The village was drowning in silence. Not the peaceful kind, but the heavy, suffocating quiet that settled after something unnatural had taken place. The people no longer whispered about the hanging hunter or the things they thought they saw lurking in the shadows of the church. They avoided speaking altogether. Fear had burrowed into their bones, making them mute prisoners in their own homes.
Salvatore enjoyed it.
He sat in the dim glow of candlelight, at the worn wooden table of the church, slowly turning the pages of an old, tattered book. The words meant nothing to him anymore. It was just a habit, a way to pass the time while he waited. Because he knew something was coming. Something always came.
His fingers trailed along the brittle edges of the pages when he heard the familiar creak of the church door. Slow, hesitant footsteps echoed against the stone floor.
The old woman had returned.
She emerged from the shadows, her hunched figure outlined by the faint glow of the lanterns. Her apron was still smeared with dried blood, her hands wrinkled and cracked with the weight of years spent cleaning up his messes.
Salvatore did not greet her. He simply closed the book and waited.
The old woman stood before him, her face unreadable. Then, at last, she spoke.
"There's something wrong with the pit."
Salvatore's head tilted slightly. "Oh?"
She nodded once, her fingers tightening around the edge of her apron. "The bodies. The ones we buried last week. They're… moving."
The candlelight flickered.
Salvatore's smirk did not fade, but something cold crept into his gaze. He rose from his seat, moving with the same eerie grace as always, and gestured for her to lead the way.
Together, they descended into the depths of the church.
The underground chamber greeted them with its usual stench—rot, decay, the whispers of those who would never be found. But as they stepped closer to the pit, something was different.
The air felt wrong.
Salvatore stopped at the edge, gazing down into the darkness below. The old woman had not been lying. The bodies that should have been still and rotting were… shifting. Limbs twitched. Fingers curled. A slow, unnatural movement, like something waking up after a long sleep.
Then, one of them groaned.
The sound was not human. Not anymore.
Salvatore smiled.
"Well," he murmured, "this is unexpected."
The old woman did not move. Her face remained blank, but he could hear the way her breath had changed. Shorter. Uneven. She was disturbed.
"How?" she asked, voice low.
Salvatore stepped closer, kneeling at the edge of the pit. He studied the twitching limbs, the slow convulsions of the corpses below. Then, he reached out.
His fingers brushed against the exposed, grayish skin of a corpse. It was cold, lifeless—yet something pulsed beneath it. Something trying to return.
Fascinating.
"I don't know," he admitted, his tone almost amused. "Perhaps they refuse to be forgotten."
The old woman's gaze snapped to him. "You did this, didn't you?"
Salvatore chuckled. "Not this time."
She did not seem convinced.
Salvatore stood, dusting off his robes as he took one last look at the pit. The bodies were still moving, but they were not alive. Not in any natural sense.
But something had changed.
And he intended to find out why.
He turned to the old woman, watching the flickering torchlight cast sharp shadows across her weathered face. "Do you fear them?"
The old woman exhaled slowly. "I fear nothing that is already dead."
Salvatore's smile widened. "Good."
He stepped away from the pit, but the old woman remained still, staring down at the restless dead.
"They weren't like this before," she murmured.
Salvatore clasped his hands behind his back, glancing at her. "No, they weren't."
A long silence stretched between them.
Then, she did something that caught Salvatore's interest—she slowly pressed a hand against her chest, just above her heart, as if checking something.
Salvatore's gaze sharpened.
"Is there something you wish to tell me?" he asked, his voice quiet.
The old woman hesitated. Just for a second.
Then, she shook her head. "No."
A lie.
He let it go, for now.
Salvatore turned back toward the stairs. "Burn them," he said casually. "Every last one."
The old woman didn't argue. She only nodded, already reaching for the oil stored in the corner of the chamber.
As Salvatore ascended the steps, he could still hear the quiet rustling of the bodies below.
Something was happening.
And the old woman knew more than she was saying.