You see, I had this coffin.
How it happened was this way:
One frigid Saturday afternoon, around a decade ago, I drove over to visit a friend. This guy didn't really have a job or anything, and he partially sustained himself by scrapping metal. He said that his uncle told him about a local haunted house attraction that had been condemned. The old house had to go, and my buddy was free to take anything of worth out of it that he could find. He was stripping the walls of copper wire. I jumped in his truck and rode with him. Creeping in a haunted house sounded like a fun time to me.
It was an overcast, dark, freezing day, and the old haunted house was down a secluded road. It was actually a little bit creepy. Kind of like being in the Blair Witch house or something. No electricity, of course, so it was dark in the house, and there was weird stuff written and drawn on the walls, and some decorations still lying around. I entered a back room and a coffin was waiting for me.
It was a real coffin, made of metal, and locked. Locking people out, or something inside?, I wondered. I asked my friend about it, and he said that he had been informed that anything in the house was his for the taking. "How about the coffin?" He shrugged and said, "Why not?".
It was full dark by the time the wire was ripped loose and loaded up. Feeling like I was a grave robber in an old Hammer or AIP movie, we carried the coffin out of the house and onto the bed of his truck. We drove it to my house and put it on the front porch.
I left it there, and knowing that a real coffin was on my porch appealed to my sense of humor. The neighbors all thought I was some kind of weirdo anyway, so why not cultivate the reputation?
The coffin served another purpose. The neighborhood was a bad one, and my house had been broken into three times. They stole my entire DVD collection at one point. Hundreds of movies, and this was before you could stream anything you wanted to see. I had built a nice stereo system for my record player, and they got that. They would kick in the door of my shed and steal lawn mowers and weed eaters. It happened numerous times, and the cops were pretty nonchalant about it. "Move", I was told more than once.
Once the coffin was on my porch, no one bothered me.
One day I got a summons to appear in court. I had no idea what it was for, but I nervously showed up. I was called before the judge and she immediately said I was dismissed. Puzzled, I left the courtroom and walked out into the hall. Where a city inspector was waiting for me. He showed me a photograph and said, "Is this what I think it is, Mr. Sieber?". "It's a coffin", I replied. I got the stare. "Why do you have a coffin on your porch? Are there human remains inside?"
I explained that the coffin was a prop from a closed-down haunted house, and that it was locked and seemed to be empty. I had never been inside it.
My neighbors didn't share my sense of humor, he explained. He went on to say that the city of Hampton, Virginia could not order me to remove the coffin, but they asked if I would do so.
I agreed, the city man shook his head, and I left. I blew the whole thing off, and went about my business. The city gouged me for taxes every year, didn't they? Why couldn't I keep a coffin on my porch if it pleased me?
Some time passed. A couple of months. I got another court summons. Knowing what it was about this time, I appeared, and again the judge dismissed me. The city man was waiting again, and this time he was angry. "You didn't get rid of that coffin!", he hissed. "I will", I said. No. This time he was serious. If I did not remove that coffin, he was instructed by the City Manager to write me up on any and all violations he could come up with. And given the condition of my old house, there would have been plenty. I tried to explain about the robberies and how the coffin helped, but he didn't care.
Okay, okay, I said that I really would. He relaxed a bit, and then laughed. His parting comment was this: "I've been in this business for thirty-five years. Just when you think you've seen it all, something altogether new comes along. You fall into that category, Mr. Sieber".
I asked around, and another friend said he knew someone who would want the coffin. I knew the guy who wanted it, slightly, so I made arrangements for him to meet me at the house and get it. The best time to pick it up was Thanksgiving day, nearly a year after I got the coffin. He showed up, we talked a bit, then we loaded up the coffin into his truck. I felt a bit teary about it. I had grown fond of the morbid thing.
The guy was headed straight to his mother's house for Thanksgiving. He fired up the truck, laughing hysterically, and said "I'm going to pull up at Mom's and say, 'MOM! I BROUGHT YOUR BROTHER FOR DINNER!' " as he roared off down the street.
With thanks to Robert A. Heinlein for the title and the first two sentences.
