The Grave
By Craig Jex
A fierce wind blew across the graveyard creating hollow sounds as the gusts blew through trees, gravestones and the large structure of the church. Almost bare branches shed their leaves, as the wind coursed through the trees. The red, brown and orange leaves, never given an opportunity to fall to the damp ground, were blown every which way. Long blades of grass swayed back and forth, whipped against the chipped concrete gravestones, as if trying to wake the dead who lay below.
Melvin Baxter didn’t mind the wind. It cooled the sweat that was beading on his forehead. He had only been digging for five minutes but even in that short time his arms and back were beginning to ache. When he had arrived ten minutes previously, the grave was a large mound of damp earth. Now it was level with the ground, which meant that the hard work was about to begin.
Melvin slammed the metal edge of the shovel in the ground and sat down on the piled soil by his side. Wiping his forehead on the denim sleeve of his jacket, he sat down, arching his back, relishing the cracks of his bones. He fumbled in the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a crumpled packet of cigarettes and a petrol lighter with a skull emblazoned on the metal side. Sticking a white stick in his mouth, he hunched over and shielded the light in his cupped hands before the wind could blow it out. Lighting the cigarette, he flicked the lighter shut and dropped it back in his pocket. Leaning back, he sucked in the goodness of the cigarette and exhaled the smoke slowly. Before long, his eyes were focused on the gravestone that he was digging up.
HEATHER CLAYTON
BELOVED DAUGHTER
SEPTEMBER 22, 1999 – APRIL 13, 2016
Melvin didn’t go to the funeral which had been held only twelve hours earlier. Heather Clayton hadn’t been friends with him at school. Melvin being a very odd young man had no friends and kept himself to himself. That was fine. He enjoyed his own company, watching horror films, photographing dead animals, reading about the occult; the usual. But like any normal teenage boy his age he fantasised about being with the best looking girl in his year at school. Heather Clayton fit the bill with her long tanned legs, her model frame, ample sized breasts and a face that made his heart ache. Her small, full lips, her button size nose, deep blue eyes and long brown hair…how he wanted to be with her.
As if someone as beautiful as Heather, would ever want to go out with a loser like me.
Melvin was pockmarked with acne, which had began to explode on his face at the age of thirteen and which he had never been able to shift, his scraggly hair that he never combed and his pale complexion were not at all attractive to the opposite sex.
When Heather died suddenly, it was a shock for the whole school. No one knew how she died but her parents had wanted a quick funeral. That was perfect for Melvin, as she would still be fresh.
The wind blew a light drizzle over the graveyard, sheeting everything in fine droplets. Taking a final drag on his cigarette, Melvin flicked the butt away and watched the drizzle extinguish the orange glow.
Getting up he ran his fingers through his damp hair. He grabbed his shovel and started to dig, shovelling clumps of soil and depositing it behind him. Twenty five minutes later, he was beginning to tire. Relief rushed through him when he heard the sound of his shovel thumping wood although it gave his arms a sudden shock.
Scraping away the dirt with his hands, he came across a brass plaque with the inscription, ‘HEATHER CLAYTON’ and underneath that, ‘1999 – 2016’.
This was it; he had reached his goal.
Melvin could feel himself becoming aroused. His groin felt uncomfortable, as his erect penis pushed against the denim of his jeans. He wanted to unzip his fly and let his throbbing shaft free. He was sure the light feel of drizzle would feel wonderful against the sensitive tip of his penis.
He would have to live with the discomfort. He had one more important task in hand.
Opening the coffin.
Placing both hands on the damp grass above him, Melvin attempted to push himself up out of the grave. His arms were tired from the digging and twice he fell back on top of the coffin. On to his love. Gritting his teeth, he pushed up and managed to scramble a leg onto the ground near the edge of the grave and roll away.
Near the mound of deposited soil lay Melvin’s bag. He picked out what he sought; a crowbar.
Sitting on the edge of the grave, Melvin carefully lowered himself down. However careful he may have been, it didn’t stop his boots from slipping on the varnished surface of the coffin that had become slick with the drizzle, which was slowly becoming heavier, causing Melvin to land hard on his back.
Rubbing the small of his back, he sat up straight. He picked up the crowbar and picked his spot. Placing the crossbar on the edge of the coffin he began to prise the lid up. No foul smell began to waft from the cushioned confines of the coffin.
Thank God for a quick funeral.
Pushing the lid completely open, Melvin sat back, trance like, against the damp soil wall at the foot of the grave. Dressed in a black satin dress that revealed her cleavage and most of her legs, Heather laid, eyes closed, mouth shut, arms by her sides.
Even in death, she was still beautiful.
Melvin took a deep breath, placed the crowbar on the padded floor of the coffin and began to move forward, caressing Heather’s smooth legs as he did so. He started to gently kiss her arms and moved up towards Heather’s chest. There he began to kiss the smooth skin of her breasts, moving up towards her mouth, where he forced his tongue into its cold confines.
Reaching down with his hand he began to ruck up Heather’s dress so he could get to her underwear. His fingers fumbled, he had never done anything like this before, even with a live member of the opposite sex. His fingers eventually reached the waistband of her underwear. He pulled them down until they reached her knees.
Adrenaline rushed through Melvin’s veins, he felt tingly all over. He was in control; he could do anything he wanted with Heather. Anything.
The pushing at his groin was becoming unbearable; it needed to be set free. Undoing the button and unzipping his fly, Melvin pulled his jeans and boxer shorts down to his ankles. Leaning forward, aiming his erect penis towards Heather’s exposed vagina, he said, ‘I love you Heather. I always have.’ Planting his hands on both breasts, he kneaded the firm mounds. As he was about to insert his erect organ, something happened that made his scrotum shrink into his stomach.
Heather sat up, her eyes opened to reveal blood red orbs. ‘Thank you for waking me from my slumber,’ she said, as she plunged both fangs into Melvin’s jugular vein, sucking his life fluid and soaking them both in blood
Copyright: Craig Jex - 2016
