Fifty-Six in the Cellar

When the ground is too hard to dig graves, the bodies have got to go somewhere.

Photo by Svetlana Gumerova on Unsplash

Fiction/Radio Show—Written in January 2019 for a podcasting class while pursuing an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of British Columbia. Reformatted for Substack.

During Nevada’s silver rush, the Old Washoe Club had the biggest cellar in Virginia City. Bodies would be stored amongst their casks over the winter, waiting for spring and softer earth. A visit to Virginia City inspired this story.

Scene One: Int. Saloon – Day

SAD WILD WEST MUSIC (AUCOUSTIC GUITAR, ACCORDIAN, FIDDLE, ECT.) A DOOR SWINGING OPEN. SLOW FOOTSTEPS (MOVING ON).

ZACHARIAH: Good afternoon, ma’am. Another delivery from the doc.

WILLA: Just head on through.

TWO SETS OF FOOTSTEPS (MOVING OFF) AND DOWN STAIRS. WILLA HUMMING. LIQUID POURING.

COLE: (Off mic) Ready? Heave.

(OFF MIC) THUD. (ON MIC) A BOTTLE BEING PUT DOWN. FOOTSTEPS BACK UP THE STAIRS. DOOR CLOSING.

WILLA: There, a whiskey for you, Zachariah.

COLE: What about me?

WILLA: Your family needs you home. You have young ones that will be missing you.

COLE: A whiskey, Willa. Isn’t that what the old place is for?

WILLA: Fine.

GLASSES CLINKING, LIQUID POURING.

ZACHARIAH: Thank you. (Pause. Stern.) Cole.

COLE: Thank you.

(OFF MIC) A HORSE NEIGHS.    

WILLA: They’re starting to smell, you know. Not bad, not yet, just enough to remind me all the time of what’s down there.

ZACHARIAH: Spring’ll be here soon.

WILLA: Spring’s been nearly here for over a month. I’m starting to think the ground will never be soft enough to dig graves.

ZACHARIAH: It will. Frost can’t stay forever.

COLE: July had frost last year.

WILLA: Fifty-six corpses in my cellar. Don’t know if anybody else has bothered keeping tally. Some of the other inn-keepers, maybe, but they have smaller cellars.

GLASS CLINK, LIQUID POURING, GLASS BOTTLE PUT DOWN.

WILLA: Cheers, boys.

DRINKING, GLASS PUT DOWN HARD. LIQUID POURING, DRINKING. GLASS SHATTERING.

WILLA: Damn it.  Something else for me to clean up. Like I don’t already have enough to—(Pause) My girl’s littlest is down there. In my own cellar, stacked like a cask of beer.

ZACHARIAH: (Whispering) Ma’am. You don’t—

WILLA: I go in and look at her sometimes. Just stand there shivering and look at her. She used to play down there among the barrels. Sometimes I swear I still hear her laughing. I take good care of them. Try to watch over them. They’ve got no one else.

A LONG MOMENT OF SILENCE. SOMEONE YELLS, FAR OFF.

WILLA: Go home, boys. I’ve got a cellar full of company.

COLE: Even I’m better company than the dead.

ZACHARIAH: I’ll go back with you, Cole.

COLE: (Sighs) Give me the bottle.

FOOTSTEPS (MOVING OFF). DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES. WILLA HUMMING. A LITTLE GIRL’S LAUGHTER, DISTANT, WHICH THEN FADES AWAY.

Author’s note:

Surprising probably no one who knows me, I’ve been in a lot of creepy cellars, tunnels, mines, and caves. The Old Washoe Club’s alcohol/body storage cellar in Nevada City isn’t even near the top of the list in terms of creepiness. That award probably goes to the catacombs under Edinburgh, for sheer darkness and ghostliness, as well as historically being used to facilitate body-snatching.

What’s your favorite creepy location, underground or otherwise?

Thank you for reading!

Emily