Chapter 3... The Dangers of Digging

I'm not as happy with this chapter, but here it is... Any suggestions?

-------
Chapter 3: The Dangers of Digging

"You're late." Harold's dad didn't sound angry, more curious than anything. 

Harold nodded. "Sorry Dad. I missed the buses and had to walk home."

"You could have called if you wanted a ride." 

Harold shrugged. 

Bill Maria smiled and tossed Harold a shovel. "I hope walking didn't tire you out, we've got a hole to dig."

 Harold caught the handle, and hefted the tool. He grinned, and followed his dad around the back of the house. He'd been helping his dad all manner of landscaping projects over the summer.... And he was glad to see that the start of school didn't mean the end of the outside work. 

He liked to help, and more he liked to be with his father. 

"We're gonna dig a fire pit." While he spoke, his father pressed aluminum spikes into the ground, creating a circular pattern. 

He used the shovel handle to measure a constant diameter, then used the blade to edge the grass. 

"Alright Harold, this is where we'll dig. We want to go straight down, about a foot. Maybe a foot."

They started to dig. The cool evening air kept them comfortable, and they had enough daylight to work by. 

In a short time, they had excavated a circle out of the sod, and collected a modest pile of rocks. 

Harold watched as his father, looked around their yard, and pointed to the far fencing. "It's lower over there. We chose the high ground so we wouldn't have to go crazy with drainage, but we still need to think about how we want to keep the pit dry."

After some brainstorming they settled on digging a fan shaped slope, widening from the pit to lower part of the yard. 

They dug deeper as they fanned out, to create a nice gradient.

By now they were dripping sweat. Harold wiped his brow with the back of his hand. 

His Dad looked up from his work, and laughed when he saw Harold's face. 

"What is it?"

Bill Maria tapped his own forehead, and gestured to Harold. 
"If you were younger, your mom would get mad at me for letting you get so filthy."

Harold made to wipe his forehead, but looked at his hands just in time. Dirt and debris, caked across every working surface. 

He hadn't thought to check them before wiping at his sweat moments prior. The thought of his mother's reaction made him chuckle. He slicked away the sweat with the back of his forearm, which was comparatively less dirty. 

"So why'd you miss your bus?" Bill Maria's shovel sliced into the dirt, he appeared to be intent on the work. 

Harold's shovel had hit a root, a thick one. He positioned the blade and used his body weight to cut through it. "I... Well. I went to the administrators office- by choice."

"I see." His dad threw some dirt aside, and stood leaning on his shovel, waiting to hear the rest. 

"One of my teachers made fun of my name, tried to keep the class late, and broke my pencil when I tried to share with a girl who didn't have one. I went to report him." 

His dad nodded. And went back to shoveling. "He sounds like a jerk. But I don't know if complaining to his boss was the right choice, especially on your first day-"

"Dad she hates him too. I heard her reprimand him over the phone. She even called him a dumbass."

Bill Maria laughed to himself. "Well, that's good to hear. But he might want to take that all out on you. Just be careful. 

Remember he knows the system better than you do, just try not to give him any material."

"What do you mean?"

His father grunted and pried with the shovel. Up came a large misshapen rock. "Don't try to pick a fight with him, don't try to challenge him. I'm not saying let him get away with whatever he wants... But I am saying don't stir the pot. He can make life pretty miserable for you if you act up he'll find away to spin it. 
Play it cool."

Harold nodded. "Thanks Dad."

"Uh-huh. By the way..."

Harold listened.

"The girl you tried to give your pencil to... Was she cute?"

Harold blushed. But he knew he couldn't deny the obvious. "Yep. She's great."

"Well, I bet she appreciated you trying to help. Did you talk to her after, introduce yourself?"

Harold shook his head. "I left class at the bell. I'm pretty sure she waited for the teacher to let the class out."

Bill speared his shovel blade into the earth. "Well you better say something to her tomorrow. Let her know who you are."
Harold's shovel screeched against something big. "What the hell was that?" He thanked the unknown object for cutting that conversation short.

"Watch your mouth, the windows are open and your little brother doesn't need to hear that." But he didn't sound angry. His voice was laced with curiosity. "I don't know what that was, sounded like metal. Dig around a bit."

Harold dug around what appeared to be a rusted iron cylinder a little less than an inch across- it was heavily rusted. He tried to pull it, but it was wedged tight. "How deep do you think this thing goes, Dad?"

