The Necrophiliac

I walked purposefully down the narrow, unlit alley that leads to the old cemetery. It has been so long since I had had a chance to dig one out. Of course, I have an easy access to any number of bodies as an apprentice embalmer at the local mortuary, but the surge of pleasure I experience on opening a coffin after hours of sweat and toil, and finding her waiting for me, is something I have never known at the mortuary. This cemetery is a relatively recent find.  I had to abandon my usual “dating place” because some idiotic, insomniac woman in ridiculous white robes had spotted me there in the dead of the night with a shovel. Needless to say, I’ve been staying off the graves for close to a month now. But I cannot wait any longer. The need has grown from desire to carnality. No, I must wait no longer.

The memory of that last encounter is still fresh. The frozen stillness of her lips, and the unmoving silence as I took her flashes across my mind. Yes, I have always been a necrophiliac. The coldness of a dead body has always enticed me far more than the warm embrace of a live one. I have never known a better aphrodisiac than the perfume of a freshly embalmed corpse. They don’t demand attention or money. They don’t cringe or cry out. Really, could you ask for better companions?

These musings of mine kept me company till I reached the gate of the cemetery. It creaked as I entered, announcing the arrival of a suitor to those lying on their hard beds, waiting for me. I picked my way carefully between the graves, scrutinizing each headstone. None of the corpses’ advances caught my fancy. Then, as I reached the shade of a yew tree, my feet chanced upon a pristine marble headstone. The stone said, “I will open at your close.”

Strange. This was not anything I had ever read on a tombstone.  The shrouded mystery of these words puzzled me, excited me. The unfamiliarity of words promised newness of body. This was the one I must have now.

With earnest, I started digging, oblivious to anything but the pounding of blood in my ears and the heat pooling between my legs. This will be something totally unimaginable, I was sure of it. Deeper and deeper I dug, humming to my beloved.

Finally, the wait was over. Through the glass lid I saw a perfect face and an even more perfect body draped with lovely white robes which would be a pleasure to peel off. I had a sudden feeling that I had seen her somewhere, but I dismissed the thought as paranoia. I opened the lid and lovingly lifted her out. The chilliness of her body against mine drove my lust to another level.

As I laid her down, she opened her eyes.

The last thing I remember is her wailing.

 

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I woke up to a dull pounding in my head. I was lying on a smooth wooden surface in total darkness. My head, shoulders and feet were pressed against something. My head was swimming, my breath came in gasps. I raised my arms with difficulty and felt around. Wherever I touched, I found cool glass. As the realization dawned, confusion gave way to abject terror. I began to lose consciousness again.

“She has buried me alive,” was the last thought I had.

 

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As she piled the earth upon his coffin, she felt a deep sense of satisfaction. Another one of these necrophiliacs were finished. Some more of the scum returned to the earth. As she refilled the grave, the beautiful woman began to turn back into her original form-green tinged skin, disheveled black hair strung around her face. She then removed the tombstone and placed it some distance away from the grave, marking the burial site of her next victim. The banshee then exited the graveyard, setting out to search for more of those who sullied the dead. She set out to search for more like the one who had murdered and then violated her lover.