July 16, 2025 • 18 mins
Buried alive, betrayed, and robbed of his gold—Diamondback is mad as hell...and wants revenge.
David Corisis is a born-and-raised Idahoan and graduate of Gonzaga University. He lives the exciting life of a programmer by day and aspiring writer by night. When not sharing a keyboard with his cat, David enjoys running, brewing mead, playing Magic the Gathering, camping, and worrying about the ever-marching hand of time stealing everything he holds dear. His favorite books include At the Mountains of Madness, and Flatland. He couldn’t be happier taking on the world and its challenges with his eternally inspirational wife at his side. To find out more, you can visit www.dcorisis.com.
You can read "Rest in Peace" at https://www.kaidankaistories.com.
Website: kaidankaistories.com
Please feel free to contact me through the website contact form.
Follow us on:
Instagram
Facebook
Bluesky
Substack
David Corisis is a born-and-raised Idahoan and graduate of Gonzaga University. He lives the exciting life of a programmer by day and aspiring writer by night. When not sharing a keyboard with his cat, David enjoys running, brewing mead, playing Magic the Gathering, camping, and worrying about the ever-marching hand of time stealing everything he holds dear. His favorite books include At the Mountains of Madness, and Flatland. He couldn’t be happier taking on the world and its challenges with his eternally inspirational wife at his side. To find out more, you can visit www.dcorisis.com.
You can read "Rest in Peace" at https://www.kaidankaistories.com.
Website: kaidankaistories.com
Please feel free to contact me through the website contact form.
Follow us on:
Bluesky
Substack
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:10):
Welcome to the kaiton Kai Podcast, where every story takes
you one step deeper into the world of the strange,
the eerie, and the unknown. I'm your host, Linda Gould,
and tonight I'm reading Rest in Peace by David Koruss.
Some stories that I read on the kite on Kai
podcast are about vengeance, and others are about the stubborn
(00:33):
refusal to be forgotten. Well, this tale is a little
bit of both. It's about one man's refusal to rest
in peace, his rage reaching beyond the grave, but to
what end. David Korusus is a born and raised Idahoan
and graduate of Gonzaga University. I didn't even know that
(00:55):
was a university. He lives the exciting life of a
programmer by day and aspiring writer by night. When not
sharing a keyboard with his cat, David enjoys running, brewing mead,
playing magic, the gathering, camping, and worrying about the ever
marching hand of time stealing everything that he holds deer.
His favorite books include At the Mountains of Madness and
(01:19):
flat Land. He couldn't be happier taking on the world
and his challenges with his eternally inspirational wife at his side.
To find out more about him, you can visit his website,
which will be in the episode description. And Now dim
the lights, settle in, and prepare yourself for rest in
peace by David chorusis enjoy Oh. I jolted away can
(01:47):
a frantic scramble for air. Darkness held me in its grasp.
Frigid cold drilled its icy fingers into my bones. I
couldn't see my own hand in front of my face.
Everything was silent. I knew I was breathing, but the
darkness was so thick. I couldn't even hear my own
(02:09):
gasps for air. The back of my head flared with pain.
I could still feel the rock that had hit me.
My fists and feet flung outward. I was allowed only
inches before they struck wooden walls. Dull thuds responded to
my strikes. H. It didn't take a genius to know
(02:31):
I was underground. I couldn't believe it at first. My
breath came out in rising hoffs before my anger exploded.
