Warning, the following post contains references to racism, implications of terrible crimes, corpse defilement, and uncanny descriptions of bareness. To put it plainly, it can make you uncomfortable. If you have Ommetaphobia, close the page. Writing exercise on horror (POC/American feedback appreciated, if details are flawed).

 

We’ve got a new one. Many years here, and this one may be the worst. I usually have a laugh hearing Dave’s crazy rants about how he is the king of Canada, or maybe Agatha’s daily complaints about her husband’s ghost. No, people here have never been a real concern. This one should not be either. However, even if I showed the diary to the boys and joked with them about it… it bothers me. It is not because the nurses glare and scold us for our attitude towards these nutjobs.

This man denies having ever rambled to the authorities. He does not seem insane. He talks normally, he behaves just like any other old man who just needs ordinary medical check-ups. This guy does not look like he belongs in a mental institute.

The reason for his arrest is why I dared to snatch his diary, which he seemed to be very fond of. He is an arsonist… When asked about it, he does not deny it; he says it was just a bad day, an urge he got after being fired. And boy, would anyone be fired after rushing, grabbing, and punching the town mayor. He had to be dragged away by police, still screaming to be heard, to be listened to. The officers just told him to stop spewing nonsense, or else.

That is when he burned the cemetery down, destroyed the gardens and lush forests around it. After they apprehended him, they read his personal notebook. They finally took him seriously enough. They sent him here.

I am copying the whole damn thing, before he, or others, find out I have taken it.

 

 

July 7th

I knew he would not kick the bucket in any other way, loudly and arrogantly. Typical Jerry; of course he would go down with his own bullet! One should never shoot upwards… But hey, it was the 4th of July. He had to.

This old town is messed up. I never liked the man; many others also knew to stay away from him. Still, half of the town attended his funeral. His buddies did not see the irony of carrying the same type of gun he died with, and his redneck family and friends proudly hanged a banner on his headstone, which said: “a true hero and patriot”.

Yes, I am sure a hero would be known for beating up people, depending on their color of skin. As well, for holding at gunpoint a teen who was pacing at his own house’s porch. And who could forget the time he was caught cheating on his wife! Somehow, he was still respected by his peers and church.

Ah, at least I will be the only one to have to look at him without wanting to. Sometimes it sucks to be the caretaker of this cemetery. Most of it is full of jerks. Still, I must give the same care to everyone buried here, no matter how it irks me.

The job sucks. I should not have to guard this place so zealously. I’m not a nightguard; the only thing I should do is keep things tidy and live calmly in my cabin. I swear, I will get that pesky guy one day… Whoever he is, he always lurks when one of these bigots drops. I’ve got a sharp eye, and he can’t fool me by hiding behind those tall trees at the far end of the garden.

I understand there are many, many reasons to want to see these people be taken six feet under, but all families deserve some respect in mourning. I’ll have some stern words with the kid once I put my hands on him…

 

September 24th

Don’t know what I’ve been taking. The doc says the pills are for my back pain, but I ain’t buying it. I can’t sleep, not since… that nightmare.

It was a nightmare, had to be. I was probably sleepwalking, or something. Yet I keep thinking of it. This stupid dream is keeping me from confronting a simple trespasser. I’m dropping the meds, for now; I don’t want these side effects while I deal with stubborn intruders.

 

September 28th

I’m taking them. I ain’t skipping them again. Nothing can be worse than what that thing can do to me if I am not in my prime. I need to know my body can run a mile or hold a gun with a firm stance.

It was no dream. A nightmare alright, a real one. I’ve been chasing these troublesome “kids” for months. I thought they just wanted to get even with these racist jerks once they could not move. But it ain’t kids, not even men. I’m not sure what I saw last night, but I swear… I swear I saw those eyes again.

I’m not going to sleep. I am afraid to ask my doc for some sleeping pills. There is something out there, near my cabin.

 

October 6th

It loves to watch. I thought it was the only thing it did. How wrong I was. Matthew, he was called. Typical fundamentalistic old man. Loved to hang his confederate flag under his window, but he was not as eager to put on his old robes in his last years.

That flag… no family member brought it to his tomb. It had marks, clawing ones. Whatever had grabbed it had the nails to make a bear jealous. The cloth had been laid gently over the headstone, yet the force holding it had torn it badly.

I’ve caught its shadow again, in plain daylight, just hidden in the shadows of the forest. Every time I see it observe one of these funerals, I fear it may lunge for the crowd. Thank god it never does.

There are some marks on Jerry’s tomb. It may have been opened and closed again at night. Maybe I should check, see if…

No, I must be wrong. Maybe I’m just crazy. Maybe I just need another chat with the doc. What am I even doing?

 

October 7th

Matt, before I opened your tomb, I prayed you would forgive me for doing so. Now I pray for us both. I am not sorry for checking on you, not anymore.

