The gate groaned shut behind Lena with a sound that echoed, low and ominous, through the cold night air. Shadows seemed to stretch and reach across the uneven paths as she stepped deeper into the graveyard. Ancient tombstones, half-sunken and covered in moss, jutted from the ground like crooked teeth. Each stone bore names and dates worn down by time, their inscriptions barely legible in the dim moonlight that filtered through the skeletal branches of towering, twisted trees.
A chill seeped into her skin, more from the eerie silence than the cold itself. The wind was still, leaving the air around her thick and almost suffocating. She could hear every tiny sound: the crunch of gravel beneath her feet, the faint rustle of dead leaves, and the occasional creak of tree branches swaying ever so slightly, as though unseen eyes were watching her every move.
As she made her way along the overgrown path, she spotted the small, decrepit shed the man had pointed out. It was nestled against an old stone wall, leaning as if it might collapse any second. Its single window was cracked, and the door hung slightly ajar, revealing nothing but darkness within.
She approached the shed cautiously, her heart pounding louder with each step. The scent of damp earth and decaying leaves clung to the air, and an uncomfortable prickle crawled up her spine. Shadows pooled in the corners of the graveyard, giving shape to things that shouldn't be there—warped figures that flickered at the edge of her vision only to vanish when she turned to look.
Somewhere behind her, a crow cawed, its voice sharp and jarring in the silence, and she jumped, her breath catching in her throat. She glanced back toward the gate, half-expecting to see the man watching her from the shadows, but there was no one. She was utterly alone.
Taking a deep, unsteady breath, she stepped up to the shed's doorway, her hand hovering over the weathered handle. The light from her phone cast a faint glow across the threshold, barely illuminating the dusty interior. It was empty except for a few old, rusted tools, a broken lantern, and a stack of yellowed paper tied with twine, resting on a rickety table in the corner.
She stepped inside, her pulse pounding as she scanned the room. Just as she was about to reach for the papers, a cold draft swept through the shed, snuffing out her light. She froze, breath shallow, her eyes adjusting to the dimness as a creeping sense of dread washed over her.
She fumbled around the cluttered shed, digging through boxes and shelves in search of the cleaning supplies the guy had promised would be here. Her hands brushed over dust-covered bottles and rusted tools, but nothing looked like what she needed. That's when her elbow brushed against something hard—a glass pendulum thing—hanging from a crooked nail in the rafters.
For a moment, it swayed, catching the light, and she noticed how it shimmered with an eerie glow. The glass was clouded and tinged with a sickly greenish hue, the center swirling with something unnatural, as if a small vortex was contained within. It felt... fragile. Almost too fragile. Before she could even react, it slipped from its hook, and with a sharp crack, it shattered upon hitting the ground. Tiny shards of jagged glass scattered like broken dreams, leaving only a faint, eerie hum in the air.
She sighed, rolling her eyes. Great. Just what I needed.
Shrugging, she turned back to her search, not giving the shattered relic another thought.
Somewhere in the graveyard, she thought she heard footsteps—slow, deliberate, moving toward her.
Lena grabbed the cleaning supplies from the shed, her fingers brushing against a bucket and mop that looked like they had seen better days. She was about to head back outside when something caught her eye—a small, scruffy ball of fur nestled next to the bucket. A tiny kitten, its fur a patchwork of gray and white, blinked up at her with wide, curious eyes.
For a moment, Lena just stared at it, her frustration momentarily forgotten. Of course there's a cat here, she thought, her lips twitching in an almost bitter smile. The universe had a twisted sense of humor.
She reached down and scratched the kitten behind its ears. It purred softly, as if trying to comfort her in this bizarre situation. She sighed, rolling her eyes as she picked it up, cradling it in one arm like she was some kind of caretaker for stray animals now.
"Great," she muttered. "Just what I need. A kitten. At a graveyard." She set the little creature back down and grabbed the cleaning supplies. "Well, it's not like I'm doing anything else tonight."
The graveyard stretched out before her, more vast than she had anticipated. Tombstones loomed like silent sentinels, casting long, jagged shadows in the moonlight. The sprawling grounds seemed endless, the distance between each grave so far apart it could take hours to clean everything.
Her stomach dropped. The pay was good—too good—for this kind of work. Cleaning the entire graveyard by morning? She couldn't even imagine how long that would take.
With a heavy sigh, Lena dragged the mop across the ground, her movements quick and frustrated. A degree and a dream, she thought bitterly. And now I'm a graveyard janitor. With a cat. The thought made her want to laugh and scream at the same time. But life had a way of knocking you down, and she wasn't sure if she had the energy to fight anymore.
