In The Vault

In the cold December of 1880, the ground froze and the cemetery delvers found they could dig no more graves till spring
At last the spring thaw came, and graves were laboriously prepared for the nine silent harvests of the grim reaper which waited in the tomb
The day was clear, but a high wind had sprung up; and Birch was glad to get to shelter as he unlocked the iron door and entered the side-hill vault.
It was just as he had recognised old Matt's coffin that the door slammed to in the wind, leaving him in a dusk even deeper than before
Only the coffins themselves remained as potential stepping-stones.

Dusk fell and found Birch still toiling. Clutching the edges of the aperture, he sought to pull himself up, when he noticed a queer retardation in the form of an apparent drag on both his ankles. In another moment he knew fear for the first time that night; for struggle as he would, he could not shake clear of the unknown grasp which held his feet in relentless captivity
the emerging moon must have witnessed a horrible sight as he dragged his bleeding ankles toward the cemetery lodge
When Dr. Davis left Birch that night he had taken a lantern and gone to the old receiving tomb.

"I'll never get the picture out of my head as long as I live. You kicked hard, for Asaph's coffin was on the floor. His head was broken in, and everything was tumbled about. I've seen sights before, but there was one thing too much here. An eye for an eye! Great heavens, Birch, but you got what you deserved. The skull turned my stomach, but the other was worse- those ankles cut neatly off to fit Matt Fenner's cast-aside coffin!"