It had been a rough couple of months for Roy. No one was burying their loved ones with anything valuable anymore. He had seen and sold it all. Chunky emerald rings, diamond necklaces, gold teeth, silver plated cock rings. He thought the drought must have started because the town was catching on, but he quickly rebuffed that. He always cleaned up, made sure the dirt was firm and seemingly undisturbed. The reality was probably the fact that the family members of the deceased were just taking the loot for themselves. At the end of the day, what is gold worth when it’s wrapped around rotting flesh and not being exchanged for fresh cash. 

Driving in the thick darkness with only his headlights piercing through it, he thought of the body he was going to see. A John Doe he assisted with in the lab, who was later identified as some local wackjob named William Starkweather, someone he read about in the paper as the supposed leader of a cult called The Children of Darkness. Not that he believed they were actually a Satanic cult as the media said, but he did suspect them to be the cause of many a mess he saw in all the cemeteries he looted at night. Empty graves, charred tombstones, pools of blood seeping into the dirt. Suspected of many cases, including the missing persons case of Judy Miller, new President-elect whose win was a historical one. Roy didn’t care who they were or what they did, he needed the win. Especially when he saw what the man was to be buried with. Dangling from a thick gold chain that had rubies encrusted on, it was almost as big as a saucer and twice as thick, all he could think of was how the golden inverted cross glinted in the lowlight back at the morgue. 

The brakes to his SUV squealed as he stopped in front of the entrance to the graveyard. Even with his lights on low, he could see the lock hanging from the chain, open and ready to fall off. Fifty bucks well spent, he thought. He opened his window a crack and stuck his flashlight out to peer at the security hut, which was closed with no light or any sign of occupation. Definitely well spent. Night shift at the graveyard left a lot to be desired in terms of a decent wage. We all have to make some extra cash, he always thought. Being a mortuary assistant wasn’t any better without the extracurricular activities. 

He left the gate open and coasted his way down the aisle between the graves, then stopped at a cross path where his car would be too wide to turn either way or move forward. Darkness enveloped him as he killed the lights and the low drone of his engine was replaced with the deathly silence of the land of the dead around him. 

“Just another job” he muttered to himself, “Satanic cult leader or not, that necklace is mine”. 

His hands clung to the steering wheel, sweaty with nerves, as he weighed his options to his approach. Shovel and gloves: quick, easy and quiet. Add the rifle: slower but safer, in case some cultist caught him robbing their leader. Roy peered around at the graves around him, some were taller and more extravagant than others, those usually meant great loot if he couldn’t do proper research beforehand. The ones with spiked fencing around them were clear indicators of something worthwhile, but he’d seen to those already. He looked at the path ahead which led to a steep incline to the graves below which then spiked upwards towards the back of the cemetery. It was quite a walk, but he couldn’t see anyone else around and since the dirt was freshly put down that morning, he got out of the car and grabbed the shovel from the backseat. He put his gloves on and took a deep breath, as his eyes adjusted to the dark. No lights, he’d done this enough times to not need the small aid of a flashlight or lantern. 

As he walked down the path, which narrowed more and more as he went on, he kept his eyes peeled for the tree. It was the only marker he could use to find Starkweather in the dark, there wasn’t a headstone or any other fancy tomb around it, just the heap of dirt under the great oak tree. Roy looked back and realized he couldn’t see his car anymore so he picked up his pace and soon was surrounded by tombs that seemed to be closing in on him. The incline levelled out then turned into an ascent as he pushed on to finally reach the top. With the soft blanket of light provided by the full moon, he looked around, trying to get his bearings. Before he saw the faint orange glow under the tree, a bloodcurdling scream shattered the silence. Roy’s heart thumped like a jackhammer as he leapt behind the nearest tombstone, gripping the shovel until it croaked with pressure. His ears buzzing and breathing low but fast, he leaned around to get a look at the tree. It was still too far for him to see what it was and where that scream came from, but it was close enough for whoever was there to see him. 

His knees popped softly as he crouched behind the large tombstone that hid him well and he moved closer, carefully carrying the shovel so it didn’t clang against any of the marble gravestones. As the faint glow became brighter when he moved closer, his ears twitched as the sounds of someone sobbing got louder. The faint glow grew bigger and bigger and eventually he hid behind a grave that was about five spots away from the light. Kneeling in front of Starkweather’s grave was the small figure of what looked like a woman. Roy couldn’t tell what she looked like, but she was hunched over the open grave, her body shaking with soft cries and whispers he couldn’t completely make out. 

