Dream The Dead – Short Horror Story

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There used to be nothing that I looked forward to more than my walk through the cemetery each night. It was a comfort thing, and I know it's strange, but it helped me to sleep.

So I would find a good spot- a nice headstone to sit beside, a withered tree to lean against, and soak it all in- how the chilly air tasted, the way the light from the moon shone on the blanket of dew atop the grass, the eerie songs of crickets chirping. There was something about being surrounded by the dead; the tranquility, the finality, the certainty. It was the only thing that made me feel alive.

Imagine my surprise when I found I was not alone one evening. As I passed the gates, I saw her. She turned toward me. Even in the darkness I could tell we both wore the same look of astonishment at seeing another person amongst the dead.

We stared at each other, neither one of us daring to break the silence during this sacred hour. And I knew then, that she was like me. No words had to be spoken for us to communicate. So I walked away to a separate corner, far enough away to give her the illusion of solitude, and I did my best to ignore her presence.

But I couldn't.

Why, just why, did she have to be there? Of all the cemeteries in the world, she just had to be at this one? This was my thing. This was my spot. She didn't belong.

There was no feeling of peace that night. The sound of the my teeth grinding drowned out the cricket symphony that usually lulled me to sleep, my senses were dulled by bubbling resentment frothing under my skin.

By the time the first rays of sunlight appeared I hadn't gotten a wink of sleep. I looked over and saw her stretching her arms out wide, a satisfied expression on her face. She looked over to where I was sitting and gave me a smile before rising and sauntering away.

And so it went. Night after sleepless night, she was there, intrusive and unapologetic. I watched her cozy up to a gravestone every night, curled against the cold slate like it was a lover's warm embrace. I resented her, but could I really blame her? Not long before, I had been able to sleep as blissfully, as peacefully, as- dare I say- unaware?

She didn't stir, didn't move a muscle as I began digging beside her. As morning drew near I began to feel my fatigue. I looked down at the opening I'd made in the earth and I just couldn't help myself. It was so inviting, so…familiar, that I laid inside.

I didn't mind as the dirt started falling on me that morning, something about it felt right. And I didn't mind when she smiled down at me. Something about her seemed so… familiar.

"It's okay, my dear. You can rest now."

submitted by /u/psyopticnerve

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