Acusilaus

by Mike Mayak

Waking up in the middle of the night to see a pale, glowing man standing by your bed ought to terrify you.

But I should start at the beginning.

My name is Mark Kammopolis. I’m a Greek-American Archeologist working on one of the smaller Greek islands. I actually speek Greek which is part of how I got the job. My degrees in Anthropology, Archeology and History helped too.

My main co-worker, Giorgos Zografakis and a small crew were excavating what we believed was a villa on the island. We found the usual things; Crockery, coins and then we found a skeleton. Intact. And with his wrists and legs shackled.

We figured he (yes, he) had been buried maybe 2300 years before. We carefully removed him and examined him in the mobile lab we had on the island. Since we couldn’t just call him “The Skeleton.” somebody started calling him “Acusilaus,” after an ancient Greek writer.

“Obviously, this man was a slave,” Giorgos said. “Besides the chains, look at the bones. Stooped posture, fracture. A life of hard labor.” He sighed. “We have it so lucky.”

Our analysis showed our Acusilaus was about thirty when he died.

We took our pictures and our samples and then we were ready to return him to his resting place when I said “Hold it.” (In English.)

Giorgos always loved it when I used American expressions.

“Get me something to cut these chains off,” I said, in Greek this time. “I’m sure Acusilaus here had enough of chains in life. He shouldn’t be wearing them in death.”

It took us longer to cut the shackles off than it did to re-bury the now unchained bones.

We were staying at a beachfront hotel in the village a short boat ride away.

That night I awoke alone in my room to a blue glow. There was a feeling in the room that I was dreaming but was wide awake.

The source of the glow was a young man standing at my bedside wearing a tunic of ancient times, hair unkempt and thinning but looking very young and smiling broadly. When he spoke it was in strangely-accented Greek which I somehow understood perfectly.

“It does not make any difference at this late date,” said the ghost (as I assumed it was.) “But I am here to repay your kindness to me, one of the only kindnesses I ever received.”

I should have asked Acusilaus many questions about the villa, his life and his times but I just lay there dazed.

“My foolish Master fell drunkenly into the ocean and drowned not long after my death and unceremonius burial,” the ghost said. “I know the treasure you seek. Stand at my grave and walk twenty-six paces towards the setting Sun and you will find the entrance to my Master’s Villa. But walk fifty paces in the same direction and stop and dig deep. There you will find jars of gold coin my Master did not get to spend before his death of too much water and wine. Coin he buried where he believed no one would find it.”

I could see the hotel TV behind the ghost through the ghost.

“And now I go to the Place of Shades to resume my endless slumber,” said the ghost with a bow. Then he looked up and grinned. “Well, almost endless.”

Then he was gone but I was not sure whether he had vanished or I had merely awakened.

The next day at the dig I followed the directions to the front of the villa and we began excavating. We did find what was left of the building and pictures and an article wound up in an Archeological journal.

Acusilaus’ shackles are on display in the little museum in the village we stayed at, along with a smaller article and pictures of the site.

But I didn’t even bother looking for the gold. The ghost had doubtless slept through the earthquakes that had split the island in two and crumbled its Western side into the ocean a millennium ago. Any measuring paces I tried in that direction from the villa would have sent me to the ocean floor possibly to joinAcusilaus’ Master.

—end—