My girlfriend and I were crossing through a graveyard when she abruptly stopped and grabbed my arm. She grinned. I knew that grin. In a cemetery? It felt a little weird. Disrespectful, too. I looked around. It was obvious we were alone. New England autumn was in full effect. The ground was covered in dead leaves.
The place looked creepy. We did what we apparently needed to do. She seemed to enjoy it, at least. Afterward, I was trying to pick leaves and grass off and out of myself while she grabbed our clothes off the headstone. Like the others? The late afternoon dimness was giving way to full dark. Fog joined the mist and it crept down the hill into the cemetery like a shroud. My girlfriend looked enthralled. She got a couple shots, then gave me the phone to hold.
Thick, cold raindrops began to fall. While I was pulling my sweatshirt over my head, I heard her gasp, then moan. A hand — a cracked, skeletal hand — had burst from the ground and was gripping her ankle. I shouted and grabbed her arm, but she pulled away. Blood wept through her denim as the hand gripped ever tighter, and after a second, I heard the bone crack.
Her face took on an expression of intense discomfort, but she refused to shout. I yelled and kicked at the hand as profound horror forced adrenaline through my body. Again, I tried to grab her arms. She struggled, but I held tight. I pulled as hard as I could. As I did, a hideous rotting corpse was dragged from its grave. Rudolph Jans Mendelson. I was sobbing now and expending all the effort I could to pull her away from the corpse.
His misshapen head seethed with maggots and his eyes and tongue bulged out like some benthic atrocities that had never been exposed to light. My eyes were closed now as I pulled with singular purpose. I felt teeth sinking into my arm and my eyes flew open as I shouted with pain.
In that moment of agony and surprise, my grip loosened. His swollen tongue passed over her neck and face. She just watched me and watched my reaction. Unsettling Stories is on Facebook. Like this: Like Loading Ah yes, hybristophilia. Should have guessed this would come in one of your stories sooner or later. Your email address will not be published.
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