You bastards, You damn bastards. Spittle flew from my mouth
with the curses. My lips were dry, cracking as I
(02:54):
screamed below ground I desperately needed water. They felt like
they'd stretched over my teeth. The coffin's lid rang against
my elbow. I didn't care about the pain. They weren't
going to get away with this. Specks of dirt fell
through the lid seam with every jolt. The soil was
(03:15):
still loose. Good news for me. Every strike was more
earth moved. You buried me, your goddamn backstabbing snakes. Nobody
does this to diamond back. Nobody. I loosed a ragefull
bellow into the surrounding earth. Let me out. There was
(03:39):
nothing coming from above, no sounds, no movement, not even
the hoofalls of my trusty horse. The worms and bugs
didn't even want to recognize me. I pressed my hands
to either side of the coffin. I had to when
I felt like it was closing in around me. It
(03:59):
was cheap, I could tell that much. It wouldn't be
able to take much of a beating, especially with the
weight of all that dirt on top. My breath was weak,
squeezed from my ribs by the tomb. How long had
I been out? When did they get me? There wasn't
an unlimited amount of air at my disposal. And I
(04:23):
was already feeling light headed. I needed a tool, something,
anything to help me break the coffin. My knees immediately
struck the lid. When I bent my legs, I had
less room in here than a kid in a horse belly.
I'll get them, Oh, I'll gut them for this. My
(04:43):
shoulders ached when I stretched my arms along my body.
They at least had the decency to leave my revolver,
likely so I could end this imprisonment on my own terms.
The next thing I noticed was the emptiness on my
right hip. The bag of gold dust and nuggets was gone.
(05:04):
One of the biggest halls of my life, and it
had been stolen while they've tossed me into this early grave,
you bastards. My anger was turning the coffin into an oven.
Even the cold dirt couldn't deny me my own rage.
I showed you that vein. I trusted you. We had
(05:27):
a deal. My knuckles cracked when I punched the lid.
We had a deal. I started pushing with my arms
and legs. The coffin strained around me, groaning at its joints.
Dirt had begun streaming in above my head. It was
soft and fresh, still moist from being thrown on top
(05:48):
of me. It washed over my face, but I coughed
it out and kept thrashing. I was getting out of here.
Dirt fell in my eyes. I blinked, ignoring the discomfort.
Anger was my pain killer. I'm sure I would hurt later,
but there would be time for that. After I put
a bullet between each of their eyes. The coffin complained
(06:10):
from my forces, hah, I was making headway. I felt
it jold. The right wall bulged outward before snapping from
the top. I could tell they'd nailed the lid shut.
Several of the spikes had already pierced my fingers in
the darkness, like rusty rattlers. My breath came out like
a bull's as I fumed, I'll get you sons of
(06:31):
bitches for this.
Speaker 2 (06:32):
You hear me, You hear me. You ain't getting away
from old diamondback. I'll slit your throats while you asleep.
There was no way to know how deep I was buried.
It could have been a foot of dirt on top
of me. It could have been six. If they were smart,
they would have made it ten. My hands split against
the lid go behind my back. Don't even have the
(06:56):
decency to put me down first set dug soil toppled
around my neck.
Speaker 1 (07:02):
The gaps were widening. The lid had more gift every time.
If you so much as touched my horse, I'll skin
you alive before I hang you. I resorted to clawing
at the edges of the splintering coffin. My nails gouged
at the wood, shrieking in the darkness. It could have
(07:24):
been blood running down my face. It could have been mud.
All I knew was every scrape and every punch was
one step closer to my vengeance. My sore hands fumbled
my revolver in the darkness, pressing it against the wood.
I gritted my teeth and pulled the trigger. Silence. My
(07:46):
rage boiled. I was going to wake the dead at
this rate. They left my gun to end the torment
and took out the bullets. You are all dead, You're
all dead dead. My boot. I had to get my boot.
I couldn't lift my legs any higher than a few inches,
(08:07):
but I could partially roll over and bend my legs
toward me. Uh. I felt like my shoulder was going
to dislocate itself from straining. Finally, I felt the edge
of the leather around my ankles. My fingers wiggled inside
my boot to dig into a built in pouch, my
secret bullet stash. There were only six, but that was plenty.
(08:32):
Fumbling them into my revolver went by in an unseen blur.
Several curses flew from my mouth when I dropped some
and had to search in the darkness. I pressed the
barrel against the top of the coffin, where I knew
the most damage had been done. Ha ha ha. All
six rounds went off, but I only heard the first
(08:53):
cause my hearing gave out. I couldn't even be certain
I had heard any gunshot. As I flew into a
desperate frenzy for escape, the bullets gently thumped around me
and bedding themselves into the earth. Time below ground seemed
to blur together. The concussive blasts made the wound in
my head throb. My fingers managed to hook into a
gaping bullet hole, and from there it was easy to
(09:16):
start ripping the cheap wood apart. When I tore off
a hand sized chunk, dirt poured over me. When my
arm broke through it tasted of rot and rain water.
