A story about a solitary gravedigger who fights monster with his right hand and raises a baby with the left one.
A dull yet annoying sound sneaked its way into his dream. At first he believed it was a part of it. In this dream he had been trying to put someone to rest. After the coffin was released and touched the fresh moist earth, the deceased woke up. And hammered with his fists against the lid. But the gravedigger didn’t give a damn. He shoveled the earth back into its pit as he usually did. He wasn’t bothered. Once something is in a coffin, it stays there. It wasn’t his job to release some poor soul which suddenly decided to wake up. His job was to keep this poor soul in its place.
Certainly, several times a year it happened that the dead woke up. They battered against the coffin walls, they screamed, they begged. With his finely sharpened senses, the Undertaker could hear them all. But, as has been said, he didn’t give a damn. He was paid to bury them, not pull them out.
The annoying sound persisted. It was definitely not a dream. It was
much louder, rhythmic, stronger and vibrating. No woken soul would
ever hammer in such a calm and steady way like clockwork. Out of
sleep, back to his consciousness, the Undertaker finally realized
some idiot was throwing stones at the shutters of his house. Through
the high razor-sharp fence where many who tried to sneak into his
graveyard were cut in half. Covering the entire distance from the
fence to his house. Someone really good at throwing with a nasty
supply of rocks. The Undertaker swore, slithered out of bed, put on
his rags and, along with his keys, grabbed his shovel. He promised
himself he would cut the nocturnal intruder’s head off – slowly
and painfully.
And there he stood. Beneath a sickening foggy moonlight, beyond his
kingdom of the dead, the Undertaker observed the ghastly silhouette
still throwing rocks. This bastard brought a full cart of them and
was not aware of his presence. The gravedigger approached almost
invisibly. He was feared for his cunning skills. Soundless sneaking,
for example. He had this unpleasant habit of appearing behind
someone’s back out of nowhere. Not seldomly, this someone suffered
a stroke and dropped dead. Especially when the victim was inspecting
the grave hole for some recently deceased relative. In such cases the
Undertaker didn’t even bother. He left them where he fell and threw
the coffin at them. For these reasons, the Undertaker tended to dig
his holes a little deeper. Just in case.
The hooded person throwing rocks sensed his presence. It ceased and
loosened the rock from its hand. Slowly it turned towards him.
A woman. Tall, slim, with a solid body used to hard labor. The face
quite young, more pretty than ugly. She seemed to have expected him.
“Are you going to use that against me?” She pointed her look at
his shovel. Her voice sounded calm and soft. And fearless.
“Possibly,” he answered darkly. “What do you want?”
“Can we talk inside?” she insisted.
“No.”
The woman bowed her head and remained silent.
“You can throw from here, you can talk from here. Or piss off,”
he told her, unimpressed.
“I need someone excavated, now,” she confessed.
“The Undertaker threw his shovel on his shoulder, turned away and begun to walk back to his graveyard.” Love the design? Dress it up.
The Undertaker threw his shovel on his shoulder, turned away and
began to walk back to his graveyard.
“Wait,” the woman shouted after him, then added shyly, “I’ll
give you… anything you want.”
The Undertaker stopped. When he turned to her, she could see the
demonic smile on his face. For a few seconds he examined her.
“The coat,” the Undertaker commanded.
The woman obeyed. Slowly she removed the warm and heavy coat, rolled
it carefully and put it into a cart. She had on a tight ink-black
robe. Her collar bones under her pale skin reflected the moonlight as
well as her onyx necklace. Her hair was beautiful. Long, dense and
uneasily tamed. He let her wait in the cold and observed how she
strived to resist the chilly night, how her breath would be drawn
heavier, how her body would start to tremble and her lips turn blue.
“Follow me,” he said finally.
The Undertaker walked, she followed several steps after him. Through
the gate, through the alley, into his house.
“Clothes,” he pointed at his bed.
She stood in the middle of a large room. Dirty, simple and rustically
equipped. She looked around, pretending she hadn’t heard him. Then
she approached the massive wooden dinner table. With her back to him,
she started to undress. Her attire dropped to the cold earthen floor.
In front of the Undertaker, the body of a steady healthy woman was
uncovered. Sinews, muscles, bones. Round tasty breasts, straight long
legs. All teeth in their place.
She sat on the table and waited, her body still slightly trembling
from the cold, her skin still slightly blue from the chill.
The Undertaker threw his shovel into a corner. Clumsily, he undressed
his enormously tall, deformed, ungainly figure. Ugly and repulsive
though he appeared, he was still a man with animal desires. He took
the strange woman he knew nothing about, not even her name. He had no
care to know it. Now she had become his victim, or maybe he hers. He
took her like he did everything – harshly and savagely. At first
she sensed only pain. She felt him like glowing iron, ready to melt
and burn her whole body. She wished she had experienced such frenzy
years ago, with someone she imagined loving, in times when she was
younger and the world was a much better place in which to live.
He carelessly finished within her and when he parted he noticed she
still chewed on her own bloody lips.
“Whom do you wish to excavate?” the Undertaker asked, tying his
trousers.
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