Here Lies

In Short

This story explores the volatile friendship between Chauncey and Shep, two aging men living on a shared property. Through a twisted interpretation of communism, Chauncey allows Shep to claim ownership of everything he possesses—from his tobacco to his private mail. When the dynamic sours over a shared interest in their housekeeper, Celia, the tension culminates in a dark, ironic resolution. It is a sharp, atmospheric meditation on the possessiveness inherent in human relationships, sustained by a dry, unsentimental wit that remains unsettling and evocative decades later.

The Story

Chauncey and Shep are remnants of a shared past, schoolmates turned housemates living on St. Paul’s Hill. Chauncey, the primary provider, maintains a log house and adheres to a philosophy of "practical communism," which effectively means he permits Shep to treat all his belongings as his own. Shep resides in a converted ice-house on the property, whittling a long wooden chain and hoarding tobacco, while their housekeeper, Celia Lilleoden, ensures their domestic comfort.

The arrangement is comfortable but strained by the parasitic nature of their pact. Shep does not merely share; he usurps, opening Chauncey’s personal mail and feigning physical ailments to shirk labor while surreptitiously performing tasks he claims he cannot do. Chauncey, though deeply annoyed, finds himself unable to stop the encroachment because Shep uses the language of their shared "communism" to shame him whenever he attempts to set a boundary.

The precarious balance shatters when Chauncey makes the mistake of mentioning his interest in marrying Celia. Shep, sensing a new, more vital prize, begins to maneuver for her attention. Chauncey watches with mounting, impotent rage as the man who has already taken his privacy and his supplies turns his sights toward his housekeeper.

The conflict is abruptly terminated when Chauncey finds Shep dead on the hillside, clutching a cache of stolen money. Chauncey responds with a chilling, calculated benevolence. He offers Shep his own pre-prepared, elaborate burial plot—a brick-lined underground cell equipped with a stone bed, tobacco, a pipe, and an alarm clock. Chauncey, who had previously installed the cell for his own eventual use, has the tombstone re-carved to memorialize Shep.

Following the funeral, Chauncey marries Celia, securing her presence as his housekeeper. However, he becomes obsessed with the grave. Driven by a lingering suspicion—or perhaps a dark hope—he spends his nights at the cemetery, listening at the tombstone for the alarm clock to ring. He waits for Shep, whom he suspects of having faked his death or being capable of rising from it, to wake up. When Celia finally drags him away from the grave, Chauncey views his forced departure not as a loss, but as a final victory. He assumes that after five nights of silence, Shep has finally learned that his persistent, opportunistic encroachment has reached its end. The grave is not just a final resting place; it is the ultimate, quiet wall between them.

How It Unfolds

The shared life Chauncey and Shep exist in a state of codependent friction, defined by a "practical communism" where Shep consumes Chauncey’s resources without inquiry. Their environment is established through the physical space of the main house and the adjacent ice-house, bridged by the efficiency of their housekeeper, Celia.

The rising tension The routine of shared meals and whittling is disrupted when Chauncey realizes Shep is lying about his health to avoid work and, worse, begins encroaching on the possibility of a relationship with Celia. Chauncey realizes that his "generosity" has created a monster he cannot easily dismiss.

The sudden vacancy Shep is found dead on the hill, his hand full of stolen cash, and is promptly interred in Chauncey’s personal, bespoke mausoleum. This act of "kindness" serves as a final, controlling gesture by the man who has been exploited for years.

The subterranean vigil Chauncey spends his nights listening at the tomb, convinced that Shep might still be active, waiting for the alarm clock to signal a return. His obsession persists until Celia forces an end to the nightly visits.

The final reckoning Chauncey accepts the end of his vigil, interpreting the silence from the grave as a lesson learned by his deceased friend. He rests in the satisfaction of having finally set a boundary that even the dead must respect.

The People

Chauncey is the architect of his own frustration. A man of iron will and precise habits, he values order and property but is shackled by a self-imposed ideology of total sharing. His struggle is between his desire to be a "good" provider and his mounting resentment toward the man who treats his life as a communal buffet.

Shep is an opportunist who weaponizes his long-term friendship and the rhetoric of equality to justify petty theft and social maneuvering. He lacks any sense of shame, viewing Chauncey’s property as his birthright. His death does not end his presence; it merely shifts the battlefield to the graveyard.

Celia Lilleoden represents the reality of the domestic sphere. She is the anchor of the household, admired by both men for her competence and youth. She is largely unaware of the extent of the psychological warfare being waged over her, serving as both the catalyst for the final conflict and the force that eventually pulls Chauncey back from the brink of his obsession.

In Its Own Voice

"Words being precious things, both old boys hoarded every syllable; Shep tightened his leathery lips and with the scalpel-point of the knife flicked away a mote of pine."

The narrator describes the sparse, calculated communication style that defines the two men’s long-standing, tense relationship.

"If you want to keep secrets from your old crony, why, you just tell me seriously not to open those letters any more and I won't."

Shep uses the language of their shared "communism" to manipulate Chauncey, framing a simple request for privacy as a betrayal of their bond.

"With that topside staring him in the face, he'll have something to read in the hereafter."

Chauncey displays his grim, ironic sense of humor while preparing the tombstone for the man who spent his life taking everything else.

What It's Really About

At its core, the book examines the thin line between generosity and exploitation. It questions whether true equality can exist between two people when one party is defined by what they give and the other by what they take. The "communism" practiced by the men is not a political act, but a psychological trap; it is a way to avoid the messy, difficult work of setting boundaries. The story suggests that when one refuses to assert their own rights, they eventually become a victim of their own benevolence. Ultimately, it is a study of how humans use systems and philosophies to rationalize their inability to say "no" to the people who are closest to them.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate dry, dark humor and character-driven narratives will find a great deal to admire here. The prose is lean and unsentimental, cutting through the domestic setting with a surgical sharpness that keeps the reader off-balance. It feels like a folk tale stripped of its sentimentality and replaced with a modern, cynical edge.

It is worth noting that the story reflects the attitudes of its time, particularly in its depiction of gender roles and the occasionally casual, sometimes harsh, dismissiveness of its characters. The dialect and the, at times, archaic phrasing require a patient ear, but the payoff is a masterfully constructed portrait of a toxic, lifelong bond. Those who enjoy fiction that explores the darker, unspoken resentments festering behind the facade of friendship will find this a haunting experience. It is a compact, potent read that stays with you, leaving behind a lingering question: at what point does the kindness we show to others become an act of cruelty toward ourselves? It is a rare, precise examination of human selfishness, handled with a steady, unflinching hand that feels as relevant today as when it was first penned.