Grit ground between my teeth when I spat the mouthfuls out,
screaming into the gushing darkness. Even the earth wanted me
to stay down, but the coffin was coming apart. I
(09:39):
had broken through. If I kept my arms just right,
I could keep myself from getting pinned underneath the dirt.
It was lucky I had woken up before it had
a chance to settle, or I might never have been
able to move the lid. Ha ha, I'm coming for you,
you bastards, my voice screamed through a mouth of soil.
(10:00):
I had managed to wriggle both arms out of the hole,
pulling myself up through the dirt. I was deep. Even
with my arms straight up pulling my torso out of
the coffin, my fingers couldn't feel open air. It was
a dance to keep the dirt moving around my body,
exchanging my place with it in the coffin for the
(10:21):
sake of mobility. The jagged edges on the lid pulled
at my clothes, as if the box wanted me to stay.
By the time I was sitting up, the dirt was
crushing my ribs like a giant fist. I couldn't breathe.
My arms had little leverage to pull my entire weight.
(10:42):
I had to use my mouth to help me claw
my way up, as if I were a worm. My
voice came out in dirt, gargling hisses. I could feel
it grating in the back of my sinuses. Sleep and
you at any harms.
Speaker 3 (11:00):
But with my gold the earth moved easily around my hands.
They had broken through to the surface, grasping at empty air.
It was cold out, but not nearly as cold as
that cursed coffin. It was becoming easier now. I clawed
at the surface and kicked myself from the coffin. Every
(11:22):
inch was a blessing, delivering me like a demon from hell.
The dirt started doming, lifted by my head and back.
In a last ditch effort to keep me prisoner, the
coffin lid snagged my boot from below. Oh, my scream
burst from the earth. As I coughed, I inhaled like
(11:45):
a newborn. The fresh air tasted better than any cigarette.
I grabbed at anything for a solid hold. The area
around my grave was still firm and unforgiving. When my
hips came above ground, ha I knew I had made it.
Dirt rolled off my back, and I crawled on to
(12:06):
my hands and knees. A sink hole was left in
my wake from dirt entering my would be resting place.
Speaker 1 (12:13):
Ha ha ha, I had made it. Rage burned in
my chest like a furnace. Oh. I was exhausted and aching.
My head throbbed from where they had struck me. But
I couldn't stop. Now they had to pay. The earth
swayed beneath my legs when I rose, Dirt fell off
(12:35):
my shoulders and curtains. As I breathed deeply, Where are you?
I bellowed, where are you? I'm coming for you. Yes,
Sunday bet. I paused, taking in my surroundings. It was night,
last I could remember. It was noon without a cloud
in the sky. I held my hand up to block
(12:58):
the moon's glow, even its silvery presence hurt after the
darkness below. Wait, Why could I see the moon through
my hand? I brought my arm down, my eyes drifting
over its thin form, before catching sight of the rest
of my body, bones, just bones. I stood for a
(13:25):
moment in contemplation, staring at my own skeleton. Realization made
me stumble backward like a drunk. Oh right. My clothes
hung off me in a tattered cover. There was no
skin to block my skeleton from the moon. I thought
(13:45):
I could hear the wind whistling through my ribs. My
body sounded like a dull windchime. When I moved, clenching
my hands open and closed, I stared at them with
rising melancholy. My fingers were scratched and warm down. Some
were completely broken in half. My entire right foot was gone,
(14:06):
abandoned back in the coffin. After the lid snagged my boot,
I rubbed the back of my skull. The hole was
still there, and as painful as ever. Hum how long
has it been this time? My surroundings drew my attention.
