Day 333 - Grave

Grave

Matthew Ryan Fischer

 

The soil in the graveyard was disturbed. It had rained often, but this was something more. The soil was fresh. Overturned. There was an investigation, but the graves seemed fine. The groundskeeper installed some cameras and an additional guard was added at night. If it was teenagers out having reckless fun, then perhaps this would dissuade them.

She had worshiped death. The graveyard used to be a family plot on a hill, back when the city had been a village. She was attracted to it. She didn’t know why. There were the stories about her ancestors. The blood and the betrayals. The battles for money.

Someone slit their throats, their wrists. They bled out, their blood staining and soaking the ground.

The ground for its part soaked up the blood and drank down their lifeforce.

She enjoyed the legends. It made going there all the more enjoyable. But she was never sure just how real the stories were or what had truly happened. Some said it was jealousy. Others said there was a madness that ran in their blood. She secretly believed that death was a spirit that fed off the living. Perhaps death had been especially hungry when it came to her family. Or perhaps her family simply tasted better than all the rest.

She was in love with death. She wanted death to take her as a bride. She spread her legs and touched herself and imagined what it would be like.

The people visited the graveyard. There were movie nights and horror films and concessions sold. Some of the teenagers stayed late. There were those that wanted a private place to experiment on each other. There were others that came to drink or desecrate. They had all made a mistake they couldn’t have known.

She and death had reached a deal and she was allowed to return to feed.

Every night was the wrong night to visit this graveyard.

In the morning there would be the yard workers. In the day there would be a funeral or a passing mourner, there to grieve for a loved one. In the day they would find the bodies and fear.

But the night was hers. She would be free, to roam, to feed. Beware the night and the horrors it may bring.