Buried Secrets

Ryan and his friend cut through a graveyard as a shortcut home; not a stranger in sight to eavesdrop on their conversation, yet with a feeling of unseen eyes watching them.

"Did you hear the crap Mr. Evans was feeding us today... I mean, c'mon ‘the dead rising from their grave'? We're in 6th grade for chrissake."

"Mr. Evans might be onto something..." Tommy shivers from a mix of nerves and a ghostly draft.

"Don't bullshit me, man... Evans got you, too? The guy’s a loon with a capital L.”

Tommy shifts, "I-I don't know what to think... Ever since that night with Mark..."

"What of Mark? I ain't seen him since Tuesday."

"He came down with something." Tommy switches topic as a trucker does gears. "Hey, you want to see something neat?"

Ryan observes his wristwatch, "I'm in. Got 20 minutes to be home, then Paw will skin me and hang my skin on the wall amongst all the other critters he calls ‘trophies’."

"Come on then, the night getting any younger." Tommy trails off at an expedient rate through the obstructing shrub.

"Hey now wait on up!" Ryan scopes the regular path of comfort and familiarity, and then goes off the beaten path. The gnarled fingers from branches and twigs scratch at him as rats in feeding. No sign of Tommy through the bramble. He rushes faster, heart accelerating from being 30 lbs. heavier than the Average Jim, but also from fear of might of come of his unresponsive and unseen friend.

Before long he comes to a clearing, a single grave. The tombstone cracked in two as if pounded down by a stroke of lightning; a gaping maw before it. Light fog lifts from the depths as some lingering spirit. Tommy acknowledges, "Welcome."

Ryan is dazed under the purple glow from the moon above. "What is this?"

"A little secret. Come closer."

"I'd better not..."

"What are you, a wimp?" Ryan doesn’t respond. "I could let Suzy know how much of a wuss you are. Sure she'd definitely go to the movies with you Friday night."

"You wouldn't!" The look Tommy gives says otherwise. Ryan licks his lips, "Fine."

Ryan inches to the edge of the hollow, inch-by-inch, tension rising. He peers down, and sees...

...nothing but an open casket.

"Gotcha!" booms Tommy and cackles. Ryan drives a hard fist in his arm. "Can't take a joke?"

"It ain't funny."

"Real shame."

"Let's just go ho-" Ryan's voice pierces the night in a murderous shriek as sharp teeth press deep into his neck, ripping the bone. Blood gurgles from his mouth. Elongated fingers pull him closer, claws digging into skin.

After Tommy gets his fill, the ghoul throws Ryan into the open casket, "Better not pig-out! Rest of family still gotta eat!" The boy laughs manically, shoveling dirt over his friend, buried six-feet under.