There were more headstones. Every time I emerged. The town
(14:27):
was still in the distance, glowing at the base of
a hill. It was always larger than I remembered, although
now I was left wondering how they managed to light
it up so well at night. Never seen lanterns so
bright and steady. My jaw slacked with a sigh. My
gold was long gone. Same with those double cross and
(14:47):
snakes who took it. Maybe they are even buried in
the same cemetery. I never got around a looking I
always forget. I clenched my hands in frustration, angry again
at my inability to stay dead. Damned hard to forgive
and forget. My body swayed in the breeze, uneasy on
(15:09):
my aching boons. It was getting hard to stay upright,
and I was feeling tired as my anger. Ebbed joints creaked.
When I stumbled back, a headstone provided support. My headstone,
always there, always sturdy. I lowered to the ground. The
smooth rock was firm against my spine, solid and unmoving,
(15:33):
my most trusted companion. I rolled my head to the side,
having forgotten what it said. The inscription was faded but
not illegible. Eighteen forty seven. Huh hmm, wonder what year
it is now? The other headstones could have given me
a clue, but it wasn't worth the effort. My hand
(15:55):
scooped some of the loose dirt from my grave. Based
on the shovel near by, they must have reburied me
only a day or two ago. This vengeance won't let
me sleep. I leaned back and lifted my empty sockets
towards the sky. A bright moon hung there, weightless as always.
(16:15):
At least you never change. No matter how many times
I claw myself out. The world was slipping away, it
never failed. Once everything came rushing back, slumping against my
own headstone, I could feel that eternal sleep taking over.
My vision darkened and my bones settled. Guess I'll just
(16:38):
wait here. Some one will put me back. I stared
at the shovel stuck in the ground at the foot
of my grave as the world faded. Some one always does.
Ah ha ha. My throat hurts after that one. What
(16:59):
I loved about this story is how it lures you
in with raw, furious energy. You're pulled along by the rage,
the betrayal, the sheer will to escape right, and you're
really pulling for this guy to get out. But like
so many great ghost stories, this one holds back It's
(17:19):
full truth until the very end. So we think we're
reading a tailor of survival and vengeance, but instead we
get something really dark and a little bit funny, and
we're just left to remember that you really can't take
it with you, the gold, the rage, even your boot.
Speaker 2 (17:38):
Oh.
Speaker 1 (17:38):
This story just reminds us that death doesn't always bring peace, right,
especially when we're the ones who refuse to let go.
So thank you David for such an entertaining story. The
Kai Doan Kai has so many interesting stories like this
one from every genre, so please subscribe to the podcast
(17:59):
and check out the substack to see comments by authors
about their inspiration. I also sometimes post art that I
like and my own commentary about the stories, So pick
your poison, follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Blue Sky, or substack,
and all of that contact information is in the episode description.
(18:19):
Thank you so much for listening today. Now I'm gonna
go get a drink of water or maybe whiskey after
that one. See you next week.
Welcome to the kaiton Kai Podcast, where every story takes
you one step deeper into the world of the strange,
the eerie, and the unknown. I'm your host, Linda Gould,
and tonight I'm reading Rest in Peace by David Koruss.
Some stories that I read on the kite on Kai
podcast are about vengeance, and others are about the stubborn
(00:33):
refusal to be forgotten. Well, this tale is a little
bit of both. It's about one man's refusal to rest
in peace, his rage reaching beyond the grave, but to
what end. David Korusus is a born and raised Idahoan
and graduate of Gonzaga University. I didn't even know that
(00:55):
was a university. He lives the exciting life of a
programmer by day and aspiring writer by night. When not
sharing a keyboard with his cat, David enjoys running, brewing mead,
playing magic, the gathering, camping, and worrying about the ever
marching hand of time stealing everything that he holds deer.
His favorite books include At the Mountains of Madness and
(01:19):
flat Land. He couldn't be happier taking on the world
and his challenges with his eternally inspirational wife at his side.
To find out more about him, you can visit his website,
which will be in the episode description. And Now dim
the lights, settle in, and prepare yourself for rest in
peace by David chorusis enjoy Oh. I jolted away can
(01:47):
a frantic scramble for air. Darkness held me in its grasp.
