Tag: flash-fiction

The cemetery was quiet, as it often was. Not many people traveled to this part of the lot; most of the graves were of people who died decades ago, and they had been forgotten, left to rot and decay without so much as a thought of sympathy from the living. Well, almost. There were still a few do-gooders that came to this part of the cemetery every few months. They reinvigorated the graves of the forgotten and gave them new life; they saw it as a way to remember the dead who had long been ignored. They had an online forum they spoke on, planning their excursions so that they could get to as many cemeteries as possible, organizing themselves meticulously. For a lot of them, it was a way to mourn long lost family that didn’t have a grave, and they spent far more time than was necessary at the graves. They would clean the rough stones, getting rid of the weeds snaking up from the ground.
At least, that’s what Christopher Neal did. He found it peaceful to just sit by a grave and work for a few hours. Often, he would talk to the graves; he liked the thought of talking to the dead, letting them know that they were still remembered.
His graying hair moved in the breeze as he looked around the cemetery, his eyes still filled with childlike wonder as he surveyed his workspace. This particular cemetery was one of his favorites to work at, and he knew his way around as if it was his own home. He knew exactly where to turn as he cut through a small, natural path, the ground worn down from years of use. The ground was uneven, but he was steady on his feet, even in his old age, as he got closer to the grave he would be cleaning today.
The grave was too worn for him to make out the name inscribed on it, and the thought saddened him. He was getting older, in his sixties now, and he was terrified of being forgotten. That was part of the reason he’d joined the forum; it gave him comfort to know that, someday, when he was dead and buried, someone would return the favor and sit with him in his grave.
As he neared the grave he’d been assigned by the admins of the forum, he slowed, a sense of unease twisting in his gut. He felt like he was being watched. He could feel eyes watching him, and he didn’t like it. Looking around, he saw nobody. It was just him and the remains of the dead. He decided to brush the feeling off and continued on his journey. The feeling, though he tried to ignore it, would not stop gnawing at him, and that was why he didn’t notice the open grave. As he turned to look behind him, he felt the earth give out beneath him, and suddenly he was falling. He screamed as he fell, landing with a thud on the freshly dug dirt. He groaned as pain lanced through his shoulder, and he struggled to sit up. His first instinct was to look up, through the hole he’d fallen through. He could see the blue sky above him, framed by the high walls of the hole.
“Shit,” he muttered, putting his hands on the ground behind him to try and stand up. He froze as something moved beneath his hand. Peering down, he screamed as he saw what he was surrounded by.
Snakes. They were all over the ground, twisting to get away from him. He recognized a few species from specials he’d seen on the Discovery Channel – Boa Constrictor, Eastern Brown Snake, and before it dipped into the dirt just beyond his feet, he swore he saw a Black Mamba. None of that was important, though. Not when he saw the body. A mere foot away sat a man, his back turned to Christopher as he sat, his head pressed against the dirt wall of the grave. His clothes were dirty, and it was clear that he was dead. The skin that Christopher could see was covered in bites, and while Christopher didn’t know much about snakes, he knew that some of the species in the pit were venomous.
His blood ran cold as he remembered the Black Mamba he thought he’d seen. I have to get out of here, he thought, finally scrambling to his feet and trying his hardest to avoid the snakes littering the bottom of the pit. He looked upwards, towards the top of the hole, the sight of the clear sky above him filling him with hope. He estimated that the pit was nine feet deep, and he couldn’t help the surge of panic that swelled in his chest as he realized that there was no way he’d be able to scale the walls of the pit without something to help him. He was getting old, and his mobility was slowly getting worse.
He looked around and spotted a thick root growing from the tree not far away from the pit. It jutted out of the side of the pit slightly, and if he stretched a bit, he thought he may be able to reach it. With a great amount of care, he made his way over to the root, taking care not to step on any of the snakes gliding along the dirt. Raising his hand up, he froze as he noticed the figure standing over the pit. Dressed all in black, with a mask covering their face, the figure shifted slightly, and Christopher noticed the large bucket they were holding. He couldn’t see inside, but it filled him with a feeling of dread. His fear of the snakes, however, was stronger than the feeling in his gut.
“Help me,” he begged, “Please, I need to get out of here.” The figure stayed silent, staring at him, unseen eyes boring into him. “Help me!” Christopher wailed, his panic beginning to rise. The figure ignored him still. They moved the bucket from their left hand to their right, using their free hand to upturn it.
Christopher screamed as he saw the snakes raining down on him. He backed up, not caring what he stepped on this time. He only stopped when his feet hit the body of the man, and he went careening over, falling into the wall and sliding along it until he hit the ground. He landed with a thud on his back, just in time to see the figure drop the bucket on the ground and slowly walk away. Christopher tried to stand, but his fall had startled the snakes, and they did not appreciate the sudden movements he’d made.
The snakes came at him from all directions, curling around his arms and legs, and he did his best to try and fend them off. There were too many. Pain erupted all over his body as they bit him, their sharp fangs piercing his skin. As he lay on his back, staring up to the sky, he thought it ironic that he would die here, already surrounded by the dead. He only hoped that someone would remember him.