*Magnify*
SPONSORED LINKS
Get it for
Apple iOS.
Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2213735-100-Years
Printer Friendly Page Tell A Friend
No ratings.
Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Fantasy · #2213735
He hears a noise in the crypt and has no idea what it is. 921 words
She’d slept for exactly one hundred years. Not only to the year, the day or the hour. She had slept one hundred years to the second, and her back was aching from lying on the concrete slab for all that time.

Of course, the woman didn’t know how long she had been lying there and found it strange that her arms and legs ached when she moved them, stretching them over the side of the concrete slab she was laid out upon.

When she yawned, her throat felt scratchy and parched. She thought she seen a cloud of dust come out of her mouth, the light coming from the cracks in the doorway lighting it up, when she coughed.

She walked across the dark room, after painfully climbing off her bed of one hundred years, heading to the source of the light.

Her knees and feet hurt as they worked, carrying her across the ground, and she could feel the dirt and dust below her bare feet. She was cautious not to stand on a sharp stone; it might hurt her even more. Might even draw blood and that would be a bad idea after her friends had locked her in here for the night.

Pressing at the huge wooden door to the crypt and not being able to move it, she stared at the light seeping in through the cracks.

Daylight! She thought. She was only locked up for the night!

Her friends would be back soon to let her out, so she sat on the dusty ground, legs crossed, and waited for them to come back.

She waited and waited, shuffling position every now and again due to the increased pain she felt in her joints each time she moved. As she waited, she watched the light that came through the cracks receding. Heading back towards the door, taunting her with its exit from the room. Then it was dark around the cracks at the door’s edge.

-------------------------------------------

Adam Young visited his wife’s gravestone every Friday evening. At first he struggled to find her headstone but soon he realised, if he headed towards the crypt near the centre of the cemetery, he would be at his wife’s grave two rows of headstones before reaching it.

Janet Young. It read on her headstone. Loving wife of Adam. 1975 - 2012

So young. She was taken from him too soon. Two weeks they were married. Two weeks that Adam would cherish for the rest of his life.

He placed the bouquet on the grass that had grown over her and thought about things they had done together. He spoke to Janet as though she was there with him, alive, looking at him with her sparkling green eyes as she listened. Nodding sometimes in agreement and laughing when he spoke of the fun times.

Tears welled up in his eyes when he thought about running out of the front door of his house. He’d almost slipped on the grass as he headed towards the road, seeing the car that killed her turn around a bend in the distance; leaving his life as quickly as Janet’s life left her as she lay in the road.

He heard a banging coming from the crypt. He presumed the groundskeeper was working there and stood up, the talk with his wife ruined by the noise.

He pulled his jacket closer around his neck to keep out the November chill that was being carried by the wind, took a lighter from his pocket and lit a candle. He put inside the ornamental candle holder and looked at it for moment as it glowed. He blew a kiss to the grave and turned to leave.

When he turned around, he heard the banging from the crypt again, it sounded like a knocking on wood. So he walked to the railings and looked over towards the building, listening.

“Help!”

The sound was almost a whisper, but he knew exactly where it came from. He headed to the source of the sound, the crypt door.

He walked through the gates and walked the few metres to the huge wooden doors. All the while he listened to the knocking and the whispers from behind the door for help.

“Hello?” He called out, hoping to hear the voice from inside the crypt again.

“Thank god!” The raspy voice whispered. “Let me out.”

Adam seen that the door was locked with nothing but an old rusted bolt. It looked as though it hadn’t been moved in years.

“Hang on, I’ve just got to force this thing open.”

The bolt grinded and squeaked as he worked it open, a minute later though it was unlocked. He turned the handle and pushed the door open.

In front of him, he saw the shape of a girl begin to crack and the disintegrate and then fall to the ground as nothing but a pile of dust.

Adam pulled the large wooden door closed and forced the lock back into the closed position. Shaken, he hastily made his way across the cemetery, never mentioning what he saw that evening to anybody.

-----------------------------------------------------------

She’d slept for exactly one hundred years and one day. Not only to the day or the hour. She had slept one hundred years and one day to the second, and her back was aching from lying on the concrete slab for all that time.

It hurt when she stretched, and when she got up, she didn’t notice that the skeletal remains that were left where she lay.



© Copyright 2020 Stuckintime (stuckintime at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2213735-100-Years