A blood thirsty necromancer out for revenge resurrects corpses of musicians killed in a religious uprising to create an undead army.
Now, the graveyard stood empty, derelict, unguarded, full of skeletons. And on this particular night, a short, slender figure could be seen walking up the unkempt road to the gates, here and there sidestepping exposed roots or over pieces of junk thrown to the ground. A passing ray of moonlight illuminated the figure. It was a young woman who looked to be in her early 20's.
Entering the gates, she took no heed of the faded signs that read 'No Trespassing' and 'Violators punishable by death'. They creaked open, hinges unwilling to move. The sharp sound pierced the silence of the night, high and squealing. When they'd opened sufficiently to admit her, the girl slipped through, not bothering to open them any further.
She walked to the graves at the furthest side of the cemetery, making sure not to step on any of them, not exactly an east task when there wasn't enough light to see by. There was the last gravestone in the final row. The first poor sap to be killed and buried here. Crouching down, one hand snaked out, encased in a thick black leather glove, to rub off the dirt that had accumulated over the past thousand or so years,
The first name and birth-date were illegible, but the last name and date of death were somewhat legible. Some guy or maybe girl, surname Radke, murdered on January 18th of 2013.
Stepping back from the grave, the girl whispered something, pointing at the hard packed dirt over the grave. It lifted into the air, effortlessly, before being dumped onto the ground next to the grave. In removing it, she had managed to carve out an incline leading down to the coffin, for ease of access.
She stepped down the path. Standing over the coffin, she pulled a crowbar out of one of her tall boots. Then, she began to pry the lid off. She didn't care how much noise she made, as nobody had come anywhere near here in the past few centuries. The soft wood of the cheap coffin was easily shattered, and soon removed, to reveal the corpse within.
Whoever it was, seemed to be a fairly tall person, even though the body was shriveled by years below the ground. They had piercings and what looked like tattoos, something that hadn't happened often in centuries. Even though the girl standing over the corpse had a few herself, she couldn't help but feel surprised. They used to do it in parlors, not in the bathroom using safety pins and ink out of a pen.
She noticed that the corpse had no shirt and no breasts discernible. So a he, then. It wasn't surprising that the corpse was shirtless, because during that time of murder and bloodshed, people were killed and buried in whatever they were (not) wearing. Often times, they were shot standing over the coffin, and the lid was sealed within the hour. The lack of shirt made the huge gash in the man's neck obvious. She eyed it. It certainly looked painful. Whoever he was, probably died choking on his own blood.
With a sigh, she wiped her sweaty palms on her pants. She was nervous, never having done this. In theory, she knew what was going to happen, but in practice, so many things could go wrong it wasn't funny. From her pocket, she pulled out a small knife. She rolled up her sleeve slightly, holding the blade over her wrist, before slicing down.
Most of the blood spilled into the corpse's mouth, but some spattered on the girl's face and coat. 1000 years ago, the coat could've been something out of an album named 'The Black Parade'. These days, nobody would recognize it. Under another passing ray of moon-light, the bright red beads stood out on the white stripes across her chest, and showed it dripping in between the body's yellowed teeth, some slipping out of the huge gash in the neck. She opened her mouth and said, barely above a whisper,
"Sangius regenerare hoc cadaver
casement recreare spiritum vitae nulla reducere sicut in
creare mortuum meum exercitus
fidelis et innoxia me
meae obsecundare omnis arbitratu
et quaeritis ultionem meam"
The corpses eyes, or rather, eye sockets, began to glow an unholy purplish blue, as did the girl's own eyes. She held her hand over the grave and said, "Rise from your grave, and take my hand." The dead man's arm slowly creaked up, bony fingers clutching her hand. She could feel the claws digging into her hand, and the chill of death even through her thick gloves.
Standing up slowly, the corpse creaked up along with her. Already the corpse looked like it was being regenerated from the state of near-crumbling that it was in. The corpse had changed to the point that it's legs could support it's weight and it wasn't quite so shriveled anymore.
Oh so slowly, the girl began to lead the corpse up the incline, one step at a time, mindful that if it fell now, it might become useless to her. It stumbled along behind her, it's grip on her gloved hand growing stronger by the minute. She knew that if it chose to, it could pull her back into the grave, and steal her soul with it, too.
When they got to the top of the incline, back above ground, for the corpse the first time in a millennium, it let out a low groan, and tried to begin back down to it's shattered coffin. "No follow me." She said, tugging the withered hand that held hers gently but firmly. Still, it had started going back down the incline. "You'll be alive again if you do." She said, giving another tug. It paused, and looked at her, head lolling to the side, before it followed her.
She led to the corpse out of the graveyard, stopping only to replace the dirt over the grave and pull the gate shut behind them. She made a mental note to bring some oil for the gate next time. Even though the graveyard was abandoned, and the state was pretty lawless and forgotten, the goddamn screeching irked her.
The corpse followed her down the path, to the old car she left parked there. Apparently it was from the year 1959, and near impossible to find parts for unless she went to junkyards or raiding the storage or the rich ruling class, or even rig something together herself. It ran off used cooking oil as bio-diesel, when today's car's ran off electricity.
She didn't care about that either, because she personally found the old Premier had more visual appeal than what anyone drove these days. And it had more space. But to be honest, she should've picked a car that wasn't white if she didn't want to call attention to herself late at night.
Walking up to the old piece of metal, she opened the door for the corpse, and it mostly fell into the car, finally letting go of her hand. She closed the door, walking around to the other side. Getting in, she turned on the engine, roaring to life in the very early morning silence.
She drove off, going own road after road, for quite a few miles, not meeting anyone else. after nearly an hour, they pulled up in front of a derelict farmstead, their paths blocked by a rotting gate. "We're home!" She said, turning to the corpse, only to gasp in shock. She knew the spell was powerful, but she didn't expect this!