Frigid cold drilled its icy fingers into my bones. I
couldn't see my own hand in front of my face.
Everything was silent. I knew I was breathing, but the
darkness was so thick. I couldn't even hear my own
(02:09):
gasps for air. The back of my head flared with pain.
I could still feel the rock that had hit me.
My fists and feet flung outward. I was allowed only
inches before they struck wooden walls. Dull thuds responded to
my strikes. H. It didn't take a genius to know
(02:31):
I was underground. I couldn't believe it at first. My
breath came out in rising hoffs before my anger exploded.
You bastards, You damn bastards. Spittle flew from my mouth
with the curses. My lips were dry, cracking as I
(02:54):
screamed below ground I desperately needed water. They felt like
they'd stretched over my teeth. The coffin's lid rang against
my elbow. I didn't care about the pain. They weren't
going to get away with this. Specks of dirt fell
through the lid seam with every jolt. The soil was
(03:15):
still loose. Good news for me. Every strike was more
earth moved. You buried me, your goddamn backstabbing snakes. Nobody
does this to diamond back. Nobody. I loosed a ragefull
bellow into the surrounding earth. Let me out. There was
(03:39):
nothing coming from above, no sounds, no movement, not even
the hoofalls of my trusty horse. The worms and bugs
didn't even want to recognize me. I pressed my hands
to either side of the coffin. I had to when
I felt like it was closing in around me. It
(03:59):
was cheap, I could tell that much. It wouldn't be
able to take much of a beating, especially with the
weight of all that dirt on top. My breath was weak,
squeezed from my ribs by the tomb. How long had
I been out? When did they get me? There wasn't
an unlimited amount of air at my disposal. And I
(04:23):
was already feeling light headed. I needed a tool, something,
anything to help me break the coffin. My knees immediately
struck the lid. When I bent my legs, I had
less room in here than a kid in a horse belly.
I'll get them, Oh, I'll gut them for this. My
(04:43):
shoulders ached when I stretched my arms along my body.
They at least had the decency to leave my revolver,
likely so I could end this imprisonment on my own terms.
The next thing I noticed was the emptiness on my
right hip. The bag of gold dust and nuggets was gone.
(05:04):
One of the biggest halls of my life, and it
had been stolen while they've tossed me into this early grave,
you bastards. My anger was turning the coffin into an oven.
Even the cold dirt couldn't deny me my own rage.
I showed you that vein. I trusted you. We had
(05:27):
a deal. My knuckles cracked when I punched the lid.
We had a deal. I started pushing with my arms
and legs. The coffin strained around me, groaning at its joints.
Dirt had begun streaming in above my head. It was
soft and fresh, still moist from being thrown on top
(05:48):
of me. It washed over my face, but I coughed
it out and kept thrashing. I was getting out of here.
Dirt fell in my eyes. I blinked, ignoring the discomfort.
Anger was my pain killer. I'm sure I would hurt later,
but there would be time for that. After I put
a bullet between each of their eyes. The coffin complained
(06:10):
from my forces, hah, I was making headway. I felt
it jold. The right wall bulged outward before snapping from
the top. I could tell they'd nailed the lid shut.
Several of the spikes had already pierced my fingers in
the darkness, like rusty rattlers. My breath came out like
a bull's as I fumed, I'll get you sons of
(06:31):
bitches for this.
Speaker 2 (06:32):
You hear me, You hear me. You ain't getting away
from old diamondback. I'll slit your throats while you asleep.
There was no way to know how deep I was buried.
It could have been a foot of dirt on top
of me. It could have been six. If they were smart,
they would have made it ten. My hands split against
the lid go behind my back. Don't even have the
(06:56):
decency to put me down first set dug soil toppled
around my neck.
Speaker 1 (07:02):
The gaps were widening. The lid had more gift every time.
If you so much as touched my horse, I'll skin
you alive before I hang you. I resorted to clawing
at the edges of the splintering coffin. My nails gouged
at the wood, shrieking in the darkness. It could have
(07:24):
been blood running down my face. It could have been mud.
