The prompt today is ‘Write something mysterious‘.

This is a bit different. I enjoy writing (have I mentioned I should have a sci-fi book published later this year?), but something mysterious…

Douglas shouted angrily at the kids as he chased them beyond the cemetery’s old iron fencing, and his anger turned cold as he realised they’d sliced through some of the wrought bars to get in. He pulled his thick winter coat tight and shone his torch at the damage, whilst listening to the kids’ obnoxious laughter as it grew more distant. The bars had been sliced at with something coarse, which meant repairs would be more difficult and more expensive. Douglas sighed. He did not relish informing his master of this latest costly development.

The guard rose to his feet and headed back through the graveyard, shining his light to check for any other signs of damage. His spirits warmed, despite the chilly midnight air, when it became clear the ‘raid’ hadn’t done any additional damage, and…

Douglas froze. His light pierced the gloom of the Jerisson family crypt. Their private crypt. The stone door had been opened and his torch revealed the resting places of the revered (some would say reviled) industrialist’s family. He couldn’t see any obvious signs of disturbance, but he had a duty to inspect the site, and Douglas was not squeamish. He virtually hopped down the steps leading into the crypt and swept his torch around several times. The tombs did not appear disturbed in any way, and he could see no signs of any disruption to any element of the crypt. Satisfied that he had fulfilled his obligations, Douglas moved to leave… the scratching sound coming from the largest coffin turned his legs to tree trunks.

He eyed the coffin. The rich mahogany had been regularly polished so it maintained its sheen and presence, even after seventy years. Henry Jerisson commanded respect, even after so much time. Douglas could see no indication that the tomb had been tampered with, but still the scratching continued, and it seemed louder, more… insistent. Common sense told Douglas what he heard was impossible. It also told him to leave. He did not. His insatiable human curiosity took hold of him, and he took a step toward Henry’s resting place. It definitely sounded as though something wanted to get out of the coffin, and every survival instinct blared for him to run, but Douglas continued forward, until his hands rested on the smooth shiny wood.

He gave the lid a nudge, and it barely moved. The scratching stopped for a second, then resumed with greater urgency. Douglas thought he heard a whimper from inside. He pushed the lid again, and was greeted with another whimper.

“Hello?” He asked, and immediately chided himself. Who could possibly answer? His mind wondered if the kids from earlier were playing a prank, or worse, they had trapped some poor soul in the coffin. “Hang on mate, I’ll get you out.” Douglas put more effort into his pushing, and the lid slid open. The last thing Douglas ever saw were rows of razor-sharp teeth as they plunged into his face.

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