The First One Back (standard:horror, 402 words)
Author: kendall thomas	Added: Nov 18 2003	Views/Reads: 3420/2	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A man sees holes in graves.

The First One Back 

by Twisted Rabbit 

There was a chilliness in the air that November morning.  But nothing
compared to the icy fingers that were running up and down my spine. 

All the graves in Downing's Cemetery were opened.  I mean there were
round holes opening from each grave.  Like fox holes -- only bigger.  
Much bigger.  Big enough for a person to crawl out of. 

I didn't like to think about that though. 

Yesterday had been Halloween when the dead are supposed to rise from
their graves and walk the earth. 

It couldn't be, but unless someone was playing an elaborate game, it had
happened. 

Only a thin wisp of chimney smoke from a distant farm house hidden from
view by gnarly trees and stony hills hinted at any life on the barren, 
rain-soaked countryside. 

Dark, misty clouds hung low like funeral drapes over the black, wet
branches of the trees bordering the cemetery. 

The occasional, faint  knocking of a woodpecker,  like some spirit omen,
could be heard in the distance. 

Rain dripped slowly from the eaves of the old church playing a mournful
threnody in the puddles beneath. 

Phantom fingers continued moving up and down my spine. 

I shivered. 

A cold wind blew an icy drop down my neck beneath the collar of my
jacket.  I should have worn a hat; my hair hung in wet strands. 

If the dead have arisen, then they will be coming back as evening falls,
according to legend.  There was only a faint glow now coming from the 
west through the louring clouds.  It was getting dark.  The dead would 
soon return, and I didn't want to be here when they did. 

I turned toward the entrance gate, but when I tried to step forward I
couldn't.  My feet refused to obey me.  Instead I felt myself being 
turned back around as if by an unseen hand. 

I began walking, zombie like, mesmerized, toward one of the nearest
graves and stopped before it.  My name was engraved upon the grey, 
moss-covered stone. 

I remembered then the sudden loss of control, the grinding crunch of car
metal as I went through the windshield cutting my throat on the 
razor-sharp edge of the crumpled hood. 

I sank slowly to my knees and began crawling into the hole. 

The others would be returning shortly, but I wouldn't be seeing them. 

I was the first one back. 


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