4 hours ago4 hr The iron gates of Blackwood Cemetery groaned under the midnight wind. Thomas, the old caretaker, dragged his shovel toward the fresh mound of earth at the edge of the plot. He hated the late shifts; the silence here wasn't peaceful—it felt heavy, like a collective bated breath.He struck the dirt, but instead of the dull thud of earth, his shovel hit hollow wood. Clang.Thomas froze. He hadn't dug this deep yet.From beneath his boots came a frantic, muffled scratching.Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.Heart hammering, he dropped to his knees, brushing away the loose soil with his bare hands. The scratching grew louder, desperate and furious, accompanied by a faint, suffocating scream.He cleared the nameplate on the coffin lid. His breath caught in his throat. It read: Thomas Vance.The scratching abruptly stopped. From behind him, a cold hand rested gently on his shoulder.
Create an account or sign in to comment