It was the middle of the night, and the full moon could be seen above the treetops. A man trudged into the small clearing and threw down the pick and shovel he carried. He turned around and said, "How about here, Dad? Look," he pointed, "the trees are far enough apart here I can dig without hitting anything."

The man's father, white-haired and moving carefully, looked around the clearing, then glanced back at the way they had come. "We should go a little further, William."

"Why? What possible difference will it make?"

"There are clay deposits in this region. We don't want to be digging in clay."

William put his hands on his hips. "Well, I'm the one who'll be doing the digging, and I don't mind. I'd rather dig in clay than have you traipsing all over the forest while you catch your death in the cold air."

"I'm fine, William. Don't worry so much."

"Dad, I'm already playing along with one of your foolish notions. I'm not going to let you risk your health, too. You can't afford to get sick any more."

"All right, drop it." William's father walked over to a fallen log and eased himself down. "You know, you could stand to be a little nicer to your father in his final days."

William removed his overcoat, picked up the shovel, and began to dig. "Don't say that. You have several good years yet, Dad. You just need to take better care of yourself."

His father chose not to respond to this, and the silence stretched out as the hole grew in size.

Eventually the hole was about four feet deep, with William awkwardly standing in it along one side. He pulled the shovel up out of the hole and turned it over, inspecting the dirt clinging to the blade. "How deep of a hole do you want, Dad?"

"At least five feet."

William tossed the shovel carelessly onto the ground, reached over, and grabbed the pick.

"You've hit clay, haven't you?"

"Yes, I've hit clay."

"I tried to warn you."

"It's not a problem. I can dig in clay." William began attacking the bottom of the hole with the pick.

"You wouldn't need to if you had listened to your father."

William changed the subject. "So what exactly is it we're burying, Dad?"

"It's a necklace."

"That I know. It's a very old necklace. Why are we burying it?"

"It contains an evil curse."

William shook his head. "An evil curse."

His father ignored this. "Using my meager abilities, I've managed to hold the curse held inside the object. But it's as potent as ever, and if I were to die with the charm in my possession, the curse would escape and take effect. This is the only safe course of action I could conceive: to bury it, and pray that nobody finds it again."

William put down the pick and took up the shovel once more. "And why couldn't we have just taken it out to sea and thrown it overboard?"

"A terrible idea! Water is the element of transformation and displacement. Under water the necklace would corrode and the curse would be released, traveling to who knows what shore. Earth is the element of enclosure and stability. It will keep the curse sealed within itself."

"Of course," said William dryly. "How silly of me."

"You asked me a question, William. If you can't be civil, then be silent."

Finally, the hole was deep enough to satisfy the old man. William climbed out of the hole and threw the pick into the ground, where it stuck. His hands and clothes were smeared with clay. "Okay." William bent over and picked up the shovel. "It's ready."

His father stood up, and produced a crumpled paper bag from his pocket. He reached into the bag and pulled out a tangled necklace of large stones, the colors of which could be faintly seen in the moonlight.

"Wait a second." William dropped the shovel. "This is the necklace?"

"Of course it is. What does it look like?" The old man crumpled up the paper bag and dropped it on the ground.

William reached out as if to take the necklace, but his father held it away from him. "Dad, are those gems real?"

"Yes, they're real. People don't go around putting curses on costume jewelry."

"But it must be worth a fortune!"

"Don't be foolish, William. This thing is cursed. It must be buried."

William moved to stand between his father and the hole. Speaking quickly, he said, "Wait, Dad. Why can't you just sell it? That way it won't be in our possession when you die."

"And the curse would immediately befall the one who bought it!"

"But we could afford the drug therapy, Dad!"

"A more few years of life hardly justifies ..."

"Then what about your grandchildren? You could buy a college education with that thing! Dad, what about me?"

"You? You are a greedy little man to wish this curse on innocent people!"

"Okay Dad. I've put up with your harum-scarum nonsense all my life. But this is too much! You're going to throw away a fortune, and for what? I won't let you do this."

"I'm not asking for your permission," he said in a low growl.

