She woke with a fright, veiled by darkness. She felt cold. So very cold.
Where am I?
And what was that smell?
The air was damp and stale. She could feel she was wrapped loosely in something, and she tugged at the material to free herself. It felt coarse.
Almost like a shroud.
But it couldn’t be, she thought. She wasn’t dead. Or at least she didn’t think she was. She tried to sit up but as she did, she felt surrounding walls encasing her. Panic rose in her throat, emerging as a stifled scream.
No – oh please, God! No – I’m still alive!!
In horror, she realised where she was. Clawing at the wooden casing above her head, the lid of the coffin loosened after a few heavy shoves and as she struggled free, her eyes grew accustomed to her surroundings in the murky light. She was in the family vault. Her parents laid to rest one side of her in their lead-lined coffins and her grandparents on the other.
How did I end up here?
She looked down at herself. The shroud covering her had dropped to the ground, exposing her wedding gown.
None of it made any sense.
Think, goddamnit. Think.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she cast her mind back to the last thing she could remember. She had gone to a party with her husband, Daniel. They had driven home afterward; her recollection was hazy as they had both had a little too much to drink. She could remember bright headlights blinding her, coming straight towards them at speed, a crash, then nothing. Just black.
Emptiness.
Silence.
No, there was something else. There was a man, she was sure of it. A faceless man, shrouded in black but she remembered his voice.
“I can help you,” he had whispered.
She had been unable to move or speak but she could remember his touch. Cool hands wrapped around her wrist, followed by something sharp puncturing it. Then what felt like sucking. She could not remember how long this lasted but soon she felt warm liquid on her lips, entering her mouth. It tasted metallic.
It tasted like blood.
“Drink,” he had said.
That was all she could remember.
She looked around the crypt. She still had no recollection of how she ended up here, but she knew she had to find her way home.
Suddenly an immense pain washed over her, causing her to double over, clutching her stomach. It was then she heard a muffled noise coming from a dark corner of the crypt. Turning to look, she could make out the shadow of a cloaked figure.
“You must feed,” it whispered, hoarsely.
It was a voice she had heard before.
She stumbled towards the crypt entrance, bursting the door open in panic. She ran blindly through the cemetery, losing her footing over half-buried headstones and broken tree branches. After some time, she reached the cemetery gates and pushed her way through.
You can run but you still must feed.
She could hear the voice in her head now, laughing scornfully.
She looked down at herself. She was filthy. Her once-white wedding gown was torn and covered in earth from where she had fallen. She desperately needed to find her way home.
She walked the empty streets for what felt like hours. Cars passed her and paid her no attention. She walked past two drunks who also showed no sign of noticing her.
Perhaps that’s why they called it blind drunk, she thought to herself. The pains in her stomach seemed to worsen when she caught sight of people, and on hearing the dull throb of blood pumping through their veins as she passed them.
Eventually, she reached her house. Dawn was just starting to break, and she was beginning to feel nauseous. She had an inexplicable urge to get inside quickly, away from the emerging rays. She tried the front door which was locked so she looked around for the plant pot they always kept their spare key under. It was still there.
She opened the front door quietly. The house was still.
Daniel must still be sleeping, she thought.
She passed through the hallway and made her way into the living room. Something wasn’t right. The large mirror over the fireplace had been covered with a black veil with cards and flowers adorning the room. There was a sombre energy in the air.
As if Death had visited.
She walked over to the fireplace with trepidation. On it were a row of bereavement cards. She reached out to pick one up, her hand trembling in fear for what she may read.
“Dearest Daniel,
Our deepest condolences at the loss of your wife.”
She dropped the card on the floor, stifling a cry as the realisation dawned on her that she was, very much, dead.
She looked down at her hands, there was no sign of any decomposition. She was breathing normally and aside from the stomach pains which were worsening, she felt very much herself.
I wonder if my face looks the same?
She reached for the veil over the mirror and pulled it off slowly.
She opened her mouth to scream as she looked in the mirror. For standing in her place, was the cloaked man from the crypt. His eyes burned into her, through the mirror, as his mouth broke into a wide, grotesque grin.
“Time to feed,” he laughed, as he turned and tilted his head towards the stairs where a sleeping Daniel lay.