Bert found the hole when he went out back to mow the lawn. It hadn't been there before. It was a small hole , about a foot wide , which led him to believe that a gopher was most likely responsible.
"Damn gopher ," he muttered.
He adjusted his Dodgers cap , and walked over to the shed to get the lawn mower. He would deal with the pest as soon as he took care of the yard. He preferred to deal with the gopher first , but if Martha saw him digging holes in the yard , or flooding it , she would have a fit , and Bert was in no mood to listen to the old crow bitch and moan.
The mower was a John Deere. He had spent a small fortune on it , and Martha had squawked plenty about that , too. But Bert didn't care how much it cost. One of the reasons he had bought it in the first place , was to piss Martha off , because he knew that she was even more of a tight wad than he was.
As he pushed it from the shed , he thought of the perfect solution to get rid of the pest. He would drown it out. He wished he could find an easier solution to getting rid of Martha.
It was a warm , spring day , the perfect time for yard work. The sky was clear and birds chirped in every tree. Starting the mower , Bert looked up and saw Martha on the back porch , sipping daintily through a straw from a glass of lemonade. He frowned. When you saw Martha for the first time , your natural reaction was to flinch. She wasn't exactly what you would call a handsome woman. To Bert , she looked too much like the actress , Anne Ramsey , from the movie , Throw Momma From The Train. They had been married almost fourty six years , and Bert still hadn't gotten used to that face.
On the patio table stood a tall pitcher of ice filled lemonade , which was already half empty , depending whether you were an optimist or a pessimist. Bert was a pessimist by habit. He knew that by the time he finished with the yard work , every drop of lemonade would be gone.
He switched off the engine and climbed the porch steps to pour himself a glass.
Martha eyed him suspiciously. Every time he came near her , she gave him the evil eye. Bert knew it was because she liked to pass gas when she was alone , and didn't want anyone near her.
"What are you doing , Bert?"
"What does it look like I'm doing?"
"Stalling , that's what."
Bert finished his drink with an exaggerated sigh of content , and plunked the tumbler down on the surface of the table , almost hard enough to shatter it. Martha glared at him. The table had been a wedding gift from her mother. She loved putting it out every spring and summer. It had little piglets in Tu - Tu's dancing across the glass surface. Bert hated it ; he thought it was a stupid wedding gift.
He started the mower again. As he passed the hole , he noticed that while he had been enjoying his lemonade , the hole had gotten bigger. It was now three to four times as big as it had been. He switched off the engine again , and climbed off to have a closer look.
As he stared at it , it widened several more feet , and his eyes widened in surprise. Dirt spilled from it's sides and fell away into the hole. "That son of a bitch better be having fun ," he said. "It doesn't have long on this earth."
"Leave that gopher alone , Bert , and get busy! The yard ain't going to get mowed by itself."
Forget the yard. He was taking care of that gopher now , while he still had a yard! He ran to fetch the garden hose and turned it on. Hurrying back to the hole , he managed to trample through Martha's prized petunias , slopping water all over himself.
Martha screamed when she saw him stomping through her flowers. Dropping her glass , she hurried off the porch , heading straight for Bert with a murderous glare. "What are you doing to my tunies!?"
Bert always laughed when she called them that. But he wasn't laughing now. He was so intent on getting rid of the gopher that he hadn't noticed that the hose had become entangled around his feet. Martha had sank to her knees before her tunies , sobbing and screaming. Bert tripped over the hose and fell flat on his face , inches from the hole , also managing to squash at least a dozen tunies , as well. He gasped when he saw it. It was now over six and a half feet in diameter. Dirt fell from it's sides as it slowly continued to widen.
"That must be a damn big gopher!" he croaked. Then he heard the strange noises. At first he couldn't tell where the noises were coming from , because Martha was making so much noise herself. Then he realized they were coming from within the hole.
A thousand moans ...
A thousand screams ...
Demented laughter. The hairs on his arms stood on end. He peered into the hole and saw only darkness.
"That ain't no damn gopher!" he whispered.
Martha was still kneeling by her tunies , moaning and sobbing. "Damn you , Bert! Look what you did! You ruined my tunies , you bastard! Now they'll never win first prize!"
Still sobbing , she went into the shed , and in a moment , reappeared with a shovel. "You know what I'm going to do with this shovel , Bert?"
"Dig another hole?" he croaked , and laughed.
"Laugh it up , funny man! You won't think it's funny when I smash your head in with it , and then shove it up your ass!"
She raised the shovel high above her head , and Bert rolled aside to his left. Before the blow could fall that would bash his brains all over the yard , Martha's feet stumbled over the hose. For a few seconds she staggered precariously over the edge of the hole , with a look of surprise on her face .... and fell in. Her screams didn't last very long.
That night , Bert dreamed that Martha had come back. Her silhouette stood framed in the bedroom doorway , her hands behind her back.
As he pushed it from the shed , he thought of the perfect solution to get rid of the pest. He would drown it out. He wished he could find an easier solution to getting rid of Martha.
It was a warm , spring day , the perfect time for yard work. The sky was clear and birds chirped in every tree. Starting the mower , Bert looked up and saw Martha on the back porch , sipping daintily through a straw from a glass of lemonade. He frowned. When you saw Martha for the first time , your natural reaction was to flinch. She wasn't exactly what you would call a handsome woman. To Bert , she looked too much like the actress , Anne Ramsey , from the movie , Throw Momma From The Train. They had been married almost fourty six years , and Bert still hadn't gotten used to that face.
