This story is by Julia Raffel and won an honorable mention in our 2024 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.
Julia Raffel holds a BA in creative writing from Susquehanna University. She loves traveling to new countries and meeting farm animals. When not writing horror she spends her free time with her demon cat, Oreo, who has a continuous hunger for flesh. Her other short story can be found on her bio link on instagram— https://www.instagram.com/
Grit slid beneath my fingernails as I pushed hard soil off my face. Cracking open a coffin was one thing. Digging six feet below the surface was another thing altogether.. Each press of my palm brought another layer of dirt on my face making it more difficult to see in the dark space. The dirt was more compact the further down I was but began to muddy toward my exit. Hands slipped and struggled to find purchase.
That damn witch really did put a hex on me.
I shook my head, searching my pockets for anything useful. They should have buried me with a damn candle. Or at least a lighter. What was the point of dying from lung cancer if I didn’t have one in my pocket?
Concentrated light pooled in the face sized hole I’d created. My eyes adjusted to the darkness as if I’d been reborn a cat. The moonlight felt warm, pushing new breath out my shriveled lungs as I pulled myself out of the ground.
The coffin was lightly colored, pine if I had to guess. Nothing fancy. A regular pauper, I am.
Noah Williams the gravestone read. Died too young.
How poetic. Reduced to a statement. Guess that’s all I’ll ever be.
There was only one person who ever saw me as anything more.
Ember.
The last woman I’d been with. Been in love with.
I brushed the dirt off my shoulders in hopes of looking halfway decent. Couldn’t look like a sad sap in front of the only woman who gave a damn about me. My hand hovered over my heart. A lack of thump punctuated the silence in the cemetery.
So, not alive exactly.
I wondered what paranormal creature I’d be coined as. Vampire? Zombie? A mummy, perhaps? What a load of shit.
I wonder what that means for my chances with Ember. I shrugged, placing my hands in my pockets. There was only one way to find out. At least they buried me in a suit.
I strolled along the dirt path until I reached the locked gate. A chain wrapped around the bars. To keep people out or to keep the dead in? Either way, I scaled the gate with ease before jumping to the other side.
Portland stretched out around me. The bustle of drunk college students and loud older locals stumbling along the sidewalks drew my attention. Women in high heels, short dresses, smeared makeup and fur coats. If the bunny ears were any indication, it was Halloween season. Of course I’d crawl out of my own grave in October.
Got to love coming home to Maine.
Maybe Ember still lived in that loft on Fore Street.
As I walked toward the apartment complex Ember and I once shared, I kept my head down. I had no idea what I looked like, and part of me didn’t want to know. People stepped into bars, always in pairs or groups, excited for the festivities of the Old Port.
A few unlucky souls sat on cardboard, an empty can in front of them, a charity I couldn’t afford. One man stood at a street corner. He paced every so often before stopping again, clutching his arms tightly around himself. It was hard not to stare.
The man eyed me as I got closer, and before the crosswalk light could change, he was holding out a hand. “How you doin’ brother?”
“Well, I’m alive. What more could I ask for,” I said, taking his hand in mine.
We shook hands firmly, but he seemed reluctant to let go. The awkward continuation of our handshake made me grimace.
“Can you spare some change?” he asked.
“Unfortunately, I don’t have anything on me at the moment.”
I smiled as best I could, but he smelled of pennies and slow rot. I moved my gaze over him, searching desperately for that delectable scent. My mouth watered when I noticed the open wound on his leg through the ripped fabric of his pants.
“Even with that nice suit of yours?” He tugged on my arm. So remarkably close. Just a taste.
“If only you knew.” I took a step back as a chill swept over me, but he moved with me. He was testing my willpower, I swear.
One strong tug from the man, and I was suddenly stumbling backward. When I looked back at my vagrant friend, his face pale, staring open mouthed at something in his hand.
He held a hand. I glanced down at my own, noticing I was missing one. Certainly, still dead it seemed.
The man looked at me. “I think…this is yours,” he said before fainting.
I stood over him and took my hand back. Leaning forward, I used my missing hand to run a finger over the coagulated blood on his leg. I brought it to my lips and licked the jelly like substance, a shiver rolling down my spine. I laid my jacket over the man to keep him warm. The least I could do for the food. And then I walked, sticking my hand back in place to see what would happen. The tendons sewed back together in a slow reconnection. Good as new.
Ember might be waiting. I need to look my best.
A quiet section of the Old Port greeted me with darkness. Closed restaurants and shutdown bars. As I made my way past the businesses, a stained-glass window drew my eye. A silhouette, cast in the light of the glass, stood in the far corner of an empty bar. The long red locks brought back memories from a time before Ember.
The witch.
Teagan had come before. Beautiful. Enchanting. But sinister in her jealousy, threatening repercussions in the form of her Craft. In the end, I couldn’t justify staying. Not after meeting sweet, understanding Ember.
But I didn’t think Teagan would bring me back from the dead.
I stepped inside. A chime sounded above the door.
“I wondered how long it would take you to find me,” Teagan said with her back to me.
“What the hell did you do now?” I leaned against the door, bracing myself.
When she turned to face me, I was shocked by how young she looked. It had been five years since we last spoke. “Did you not find it strange you woke from the dead?”
I rolled my eyes. “No. I assumed this happened every Halloween.”
Even now she smiled at my sarcasm. “Did you truly think I’d just let you be happy when you left me for her?”
“Sorry. Is bringing me back not a way to find happiness again?” I asked with raised brows.
Her cackle was loud and unruly. “Oh, my dear Noah. You will suffer great pain one way or another. A second death looming or the loss of your humanity. I wonder which you’ll choose in the end.”
“You and your witchcraft,” I said, turning to leave.
“Think me crazy all you like. There’s no escape from your fate. Unless you stay with me.”
“Never.” And with that, I left, penetrating hatred leaking beneath the door.
Fore Street was two blocks away. If I still had a heart, I imagined it thumping furiously against my ribcage. But alas, this curse held my emotions by the throat. Only the beacon of Ember led my legs onward.
No lights were on in the apartment. I took a seat on the front steps in case she made an unlikely appearance. If it were meant to be, she would show.
I didn’t have a watch, so I couldn’t be certain how long I waited. My eyes skimmed everyone who walked by. Never Ember though. I ran my hands over my face, not sure what to do next.
“Noah?”
I peered up, spotting a woman, a hand over her mouth. Wide eyes watching. I stood so fast I almost fell forward. “Ember.”
“How?” she asked, taking a step toward me, clunky and uncertain.
Five steps took me to her, and I held her close. “All that matters is I’m here now.”
The scrape of something sharp against my neck as she tried to get free had me pulling away. A diamond ring sat on her finger.
She caught me staring and tried to hide it from view. “You were gone. Buried.”
“How long has it been?” I asked.
“Eight months since you passed.”
I let that sink in. She’d known I was dying. Of course she’d move on quickly. Found someone to spend her life with.
She had a whole life apart from me. She’d never choose a dead man.
“I’m sorry.” I stepped back.
Even so, Ember shifted toward me, pressing her lips against mine. “Missed you,” she murmured against me.
Maybe there was hope. I leaned into her, cupping her neck.
Her lips tasted like vanilla. So delicious.
Then iron filled my mouth.
Her muffled moans turned to shrieks, garbled by the sudden flood of crimson. Flesh so sweet a few bites couldn’t hurt.
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