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Chapter 4: Premature Burial

Unmarked this cemetery. For it was a place where the dead can be buried freely.

The laws, they are demanding, of places prepared by hallowing for the fallen; to drawn and buried deep of sleep in eternal rest, but at a cost to be paid, of those working legally by influence of the regularly governed system in that of the gravedigger's craft.

The gravedigger, he saw the three night rats, take a fast leave of the cemetery, and said nothing- of their presence. For the three hands of the one mortician by the name of Trask, they had now become as being regulars in partnering of business association- relations with the solemn and quiet man.

Grabbing a makeshift cross of cut wooden fencing, the lot's true assigned gravedigger painted a number on the cross.

The man, he now hoped it was the last in a series of crosses, for currently in his lot; there was at a present count in number, six hundred and sixty five unmarked graves.

This new cross, made number six hundred sixty six, and he was well known for being highly superstitious by nature.

The beveled post of the wooden- constructed, numbered cross- now set firmly into the soil of the freshly buried grave, the man took his mallet from his belt, and began to pond the cross into- the soil. After the first few hammerings, the man caught sense, of something in strange curiosity of a noise.

The night, it was quiet and still.

The breezes, they were few; but they were instantly recognized as carrying the slightest of wind generated moans to the man's ears.

The gravedigger shook his head, and returned to a pounding of the cross. The sound, it arose once again. this time, the noise; it was more pronounced as being a human groan.

The gravedigger immediately dropped his hammer and stepped back carefully from the grave.

Something beneath the soil was digging its way to the surface.

Breaching through the loosened grounds beneath, to the top lot layer of graveyard dirt, the untrimmed nail fingers from a hand of giant sizing; comparing that of the dead one's, to that of the- gravediggers' own; burst aloft and grabbed fast a crushing hold of the cross.

The wood splintered. The gravedigger ran, as The Creation now pulled itself free from its temporary place of rest.

The grotesque thing, was fighting an internal battle, in keeping its form in a constant state of regeneration. Its face melting and repairing itself.

Its two eyes, falling free one at a time from their sockets only to fast reset themselves, by a tightening of their nerve endings. Its body, it was unpronounced by anything that could be identified as being attributed to that of physical, or of sexual awareness.

The soil steamed where The Creature walked. Its outer flesh in- a toxic state, of gaseous unstable hazardous biological elements in continual alchemical rendering.

The Creature, it had but one thought. To return to where it had been berthed.

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