Don’t be a hero, he thought. Unless the loot is threatened, then it’s go time. He peered back over the graveyard, trying to find his car but it was impossible in the ocean of dark graves and tombs he came from. He bit his bottom lip, frustrated that he left the rifle. Hoofing it back to the car and then back wouldn’t take too long, but what if they, or whoever was there, took his gold. He clicked his neck and inhaled, readying himself like a track runner, but fell back down when he heard that scream again. Bats scattered out of the tree and disappeared into the inky black sky. 

Going prone, he turned to look at the woman again. A tall, dark figure stood behind her, and even in the dark, Roy could see it was dressed in black robes and a hood that covered its face completely. The woman muffled something, louder than before, but Roy still couldn’t understand what she was saying because of whatever was stuffed into her mouth. Slowly, he leopard crawled over towards them, the dirt scraping against his clothing, to get a better look. 

New plan, he thought, wait this bullshit out and then either jump this freak or hope he leaves that sweet piece of gold around the corpse. The voice that boomed out of the hood was much louder and deeper than her wailing. 

“Father, it is I, one of your children” the voice, a man by Roy’s guess. “I come before you Father, to grant you eternal…” the voice said, but stopped. 

Roy froze in place, blinked rapidly, then stared ahead. The only sound was the whine of crickets from the grass nearby. The hooded man wasn’t moving, but he held his hands out over the grave and resumed talking, but in a language that Roy couldn’t understand. The woman screamed and convulsed, Roy could now see her saliva dripping out of her mouth in a long streak. Her gagging almost overcame the Hooded Man’s chanting, but then ceased as he stopped the chant. 

You could do something, Roy, he thought. Save her, then she owes you. Or maybe waste her along with the freak. No, get the loot then get out. He assessed the height of the Hooded Man then shook his head. The shovel might not be enough. Screw it. The sight of the gold was all the justification he needed, but he needed to be smart about it. The chanting resumed and the woman, now standing, was trembling and he could see that she was blindfolded and her hands tied behind her back. Her hair covered her face, so he still couldn’t see her face fully. 

The Hooded Man jumped into the grave and Roy twitched as he heard the coffin creak open. Jumping out of the deep hole, he saw the golden amulet clasped in the cultist’s hand. He held it over the woman and grabbed her by the hair with his free hand and slowly, he dragged the amulet across her neck and she screamed, but the piercing sound was drowned out by the wet gurgling, squelching sound of her throat being sliced open. The Hooded Man screamed something as he let her go, slumping down to her side, motionless and silent. 

“Sorry lady,” he whispered. 

Even in the low light, he could see her blood running down the soil and into the grave. With the Hooded Man turning his back to him, Roy moved closer and now he was two long but narrow graves away. He should still be safe. The Hooded Man sat down in front of the grave and started humming something. Roy moved around until he was facing his back, then he stood up and gingerly moved closer, hoisting the shovel above his head. The humming stopped and the Hooded Man chuckled. 

“I know you’re behind me” the voice whispered. “Father will be here soon” he added, waving a hand towards the lifeless slump of the woman. 

“I don’t give a fuck” Roy said, his arms tensing. 

The loud clang, mixed with the crack of the man’s skull echoed and more bats scattered out of the tree. The Hooded Man fell forward into the grave. Roy held his breath as looked into the deep black abyss. Nothing came out and he couldn’t hear any breathing. He looked around the ground and saw the amulet resting in the dirt right next to the woman’s body. He walked over and picked it up, wiping the blood on her clothing. 

He took the lantern and looked back at the way he came and began walking, but curiosity got the better of him and went back to kneel beside her body. The cotton strip that was used as her blindfold came off easily, but was wet with her sweat and blood. He saw the face was relatively clean when he held the lantern right next to her, but recoiled as he recognized who it was. 

“Judy Miller,” he said. “Sorry, you would’ve made an OK president, I guess.” 

He dropped the cloth into the grave, picked the shovel up and began walking, but felt cold hands grip around his neck. He dropped the lantern and the shovel as he was lifted off the ground and thrown against the tree, his spine making a loud cracking sound. Roy tried crawling towards the shovel, but his arms were lame and his legs were merely long, useless stumps of flesh attached to him. The figure moved closer to him and then Judy crouched in front of him, grabbing the amulet. Her mouth twitched into a smile as she pressed a cold finger against his lips. 

“Don’t cry, child,” she said, “The Father has returned. Be my child in the eternal darkness.” 

He didn’t feel the impact as he was dragged and dropped into the grave, landing on top of the Hooded Man and the stiff body of William Starkweather. He looked up at Judy and opened his mouth to say something. Maybe to beg or maybe to bargain, but he couldn’t say anything as the dirt began raining down, filling his mouth and nostrils. Even as the sand had risen past his ears, he could still hear the figure above him, speaking to him in a deep croaky voice that did not match the sweet tone he heard earlier or on the news. 

“Sleep my child. Sleep, for your Father has returned. As above, so below, darkness will prevail.”