"Look. Just give me the necklace."

The old man ducked to one side, moving more quickly than he had in months. William grabbed for his arm, caught it, and with his other hand he began prying open his father's fingers. A struggle ensued and the two of them fell to the ground, William atop his father.

Suddenly the man's fingers relaxed. William grabbed the necklace and raised himself onto his knees. He looked down, panting. His father's eyes were wide, and from his mouth came a hoarse whisper. "William ..." There was a pause, and then his eyes fell closed. William then saw that his father was leaning up against the pick. The point was still stuck in the ground, and the other end was buried in his father's back.

William shouted and pulled his father up, shaking him roughly. There was no response, and after a time William grew quiet. He carefully examined the hole in his father's back, and the pool of blood on the ground. Wincing, he laid the body back down and stood, looking around the forest. The sky was now a velvety blue-black and the moon was behind the trees. In the distance he could hear snatches of birdsong.

With grim determination, William picked up his shovel again, and began to enlarge the hole.

After several hours of work, William was exhausted, the stars were no longer visible in the blue sky, and the hole was wide enough to accept his father's corpse. After a moment's thought, William threw the bloody pick in as well. It was then relatively short work to refill the hole. William periodically tamped down the earth as he went, the better to seal its contents. When he was done, he put his overcoat back on, the necklace deep in his pocket. Carrying the shovel, he walked back through the forest. The forest was silent, and in a quiet voice William said, "I'm so sorry, Dad. I didn't mean for this to happen. But maybe it's for the best."

There was a rustling sound in the brush behind William. A tingle of fear crawled up his spine, and he began walking a little faster. Without really wanting to, he spoke aloud again. "You were facing a slow, deteriorating death. At least this was quick. And not too painful. I hope." William felt his stomach knot. "It was an accident, Dad. You have to know that." William shivered in the damp air, but he heard nothing but the birds. "Okay, Will. Calm down. You're all right. Let's just get out of here and go home. Get some sleep."

There was a loud snap as William stepped on a dry branch, and the sudden noise left his nerves humming with tension. William walked faster. Just up ahead, through the trees, he could see the road. He began to run in an exhausted lope. Emerging abruptly from the forest, he stumbled and fell down upon the raised asphalt. The oncoming pickup truck had no time to swerve.

With a spray of gravel the truck slid to a halt. The passenger door flung open and a tall, bony man emerged. His face was tanned from years of exposure to the sun and its creases outlined a determined expression. He ran back to the body and pressed his ear against the mouth, left hand resting on the torso, heedless of the blood. After a moment he stood up again, absentmindedly wiping his hand off on the leg of his overalls.

The truck's driver-side door opened, and a teen-aged boy disentangled himself from the seat belt and hurried over. "Dad? Is he —"

The man turned to face the boy. "You damned idiot!" he yelled. "What the hell were you doing? You hit him on purpose!"

"No I didn't!"

"I felt it! Right when he came out, you gunned the engine!"

"I didn't mean to! I was going for the brake but I missed and hit the gas pedal!"

The father tore off his baseball cap and threw it onto the road. "Dammit! That's it! I'm taking away your learner's permit! As long as you're under my roof, you're gonna walk! You want to learn how to drive? Find a girlfriend, get married and move out. Your wife can teach you how to drive!"

"Yeah well I bet a wife wouldn't be yelling at me all the time, making me panic and freeze up!"

"Oh! So this is my fault? Is that it? You self-righteous little piece of poop. Don't you dare try to play the victim here!" With a sweeping gesture the older man pointed down at the body. "This man is the victim here!"

The young man looked at the body, as if he had forgotten it was there. "Dad, we have to get him to the hospital! Is he still alive?"

"No he is not!"

He yelled in reply, "He's dead?!"

In a low growl the father said, "Keep your voice down! Yes. He's dead."

"But Dad." The boy looked like he was going to cry. In a near whisper he asked, "What do we do?"

"Just — just be quiet for a moment." The older man looked around the forest, then up at the sky, bright blue above the treetops. "I need to think."