She worked in silence, the only sound the scrape of the mop against the cracked stone paths. The kitten, her new, unwanted companion, mewed loudly, following her steps as she moved from one grave to the next. It seemed like a bizarre kind of company for a night like this—cleaning a graveyard, of all things—yet here she was, reduced to this.
The dead, the tombstones, the silence, and the relentless task ahead—none of it seemed so bad compared to the real horrors of her life. She gritted her teeth and kept going. What else could she do? The graveyard wasn't going to clean itself, and she wasn't going to let a few undead shadows scare her off.
Lena continued dusting off the stones, her hands moving mechanically across the grimy surfaces, brushing away years of neglect and dirt. The kitten, seemingly more curious than anything, followed her every step. It skittered across the path, weaving in and out of her legs, occasionally darting toward another gravestone, as if it were playing a game of tag with her.
She smiled faintly, the odd warmth of the tiny creature's presence easing some of the tension in her chest. But then, as she wiped down a particularly grimy stone, the kitten suddenly darted off. At first, Lena thought nothing of it—maybe it was just chasing something, or maybe it was bored—but the sound of tiny paws scampering across the ground stopped. The sudden silence unsettled her. She glanced around, her heart skipping a beat.
The kitten was nowhere to be seen.
Lena's stomach twisted, a pang of guilt washing over her. She had agreed to take care of it, to keep it company in this bizarre place, but now it was gone. She bit her lip, feeling the weight of the responsibility settle on her. What if something happened to it? she thought frantically. It's just a kitten, and it's out here all alone in the middle of nowhere.
She muttered a curse under her breath, abandoning her cleaning supplies. "Great, now I'm playing babysitter to a stray cat in a graveyard," she grumbled, but even she could hear the unease in her own voice.
Without thinking twice, she started toward the last place she'd seen the kitten. Her heart hammered in her chest as she glanced down every row of graves, searching desperately for the little furball. The graveyard had taken on a more sinister feel the deeper she wandered, the tombstones growing more jagged, their inscriptions worn and unreadable. The air seemed heavier, colder. A faint breeze whispered through the trees, but other than that, all was still.
The further she went, the darker it became, the moonlight barely cutting through the thick branches overhead. The kitten had been small, but she couldn't even hear its faint mewling now. What if it got stuck? Or worse, what if it wandered too far or hurt itself
The silence was suffocating, the only sound her breath growing heavier as she moved faster. Lena cursed herself for not keeping a closer eye on the kitten. She should've known better, she should've been more careful. It was her responsibility now, and there was no way she could let it suffer alone out here.
"Kitty?" she called softly, her voice echoing through the eerie quiet. She waited, listening, but only heard the rustle of leaves and the distant creaking of the trees.
She kept walking, her feet crunching on the gravel, heart pounding as she moved further and further inside the graveyard. It felt like an eternity before she noticed the change in the atmosphere. The air seemed thicker here, the shadows darker. The graves were more elaborate, their stonework intricate and imposing, as if these were the resting places of the wealthier, or perhaps the more… important.
A sinking feeling crawled up her spine. She stopped and looked around, her eyes scanning the rows of graves, the darkened corners where the light couldn't reach. The kitten had to be here. It couldn't have gotten far. It had just been playing around, right?
She was so lost in the search that she didn't realize how far she'd strayed until the silence around her felt… off. It was too quiet. The kind of quiet that made her skin prickle, a strange sense of being watched crawling up her neck.
Lena's breath came in shallow bursts as she rounded a corner, her eyes scanning the rows of gravestones in the dim light. There, by a small, weathered marker, she spotted the kitten. It was sniffing around the base of the stone, its tiny paws digging into the soft earth as it curiously investigated. The grave was different from the others—smaller, more modest. Perhaps it belonged to a child or even a pet.
Lena didn't have time to dwell on it. Her heart was still pounding in her chest, the panic of losing the kitten still fresh in her mind. She hurried over to it, reaching down to scoop it up, her fingers brushing against its soft fur.
As soon as her hand touched the kitten, a strange sensation washed over her. It wasn't just the cold night air. No, this felt different. The air around her seemed to shift, grow thicker, like something was… off.
She froze, the kitten squirming in her arms as it let out a soft mewl. It was then that she looked closer at the grave. The marker was worn, almost impossible to read, but there was something unsettling about the way the name had been etched into the stone—half-faded, as if it had been scratched at with careless hands. A sharp chill ran down her spine, and she couldn't shake the sense that the grave had been disturbed, or that it didn't belong here.