All I knew was every scrape and every punch was
one step closer to my vengeance. My sore hands fumbled
my revolver in the darkness, pressing it against the wood.
I gritted my teeth and pulled the trigger. Silence. My
(07:46):
rage boiled. I was going to wake the dead at
this rate. They left my gun to end the torment
and took out the bullets. You are all dead, You're
all dead dead. My boot. I had to get my boot.
I couldn't lift my legs any higher than a few inches,
(08:07):
but I could partially roll over and bend my legs
toward me. Uh. I felt like my shoulder was going
to dislocate itself from straining. Finally, I felt the edge
of the leather around my ankles. My fingers wiggled inside
my boot to dig into a built in pouch, my
secret bullet stash. There were only six, but that was plenty.
(08:32):
Fumbling them into my revolver went by in an unseen blur.
Several curses flew from my mouth when I dropped some
and had to search in the darkness. I pressed the
barrel against the top of the coffin, where I knew
the most damage had been done. Ha ha ha. All
six rounds went off, but I only heard the first
(08:53):
cause my hearing gave out. I couldn't even be certain
I had heard any gunshot. As I flew into a
desperate frenzy for escape, the bullets gently thumped around me
and bedding themselves into the earth. Time below ground seemed
to blur together. The concussive blasts made the wound in
my head throb. My fingers managed to hook into a
gaping bullet hole, and from there it was easy to
(09:16):
start ripping the cheap wood apart. When I tore off
a hand sized chunk, dirt poured over me. When my
arm broke through it tasted of rot and rain water.
Grit ground between my teeth when I spat the mouthfuls out,
screaming into the gushing darkness. Even the earth wanted me
to stay down, but the coffin was coming apart. I
(09:39):
had broken through. If I kept my arms just right,
I could keep myself from getting pinned underneath the dirt.
It was lucky I had woken up before it had
a chance to settle, or I might never have been
able to move the lid. Ha ha, I'm coming for you,
you bastards, my voice screamed through a mouth of soil.
(10:00):
I had managed to wriggle both arms out of the hole,
pulling myself up through the dirt. I was deep. Even
with my arms straight up pulling my torso out of
the coffin, my fingers couldn't feel open air. It was
a dance to keep the dirt moving around my body,
exchanging my place with it in the coffin for the
(10:21):
sake of mobility. The jagged edges on the lid pulled
at my clothes, as if the box wanted me to stay.
By the time I was sitting up, the dirt was
crushing my ribs like a giant fist. I couldn't breathe.
My arms had little leverage to pull my entire weight.
(10:42):
I had to use my mouth to help me claw
my way up, as if I were a worm. My
voice came out in dirt, gargling hisses. I could feel
it grating in the back of my sinuses. Sleep and
you at any harms.
Speaker 3 (11:00):
But with my gold the earth moved easily around my hands.
They had broken through to the surface, grasping at empty air.
It was cold out, but not nearly as cold as
that cursed coffin. It was becoming easier now. I clawed
at the surface and kicked myself from the coffin. Every
(11:22):
inch was a blessing, delivering me like a demon from hell.
The dirt started doming, lifted by my head and back.
In a last ditch effort to keep me prisoner, the
coffin lid snagged my boot from below. Oh, my scream
burst from the earth. As I coughed, I inhaled like
(11:45):
a newborn. The fresh air tasted better than any cigarette.
I grabbed at anything for a solid hold. The area
around my grave was still firm and unforgiving. When my
hips came above ground, ha I knew I had made it.
Dirt rolled off my back, and I crawled on to
(12:06):
my hands and knees. A sink hole was left in
my wake from dirt entering my would be resting place.
Speaker 1 (12:13):
Ha ha ha, I had made it. Rage burned in
my chest like a furnace. Oh. I was exhausted and aching.
My head throbbed from where they had struck me. But
I couldn't stop. Now they had to pay. The earth
swayed beneath my legs when I rose, Dirt fell off
(12:35):
my shoulders and curtains. As I breathed deeply, Where are you?
