Medusa and the Grave Digger
Hristos whistled a tune; it was an old song that his Yia-yia used to sing for him.
He dug and whistled.
“To whom does this plot belong?” Startled, he began to turn. “Please do not.” She warned him.
“Sotirios.” He stuttered, “Kalogeropoulos.”
“Was he a handsome man?” She asked.
“I… I do not know.” He replied. The marble top of the tomb burst open. He heard her move towards it through the crisp leaves.
“He will do.” She said, retrieving the body.
He waited until he was sure she had gone, before removing the sprinkling of coins she’d dropped into the empty coffin. Something moved across his feet. It was a snake. It slithered quickly through the grass in her direction… suddenly, he realized who she was, and froze.
Light was breaking and an owl was making his last call, time to leave, and not too soon.
The family was gracious in their acceptance of the statue. It displayed prominently in their grand entrance as a reminder of the former patriarch of the family, so perfect in detail that it was as if Papou Kalogeroploulos himself had been turned to stone.