Written by Mark Sieber
How it happened was this way:
One frigid Saturday afternoon, around a decade ago, I drove over to visit a friend. This guy didn't really have a job or anything, and he partially sustained himself by scrapping metal. He said that his uncle told him about a local haunted house attraction that had been condemned. The old house had to go, and my buddy was free to take anything of worth out of it that he could find. He was stripping the walls of copper wire. I jumped in his truck and rode with him. Creeping in a haunted house sounded like a fun time to me.
It was an overcast, dark, freezing day, and the old haunted house was down a secluded road. It was actually a little bit creepy. Kind of like being in the Blair Witch house or something. No electricity, of course, so it was dark in the house, and there was weird stuff written and drawn on the walls, and some decorations still lying around. I entered a back room and a coffin was waiting for me.
It was a real coffin, made of metal, and locked. Locking people out, or something inside?, I wondered. I asked my friend about it, and he said that he had been informed that anything in the house was his for the taking. "How about the coffin?" He shrugged and said, "Why not?".
It was full dark by the time the wire was ripped loose and loaded up. Feeling like I was a grave robber in an old Hammer or AIP movie, we carried the coffin out of the house and onto the bed of his truck. We drove it to my house and put it on the front porch.
I left it there, and knowing that a real coffin was on my porch appealed to my sense of humor. The neighbors all thought I was some kind of weirdo anyway, so why not cultivate the reputation?
The coffin served another purpose. The neighborhood was a bad one, and my house had been broken into three times. They stole my entire DVD collection at one point. Hundreds of movies, and this was before you could stream anything you wanted to see. I had built a nice stereo system for my record player, and they got that. They would kick in the door of my shed and steal lawn mowers and weed eaters. It happened numerous times, and the cops were pretty nonchalant about it. "Move", I was told more than once.
Once the coffin was on my porch, no one bothered me.
One day I got a summons to appear in court. I had no idea what it was for, but I nervously showed up. I was called before the judge and she immediately said I was dismissed. Puzzled, I left the courtroom and walked out into the hall. Where a city inspector was waiting for me. He showed me a photograph and said, "Is this what I think it is, Mr. Sieber?". "It's a coffin", I replied. I got the stare. "Why do you have a coffin on your porch? Are there human remains inside?"
I explained that the coffin was a prop from a closed-down haunted house, and that it was locked and seemed to be empty. I had never been inside it.
My neighbors didn't share my sense of humor, he explained. He went on to say that the city of Hampton, Virginia could not order me to remove the coffin, but they asked if I would do so.
I agreed, the city man shook his head, and I left. I blew the whole thing off, and went about my business. The city gouged me for taxes every year, didn't they? Why couldn't I keep a coffin on my porch if it pleased me?
Some time passed. A couple of months. I got another court summons. Knowing what it was about this time, I appeared, and again the judge dismissed me. The city man was waiting again, and this time he was angry. "You didn't get rid of that coffin!", he hissed. "I will", I said. No. This time he was serious. If I did not remove that coffin, he was instructed by the City Manager to write me up on any and all violations he could come up with. And given the condition of my old house, there would have been plenty. I tried to explain about the robberies and how the coffin helped, but he didn't care.
Okay, okay, I said that I really would. He relaxed a bit, and then laughed. His parting comment was this: "I've been in this business for thirty-five years. Just when you think you've seen it all, something altogether new comes along. You fall into that category, Mr. Sieber".
I asked around, and another friend said he knew someone who would want the coffin. I knew the guy who wanted it, slightly, so I made arrangements for him to meet me at the house and get it. The best time to pick it up was Thanksgiving day, nearly a year after I got the coffin. He showed up, we talked a bit, then we loaded up the coffin into his truck. I felt a bit teary about it. I had grown fond of the morbid thing.
The guy was headed straight to his mother's house for Thanksgiving. He fired up the truck, laughing hysterically, and said "I'm going to pull up at Mom's and say, 'MOM! I BROUGHT YOUR BROTHER FOR DINNER!' " as he roared off down the street.
With thanks to Robert A. Heinlein for the title and the first two sentences.
Written by Mark Sieber
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