On the patio table stood a tall pitcher of ice filled lemonade , which was already half empty , depending whether you were an optimist or a pessimist. Bert was a pessimist by habit. He knew that by the time he finished with the yard work , every drop of lemonade would be gone.
He switched off the engine and climbed the porch steps to pour himself a glass.
Martha eyed him suspiciously. Every time he came near her , she gave him the evil eye. Bert knew it was because she liked to pass gas when she was alone , and didn't want anyone near her.
"What are you doing , Bert?"
"What does it look like I'm doing?"
"Stalling , that's what."
Bert finished his drink with an exaggerated sigh of content , and plunked the tumbler down on the surface of the table , almost hard enough to shatter it. Martha glared at him. The table had been a wedding gift from her mother. She loved putting it out every spring and summer. It had little piglets in Tu - Tu's dancing across the glass surface. Bert hated it ; he thought it was a stupid wedding gift.
He started the mower again. As he passed the hole , he noticed that while he had been enjoying his lemonade , the hole had gotten bigger. It was now three to four times as big as it had been. He switched off the engine again , and climbed off to have a closer look.
As he stared at it , it widened several more feet , and his eyes widened in surprise. Dirt spilled from it's sides and fell away into the hole. "That son of a bitch better be having fun ," he said. "It doesn't have long on this earth."
"Leave that gopher alone , Bert , and get busy! The yard ain't going to get mowed by itself."
Forget the yard. He was taking care of that gopher now , while he still had a yard! He ran to fetch the garden hose and turned it on. Hurrying back to the hole , he managed to trample through Martha's prized petunias , slopping water all over himself.
Martha screamed when she saw him stomping through her flowers. Dropping her glass , she hurried off the porch , heading straight for Bert with a murderous glare. "What are you doing to my tunies!?"
Bert always laughed when she called them that. But he wasn't laughing now. He was so intent on getting rid of the gopher that he hadn't noticed that the hose had become entangled around his feet. Martha had sank to her knees before her tunies , sobbing and screaming. Bert tripped over the hose and fell flat on his face , inches from the hole , also managing to squash at least a dozen tunies , as well. He gasped when he saw it. It was now over six and a half feet in diameter. Dirt fell from it's sides as it slowly continued to widen.
"That must be a damn big gopher!" he croaked. Then he heard the strange noises. At first he couldn't tell where the noises were coming from , because Martha was making so much noise herself. Then he realized they were coming from within the hole.
A thousand moans ...
A thousand screams ...
Demented laughter. The hairs on his arms stood on end. He peered into the hole and saw only darkness.
"That ain't no damn gopher!" he whispered.
Martha was still kneeling by her tunies , moaning and sobbing. "Damn you , Bert! Look what you did! You ruined my tunies , you bastard! Now they'll never win first prize!"
Still sobbing , she went into the shed , and in a moment , reappeared with a shovel. "You know what I'm going to do with this shovel , Bert?"
"Dig another hole?" he croaked , and laughed.
"Laugh it up , funny man! You won't think it's funny when I smash your head in with it , and then shove it up your ass!"
She raised the shovel high above her head , and Bert rolled aside to his left. Before the blow could fall that would bash his brains all over the yard , Martha's feet stumbled over the hose. For a few seconds she staggered precariously over the edge of the hole , with a look of surprise on her face .... and fell in. Her screams didn't last very long.
That night , Bert dreamed that Martha had come back. Her silhouette stood framed in the bedroom doorway , her hands behind her back.
"I forgive you for ruining my tunies , Bert ," she said. "But I can't forgive you for killing me. For that , you have to be punished."
She came into the room and stood beside the bed. She removed her hands from behind her back. She no longer had the shovel. This time it was an ax. And this time the blow would fall.
He awoke with a sudden start ; he was drenched in sweat. He noticed at once that he was not alone.
"Martha?"
He switched on his beside lamp. When he saw her , his first impulse was to scream. But he remained silent. He wasn't sure he could scream. She stood just within the doorway , her hands concealed behind her back , as she had in the dream. Bert knew what she was hiding. But it wasn't that she was concealing an ax that troubled him. Bert could deal with the fact that she wanted to split his head open. And it wasn't that she was naked. He could deal with that , too - under normal circumstances.
What Bert could not deal with , were the small , disgusting insect like creatures that crawled upon her skin , which had rotted through to the bone in several places. He could see their mandibles tearing off chunks of her flesh , and burrowing into her skin - which Martha did not seem to mind , or even notice.
"I can forgive you for destroying my tunies , Bert ," she said. "But not for killing me."
"Oh , God!" he whispered. He wanted to beg forgiveness. Instead , he closed his eyes and waited for the blow that would split his head in two.
He didn't have long to wait.
What Bert could not deal with , were the small , disgusting insect like creatures that crawled upon her skin , which had rotted through to the bone in several places. He could see their mandibles tearing off chunks of her flesh , and burrowing into her skin - which Martha did not seem to mind , or even notice.
"I can forgive you for destroying my tunies , Bert ," she said. "But not for killing me."
"Oh , God!" he whispered. He wanted to beg forgiveness. Instead , he closed his eyes and waited for the blow that would split his head in two.
He didn't have long to wait.
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