folding knife out of my pocket and then pulled myself inside. The hinges were stiff enough that when the first door closed it stayed shut. I adjusted the drop bolt on the other door so that it hung at an angle over the edge. Then I opened my knife until the blade was perpendicular to the handle, turning it into a hook. I snagged the bolt in the crook of the knife and pulled the door closed. I slipped the blade down the narrow seam until the bolt caught in the clasp. In the blackness, I felt like I was inside a coffin with a coffin. I re-pocketed my knife, crawled back to my pillow case, and lay down. Within a few minutes, I fell asleep.
    The squeak of the car door woke me. I nearly cried out before I realized where I was. Father said, “Turn her over,” and I heard the crank and then the engine coughed to life. Another sound filled the air: heavy rain pounding on the wooden roof of the hearse. The clouds that had veiled the moon must have been a gathering storm. Going down the mountain in a torrential downpour was an invitation to disaster. If Father missed a turn or hit a washout, the hearse would become my coffin.
    Elijah climbed in beside my father. The Model T backfired once in protest and then lurched forward. I was on my way.
    Without a clock I could only watch the thin gap between the doors for any—
    Nakayla called from the bedroom, “Peters just pulled up. We’d better get down there before he touches anything.”
    I marked my place in the journal with the inside flap of the dust jacket as Nakayla came down the hall. “This kid had quite a vocabulary. Hard to believe he’s only twelve. Shows how bad our education system has gotten in ninety years.”
    “I thought so too,” she said. “How far did you get?”
    “The hearse just started down the mountain.”
    “You can finish it after our little chat with the law.” She opened the