In the dirty bar, two drunks sat with their drinks, which kept seeping to the floor. One man had a bushy beard; the other had greasy blond hair. "Come on, will you do it?"
"No... no," he shook his head, the grease almost falling from his blond hair. "No, I won't do it."
"Come on, come on, I can't do it me self, you know."
The blonde man tried to stand up but nearly fell. "No, I keep telling you I can't."
"Oh, bollocks! You're not the one with a heart problem; the doctor said I must take it easy."
The blond man stood, attempting to walk, but his legs shook. Every part of his body felt weak except his left hand, which gripped the glass.
"Alright, listen! You get a 10; I get 6, is that alright?"
The blonde man slowly turned around. "Yeah... that's alright."
The night was warm; no sound of insects was heard. Bats flew early in the night, but even they weren't seen. The graveyard was lifeless during the day, but at night, the graveyard's black heart beat. The shadows were almost alive, moving. When the wind breezed, the naked tree branches formed eerie-looking shapes, almost like angry monsters rising from another world. The dead autumn leaves covered the ground, and the air silenced the burning candles that mourned the dead. The buildings themselves looked alive; the church was the silent watcher.
Dirt was flung; the blond man had a shovel and was digging up a grave. He stopped to wipe the sweat from his face, lifting his shirt up and down.
"Come on, we don't have all night!"
"Just let me have a minute break, man."
"You're the one who gets a 10; I only get a 6." The man sliced some ham and chewed it. He sat on a blanket. The blond man resumed his work. "Say, who even gave us this job?"
"Oh, some dumb bloke; he said he got tired of doing this job and recommended it for me. You know it's all for some doctor that needs human body parts to confirm some theory or whatever. Never mind that; we don't have all night."
The blonde man continued to dig until the shovel hit something hard. "Oh, oh," he coughed into his hand. "It's the coffin."
"Fantastic!"
"Hey, you get the poor bastard; I need to piss."
"Yes, piss and relax; I'll handle him."
The blonde man dragged himself out of the hole and staggered behind a tree. The other slid into the ground, his boots hitting the wooden coffin. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together excitedly. He grinned, "Now, who were you again? Oh yes, Mr. O'Reilly. Well, let's see if your face is intact."
He grabbed the coffin and pulled it hard, giving it a good few tugs: one, two, three; it was opened.
Empty.
He stared, puzzled. His arm went into the air; he tried to grab the edge of the ground, but his eyes were glued to the empty coffin. "H-hey... you."
"Good evening."
He turned around and saw the devil covered in blood.
He gasped; he tried to scream, but the muscles in his throat tensed. The man grabbed his chest and fell into the coffin.
The devil walked towards him and crouched. The body was already pale. The devil shrugged and began feasting on his flesh.