Fred's Detector

Fred Peters ordered the metal detector online yesterday and it had arrived today. He had been wanting to get into a new hobby for some time now as the volunteer work he was doing at the church had been dulling his senses of lately. There were just too many volunteers that had amassed over the months and Fred felt uncomfortable with the crowd of new faces – as good-intentioned as they were. And there was only so much trash a man could pick up for his community until he questioned his social status.

He opened the box, ripping the needless miles of tape that did a fine job of mummifying the cardboard instead of serving any real purpose. The unit came pre-assembled (he paid an extra ten dollars for that) and had a rechargeable battery that would last a full twelve hours while Fred began his amateur backyard excavations.

That was where he intended to start anyway. A mostly open plot of just over two acres, it was as good a place as any before he would find a way to probe the areas around his property. He glanced over the instructions that came with the device, but really didn’t need to since he read them earlier this morning online. He then put his work-boots, coat and hat on and grabbed his new toy as he made his way out into the dreary, early-December day. It had begun to snow lightly. The only sounds were the occasional vehicle making its way past Fred’s house – most of them neighbors that Fred gave a warm smile and wave to.

He turned the device on, adjusting the sensitivity according to what he read versus what he knew about the consistency of the soil where he lived. An amateur he might be, but he was determined to start things off accurately.

He began making his way to the very edge of his property near the road, walking slowly toward the wooded area owned by Mr. Johnson. The old man gave his approval to Fred yesterday to search the woods in the event he discovered that his back yard in Montana was not in fact the final resting place of the Ark of the Covenant.

He continued his scanning for the next two hours, finding nothing but the remains of a blue thumb tack and a fish-hook that took almost ten minutes to uncover with his small garden shovel. An ancient fish-hook, Fred thought. The World Archaeological Bureau was bound to be pounding down his door now, Fred thought with a hint of frustration. Assuming that organization even existed. He’d have to Google that later.

He approached the back corner of the opposite side of the property. As he did so, the device made the tell-tale electronic belching sound that indicated something larger than a farmer’s lost fishing hook was below. He waved the device around, looking for the strongest signal and began to dig. And dig he did with that hand-held shovel. Almost an hour passed and Fred uncovered nothing but dirt, rocks and some sort of wooden bead. After about forty-five minutes, Fred had managed to dig a hole two feet in diameter and three and a half feet deep. With nothing to show for it. Throwing down his shovel with a curse, Fred fired his detector back up and scanned the small crater he had just made again. Nothing. Not a belch. Not a peep. Not a whisper. Static.

Looking around while clearing his sweat-soaked temples, he decided he would fill the hole in later and continue his search into Mr. Johnson’s property. It was much more dense, with pathways – some naturally formed, others formed by youngsters over the years who used them to play games that Fred long forgot.

He made his way into the thicket, following the lightly snow-dusted path that led from his property. The instructions stated that some light moisture shouldn’t be a problem for the device, and Fred hoped this was true as he said a silent prayer to discover something. Anything. After all, no one else in the community was doing this particular hobby at the moment so that left Fred as the resident expert, he thought as he made his way deeper into the thicket.

Suddenly, a sound. Similar to the one he heard about an hour before. Much more pronounced however. Fred wiped the thin layer of snow aside and began digging more fervently than before. “This damn detector better not be defective. Even with the warranty. Cheap, foreign made crap” Fred said to himself, now using his hands to expedite the digging process.

A feeling. Fred felt along, looking for edges as he studied the dirt-covered discovery. He felt none. He knocked on the thing, but no echo indicating hollowness answered his knuckles. He gave it a stab with the point of his shovel. At this, the metal detector began to squelch again, even though it was pointed at the path behind him and laying horizontally on the ground near the hole– the round part in the air. Fred deduced that he must of hit some bedrock. Why would the detector go off here, Fred thought.

He then decided that the squelching detector that lay near him must be defective after all. He picked it up angrily and as he did, it went silent with static. “Well now. I suppose the rest of my afternoon will be spent filling out the stupid warranty information after all” Fred murmured to himself.

He made his way back through the trees when he noticed the detector making faint sounds. He put his ear to the speaker and heard an almost human sound. Was this thing somehow picking up radio waves? He tried to recognize the familiar sound of one of the local radio stations, but the voice…no voices told him that it had to be some amateur radio program. Amateur radio for the amateur archaeologist. At least their equipment does what it’s supposed to fucking do though, Fred thought, shaking his head as he walked onto his property.

The voices rose slightly at once and then the detector fell into its static-silence before making a large squelching sound again. By this time Fred was standing in the middle of his yard – standing in the very footprints he had made just a few hours ago. The detector kept making the noise; this time Fred had it pointing to the ground at a spot he must have missed during his first stroll. What the hell – one more try, Fred thought as the late afternoon began to slowly darken.

He dug at the spot indicated by the device once again, a lone figure in a snow-covered yard filled with zig-zagging footsteps. A few minutes later was he was rewarded by a metallic clinking sound. He dug up the cold and loose dirt around it, and between shovel thrusts, he swore he saw the thing rotate clockwise slightly. Dismissing the thought, he began to work further down along what looked to be a slightly concaved piece of metal about an inch wide that came to a point, facing him. He gave the newfound treasure (he could dream, couldn’t he?) a smile and gave it a few taps with his shovel for good luck.

Suddenly, the discovery pulled into the ground. Fred, dumbfounded, cocked his head wondering if he could be standing on a sinkhole as he crouched there. As he did, the thing thrust back through, impaling Fred through the anus and out through the side of his spine near the left scapula behind his heart. He shrieked; his body shot up and protracted well over ten feet in the cold and snowy air in the matter of a second. He hung there for a few seconds, body wracking with spasms; a shocked look to the grey clouds above as his shriek dwindled to a gurgling sound.

Not unlike the gurgling sounds the detector made.

His shrieks dwindled to a familiar hissing sound Fred remembered hearing that afternoon before everything went black.

Not unlike the static sounds the detector made.

He was jerked back and forth violently for a minute in the air before being pulled to the bloody patch of ground and snow, where he crouched merely seconds before. His body took on an impossible shape; leg and head through the small opening and the rest of his broken body positioned at odd angles in the air above the ground. He stayed that way for five seconds before disappearing entirely with a final bone-crunching protest through the narrow hole in the yard.

The metal detector’s speaker was at a fevered pitch with many more voices than before, all joined in a dissonant crescendo. Some sepulchral and low. Others high and banshee-like. Others seemingly ‘’moaning’’ or drooling the words. Still others...steely. All voices were proclaiming the same thing however. Over and over. And not in unity.

''“I found it! Look at thissss!”'' all voices in a thousand different languages and tones, but saying those same broken exclamations. After a minute of rising cacophony, the voices abruptly ended with only the hissing of the metal detector breaking the silence of the now heavy snows that came from the lonely Montana sky.

Apparently, Fred Peters was not the only one picking up archaeology that day after all.