He was alone beside my cracked headstone. Kneeling in wet overgrown grass. Brushing away the fallen pine cones I had gathered. Graveyard dirt on his hands. “Till death do us part?” I asked. There was fear in his shocked eyes and suddenly blood all over him. My nails have grown so sharp. #WriteCBC

He pulled the bedclothes tight around him, gripping them knuckle-white as he tried to turn away - eyes screwed shut - and slide deeper into the safety of cool, familiar sheets. Something laughed and he felt the breath again, sweet and rotten, as she pressed against him, colder than an open grave.