I bellowed, where are you? I'm coming for you. Yes,
Sunday bet. I paused, taking in my surroundings. It was night,
last I could remember. It was noon without a cloud
in the sky. I held my hand up to block
(12:58):
the moon's glow, even its silvery presence hurt after the
darkness below. Wait, Why could I see the moon through
my hand? I brought my arm down, my eyes drifting
over its thin form, before catching sight of the rest
of my body, bones, just bones. I stood for a
(13:25):
moment in contemplation, staring at my own skeleton. Realization made
me stumble backward like a drunk. Oh right. My clothes
hung off me in a tattered cover. There was no
skin to block my skeleton from the moon. I thought
(13:45):
I could hear the wind whistling through my ribs. My
body sounded like a dull windchime. When I moved, clenching
my hands open and closed, I stared at them with
rising melancholy. My fingers were scratched and warm down. Some
were completely broken in half. My entire right foot was gone,
(14:06):
abandoned back in the coffin. After the lid snagged my boot,
I rubbed the back of my skull. The hole was
still there, and as painful as ever. Hum how long
has it been this time? My surroundings drew my attention.
There were more headstones. Every time I emerged. The town
(14:27):
was still in the distance, glowing at the base of
a hill. It was always larger than I remembered, although
now I was left wondering how they managed to light
it up so well at night. Never seen lanterns so
bright and steady. My jaw slacked with a sigh. My
gold was long gone. Same with those double cross and
(14:47):
snakes who took it. Maybe they are even buried in
the same cemetery. I never got around a looking I
always forget. I clenched my hands in frustration, angry again
at my inability to stay dead. Damned hard to forgive
and forget. My body swayed in the breeze, uneasy on
(15:09):
my aching boons. It was getting hard to stay upright,
and I was feeling tired as my anger. Ebbed joints creaked.
When I stumbled back, a headstone provided support. My headstone,
always there, always sturdy. I lowered to the ground. The
smooth rock was firm against my spine, solid and unmoving,
(15:33):
my most trusted companion. I rolled my head to the side,
having forgotten what it said. The inscription was faded but
not illegible. Eighteen forty seven. Huh hmm, wonder what year
it is now? The other headstones could have given me
a clue, but it wasn't worth the effort. My hand
(15:55):
scooped some of the loose dirt from my grave. Based
on the shovel near by, they must have reburied me
only a day or two ago. This vengeance won't let
me sleep. I leaned back and lifted my empty sockets
towards the sky. A bright moon hung there, weightless as always.
(16:15):
At least you never change. No matter how many times
I claw myself out. The world was slipping away, it
never failed. Once everything came rushing back, slumping against my
own headstone, I could feel that eternal sleep taking over.
My vision darkened and my bones settled. Guess I'll just
(16:38):
wait here. Some one will put me back. I stared
at the shovel stuck in the ground at the foot
of my grave as the world faded. Some one always does.
Ah ha ha. My throat hurts after that one. What
(16:59):
I loved about this story is how it lures you
in with raw, furious energy. You're pulled along by the rage,
the betrayal, the sheer will to escape right, and you're
really pulling for this guy to get out. But like
so many great ghost stories, this one holds back It's
(17:19):
full truth until the very end. So we think we're
reading a tailor of survival and vengeance, but instead we
get something really dark and a little bit funny, and
we're just left to remember that you really can't take
it with you, the gold, the rage, even your boot.
Speaker 2 (17:38):
Oh.
Speaker 1 (17:38):
This story just reminds us that death doesn't always bring peace, right,
especially when we're the ones who refuse to let go.
So thank you David for such an entertaining story. The
Kai Doan Kai has so many interesting stories like this
one from every genre, so please subscribe to the podcast
(17:59):
and check out the substack to see comments by authors
about their inspiration. I also sometimes post art that I
like and my own commentary about the stories, So pick
your poison, follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Blue Sky, or substack,
and all of that contact information is in the episode description.
(18:19):
Thank you so much for listening today. Now I'm gonna
go get a drink of water or maybe whiskey after
that one. See you next week.
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