Open grave

Leslie made her visit to the cemetery, just like she’s done every week since her husband’s untimely death. Two years ago Tom was on his way home from work looking forward to a long Labor Day weekend get away with Leslie when a semi blew through a red light hitting his car on the driver’s side. He died on impact.

Leslie always brought a white rose, and laid it against the marble head stone she had custom made. When Leslie arrived today she never expected to find her husband’s grave dug up with the words, he lives, spray painted on the head stone. She looked for a care-taker, but couldn’t locate one.

The mostly blue sky had turned overcast. A breezy mist was falling. Leslie jumped as lightning flashed. A tree branch cracked and fell into the open grave.

A shrilling scream came from the hole. She cautiously peeked over the edge. A fog engulfed the space.

“Help me,” Leslie heard whispered, and saw a hand through the fog.

She got on her belly with her arm over the edge. Inching forward, she was able to reach the hand. Leslie struggled, but couldn’t let go as the hand slowly pulled her over the edge, and into the abyss.

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