I know that the effects of death are awful on a corpse, but you should have not looked like that. Your body had been moved, even if faintly. Your eyes were… I don’t know if opened is the correct word. Your eyelids? Gone. Your mouth was wide open, far too broad for me to try to blame it on decomposition. Your clothes were torn, but you only suffered mild scratches on the lower half of your body.

Forgive me, but laying you back properly was the least of my concerns. It had to close the tomb quickly. The night after you were buried… that thing was by your window, was it not?

It was watching in the darkness while I backed away from your grave. This time, I could see it a little better. As I write, I pray for you and me. I’m waiting till morning to fall asleep.

 

October 29th

Matthew’s tomb is not the only one. Jerry’s too. So many others. I did not dare to open any at first; I kept walking past the subtle claw marks during the day, refusing to acknowledge them. The night I gave in, I was sure the thing would come for me, tear me to shreds.

Me writing this should be proof enough that it is not aggressive. Not yet at least. I’ll secure my cabin before I finally describe what I saw of that beast, because I may not have the stomach for anything if I do it now. I think it is trying to… bond with the corpses?

 

October 30th

Mate. The word is mate. I can’t sugar-coat it. I can’t pretend it is something supernatural. What the thing is doing is physical, to the very core. It does nothing but hold the bodies, as close and viscerally as possible.

Nobody is going to believe me, and I almost laugh at myself for writing this. No words can do justice to those disproportionate eyes. Big enough to overshadow all its features, not enough to lessen the rest of its inhuman traits. It can blink, but it never does if it knows you are there. Its eyelids always fold backwards to reveal its bulging white eyes.

When it spots you, it recoils and arches down its back. It has taken me a lot of time to catch it off guard. I always have been the one to notice it last, but I got it this time. Before sunset, I went to the edge of the forest and waited for it in silence. It is almost as if it is scared or disgusted by me. When it finally saw me, it moved its body as if to crouch, never looking away while it stood back, then still. Its height was much more intimidating before it did that.

I would say it holds more repulsion than fear. Otherwise, it would surely lunge and tear me apart. Its arms can bend in ways that have to be seen to be believed. They look like ropes, bulging ones. Overall, its skin has a rotten shade to it, subtle, but there. I do not think it is a walking corpse, because small pulses emanate from its chest, fading in intensity as they flow through the rest of its body. Its claws twitch to that rhythm. Those sharp nails are not what it uses to grab most things, however.

After a long while in which we just stared at each other, it began to move away, silently. At first, I thought it had a tail. To a child, maybe it would look like one. While it tangled the limb around a branch and climbed away, I had the urge to throw up. Its upper body had remnants of unkempt falling hair, but its lower half did not, giving it a much sicklier look.

The last thing I saw it do was let out a soundless hateful growl. Its mouth was always a scowling fanged sneer, its lower lip forced outwards by the lone tusk on its right side. The most human feature, other than its body shape, was its expression. Both eyes and mouth, the angry shaking on its shoulders… all hinted how much it despised my presence, my being.

If its stare had been as sharp as its claws, I would be dead. Maybe I wish I had died, because I’ve seen what it is really doing to its victims. It’s intrusive and inhumane. It only opens the graves once. And it only chooses a few. God, how relieved I was that there were no marks in the children’s section. However, I don’t know if age factors in what it looks for.

I keep finding “presents” buried or laid by the graves it picks, like that old flag. They belonged to those people; some are things that should be banned or are dangerous. Once, I found a hard drive. I deleted its contents.

It does not look to be as disgusted by those it nears and watches. I know it stalks before they are sent six feet under. Perhaps it thinks these people are not human, in a biological sense. It admires depravity and cruelty towards humanity. Maybe it believes only its kind can act that way.

People should know about this. This thing may go wild once it figures out the graves belong to a different species, that it can’t find a mate of its own kind. But who to tell? What am I supposed to do now that I know about this?

I am just a simple man. I really wish I never saw this monster.

 

November 2th

I’ve been banned for setting foot into my church. Sharing some vague details with mourning families was not a good idea. I thought that maybe, by announcing that the graves might have been messed with, they would investigate.

Sadly, the saying “ignorance is bliss” exists for a reason. Police won’t hear about it either; they say they would never allow such a thing to happen in our town. They can’t be bothered to listen to the ramblings of an old man, who has gone to the doc far too often lately.

I must get evidence, pictures.

 

November 16th

Goodbye, dear home. I made a mistake. Far too many perhaps. Even though leaving this place is for the better, I will still regret having to do so.

I should have been happy, only concerned by rascals smoking near the gates, edgy teens trying to dress up as witches, or drunks passing out on the premises. That thing should not exist. I pray it is alone in the world, that none are alive somewhere, even if far from this small town.

The fire will take care of it, even if it must destroy my way of life too.

 

November 17th

The police are looking for me. I still see the embers coming from the burning woods, as bright as the rising sun. The firefighters have done a good job. Too much of a good job. Most of it still stands. I can’t let them find me, not yet. I saw it survive.