Bill Maria shook his head. "Who knows. I'm sure there's nothing dangerous here. I looked at the old plans for the house, and I even called the town. There's no electric, no plumming, no gas, at least not right here."

"Should we dig it out?"

His dad shrugged. "What the hell, now that we found it I wanna see what it is. Besides it in the way."

They dug deep, past the top soil, well into the clay and well into the subsoil. The iron cylinder was found to be a long pole. 

When they had a good amount unearthed, they both tried to get a grip and pull it out. 

It had a bit of wiggle, but was still quite stuck. 

They widened the hole. They tried hammers, to force the bar loose. They tried tugging again. 

It was beyond them, but they couldn't give up after coming so far. 

"I have an idea." His dad stood up, and brushed off his hands. "I'll be right back."

Harold watched his dad go around the house, and heard him cluttering around in the garage. He came back with a pipe wrench. 

He hefted the pipe wrench, "When in doubt, twist it out." But after he said it he paused, then he laughed the way dads do. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

And neither had Harold heard it that way. He grimaced. Innuendos were always dumb, but especially when they barely qualified as innuendo to begin with. Nothing like a dirty dad joke to soil the mood. 

He took the wrench from his dad and clamped it down on the bar, then started hitting it with the hammer. The bar started to turn in the earth, at around 10 degrees rotation, they heard a serious of loud cracks- like something brittle being split apart. 
He stopped hammering and looked to his dad. 

His dad shrugged, and they pulled the bar out. 

It ended up being an iron spike, measuring about 2 feet long, with one end tapered to a point resembling the head of a spear.
"What was the crunching though?" Harold asked. 

His dad didn't reply, he just picked up his shovel and kept digging. Harold helped him widen the hole. 

But dirt kept falling into the bottom. The widened the hole enough for Alex to reach down in and start scooping dirt with his hands. 

He pulled up a handful, reached down for another. 

Something sharp against his splayed fingers, it tore his skin. 

He winced and pulled his hand back. A drop of blood fell from his middle finger, wetting the dirt. He pinched his hand to slow the flow. 

"Shoot." His dad said. 

They went over to the hose and cleaned the wound. 

"You better zip inside get that cleaned with soap." Harold nodded and went. He heard his dad call after him, "When you come back bring us something to drink."

His mother yelled from the living room, "You better not track any dirt in here Harry!"

He went back to the door and kicked his shoes off. It wasn't only dirt he'd tracked. There were a couple drops of blood too. He cupped his hand to catch whatever else might fall. 

Harold washed. The soap stung his cut. It was a jagged hole, on the inside of his finger, a torn flap of skin hung against the open cut. 

He applied some antiseptic and bandaged it up, then went back outside a glass of water for himself, a bottle of beer for his dad. 
They sat on the weathered steps of the porch, and drank. It looked like a falling star had hit their back yard: grass torn up, dirt and rocks scattered like shrapnel. 

"I got it out, while you were in there. Care to venture a guess?" 
"Maybe some pottery or something."

"Nope. Good guess though." 

His dad handed him a fractured animal skull- still covered in dirt. It's jaw was large, and it's teeth were impressive. 

His dad pointed to the whole in the top of the skull. "I think that spike was stuck through there. I think when we twisted it, it broke here, and here."

Harold nodded. "What kind of animal is it?"

"I guess a dog. It looks like a fox or coyote, but it's way to big. It makes me think of a wolf, but those were hunted out of the region probably more than a century ago. Then again... there's no telling how old this thing is." He hefted the iron spike. 

"How's your cut?"

Harold peeled the bandage back to show off his battle scar. 
Bill laughed. "Well that's not so bad. But I think we ought to get you a tetnus booster. Rusty metal and dirt, you know?"

Harold nodded. "Can we schedule that for Wednesday, so I can skip English?"

His dad only responded with a laugh, and a shrug. 

They drank, and discussed the next steps.

"While you're at school tomorrow, I'll have to pick up some one inch gravel. We'll also need some bricks- gray or red?"
Harold swallowed a gulp of water... "For what?"

"For the edge of the fire pit. We're gonna build a half foot retaining wall."

"Red seems too common. Let's do grey."

Bill nodded. "Gonna help me finish this tomorrow? I guess we'll also need to fill in that skull hole."

Harold nodded.

"So you're not gonna miss the bus again tomorrow are you?"
He shook his head. And inspected the animal skull. He wondered why it had been skewered. "Nope. I'm not gonna make ripples."
------

Chapter 4: If Skulls Could Speak