Lena froze, her breath caught in her throat. She hadn't heard him approach, but there he was—sitting on the grave she had just been inspecting, his back resting against the worn headstone. The man was a shadow against the night, but there was something undeniably unsettling about his presence. The moonlight barely touched his form, casting only a vague silhouette.
His head was tilted back, as if he were completely at ease, almost too at ease for someone sitting in a graveyard in the dead of night. She couldn't see his face, but his posture was relaxed, almost languid, as though this place was where he belonged.
Her heart pounded in her chest as an inexplicable feeling of being watched washed over her, more intense than anything she'd felt before. She hadn't even seen him approach, yet somehow, it was as if he had been there all along, watching her from the shadows.
And that's when it hit her.
He could see her. Despite the darkness, despite his face being hidden in shadow, she could feel his eyes on her, pressing down on her like a physical weight. The air around her grew thicker, colder, as though the atmosphere had shifted. It wasn't just the graveyard anymore—it was him, and he was staring at her with an intensity that made her skin crawl.
Her fingers tightened around the kitten in her arms, but it was just as stiff, as if it too felt the tension in the air. Lena's instincts screamed at her to run—to turn and sprint for the gate, to leave this eerie place far behind. But she couldn't move.
Then, almost as if he were savoring the silence, he spoke.
"Did you come for the job, then?"
His voice was low, almost too soft, like a murmur that only the night should hear. There was no trace of warmth in his words—no invitation, no curiosity, just the cold edge of something far darker.
Lena's heart pounded as she took a step back, the ground beneath her feeling like it was slipping away. The words "companion for the dead" echoed in her mind, and as his mocking laugh rang in the air, she realized that everything, all of it, felt wrong.
His voice had a chill to it, the way he spoke, almost condescending. "Did you not read your job's description?"
For a brief moment, Lena stood frozen, her mouth slightly open in shock. What was this? Was this some twisted prank? Was he in on it with the guy who had posted the ad? Maybe they were just a couple of rich kids—playing a game, making fun of a desperate girl. A cruel joke to see how far they could push her.
The kitten let out a soft mewl in her arms, breaking the silence. The man's gaze flicked toward the little creature, his lips curving into a small, unsettling smile.
"Poor thing," he said with a quiet chuckle, "doesn't know what it's wandered into."
he murmured, his voice smooth but icy, and that's when Lena felt the chill crawl up her spine. It wasn't the kitten he was talking about.
She looked down at the small creature, its fur ruffled in fear, scampering away from them. But her eyes couldn't stay on it for long. Something about the way he spoke, something about the coldness in his tone made her stomach twist.
As if by instinct, she took another step back, and that's when he grinned, lips curling into a dark smirk that sent a wave of terror through her. A laugh—a mocking, cruel sound—slipped from his lips as he watched her retreat.
Was this really a joke? Could it be? The man from earlier had said he'd come in the morning to check on her work, but this wasn't anything like a simple graveyard gig. Her breath hitched as the final, horrifying piece of the puzzle clicked into place.
"You're… you're joking, right?" she managed to say, her voice trembling as the fight in her bled away.
But the man didn't answer. He didn't need to.
He stood up, moving with the grace of a predator, and took a few slow, calculated steps toward her.
Lena's pulse raced. She wanted to scream, to shout, but nothing came out. Her body froze. Fear gripped her so tightly, she couldn't even pull air into her lungs.
And then she saw his face.
It wasn't a face at all, not anymore.
His skin was rotting, flaking off in patches, eaten away by time and the microorganisms that had claimed his body. The stench hit her almost immediately, a sickening mix of decay and death. His eyes were hollow, but they glinted with malicious joy as he stared at her, unblinking, unfeeling. His bony lips curled into a twisted, mocking smile, exposing teeth that were no longer human but long, yellowed, and jagged.
Lena's body went cold as dread clawed up her spine.
This wasn't a man.
This was a monster.
Her breath hitched. Her legs trembled, refusing to move. And when he spoke, his voice was dry and raspy, as though it had risen from the depths of some forgotten grave.
"You really should be careful who you trust, Miss Lena."
And with that, the scream she'd been holding back finally erupted from her chest, a desperate, ragged cry of terror.
Her hands shot out, desperately grabbing for the kitten, but it was already running, startled by her reaction.
She couldn't focus on the animal. She couldn't focus on anything except him, the thing standing before her, his cruel smile widening with every step.
Lena didn't think—didn't stop to second guess herself. Her survival instincts kicked in.
She turned on her heel and bolted.