Andrew Buckley - Stiltskin

“The grave wasn’t too deep, it’s just a matter of leverage.”

“You’re strong enough to get us out of here?”

“I’m not. But what’s inside of me is.”

The statement floated through Robert’s brain looking for something to connect to. A few short yet disturbing flashbacks later, Robert hit a wall of realization.

“You’re going to turn into that thing, into a werewolf! Forget it; I’m beginning to like it down here.”

“Don’t be silly, Robert.”

“Silly? Who’s being silly? The smell of pine wood and rotting flesh is blissful to me.”

“You are being silly,” agreed the voice.

“I’m not being silly!”

“This won’t be like last time. When the moon forces me to change, I have no control, the creature bursts out of me as if it’s breaking out of a cage. When I change myself, it’s like I’m letting it out through the front door on a leash. I can control it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Robert, I’m over three hundred years old, I know what I’m doing. Trust me.”

“Okay,” he said solemnly. And he realized that he did actually trust her with his life. Ironic, being that she had been trying so hard to kill him less than twenty-four hours ago. “How do we do this?”

“I need to be naked.”

“Come again?” said Robert.

“I’ll need the clothes afterwards and I don’t want them ripped when I change. Help me get undressed.”

“Uh-ah,” was all Robert could come up with for an argument.

Lily kicked off her shoes. The casket was around six and a half feet in length, around two and a half feet high, and three feet wide, which didn’t lend itself to too much wiggle room. Lily struggled with getting the sweater off over her head while Robert fumbled with the zipper on her pants. Robert pondered on what a highly erotic moment this could have been, had it not been for the whole we’re buried alive thing.

Robert pushed her pants down using his feet, then she kicked them off. He hadn’t realized that all she was wearing was a sweater, pants, shoes and nothing else.

Lily finally succeeded in getting her sweater off.

“What now?” said Robert, who sounded nervous and was probably sweating more than he should have been.

“Relax, Robert, I realize this is awkward…”

“Noo… well just a bit, yes.”

“But it’s going to get a little worse.”

“What?” said Robert.

“How could this be any more awkward?” said the voice.

“I need to climb on top of you,” said Lily.

“Oh, that’s how it’s going to be more awkward,” said the voice.

“Uh… wha… why?” said Robert.

“I don’t want to crush you when I change and I don’t want to bury you under the dirt. The only way to do that is to straddle you, change, and as I do so, I’ll push upward out of the coffin and break through the earth.”

“And there’s no other way? You see, I’m a man, I have urges…”

“We’re in a life-threatening situation. How can you be thinking of those urges at a time like this?” said Lily.

“Well, it’s been a while,” said Robert. He was thinking about how to protest but it was too late as Lily was already manoeuvring herself on top of him. He could feel her pressed up against him.

“Think of something else!” shouted the voice in his head.

So Robert did. He thought about tractors, and garden Gnomes, sheep, antique bathtubs, Lily in a bathtub…

“Not that!” said the voice.

“Okay, I’m ready,” said Lily. “Your heart is racing. Are you all right?”

“I’ll live.”

“This might be horrifying for you but I suppose you’ve already seen it once.”

Robert was about to apologize for his male urges when all of a sudden it was no longer an issue. He heard the cracking of bones first and in such a small space, it was truly ghastly to listen to. Her body expanded above him, and he felt hair grow from her face as her nose began to stretch and protrude into a wolf’s snout. He could sense her tense up as she pushed with both arms so as not to crush him. Her whole body radiated heat, and her muscles writhed against him as they stretched and transformed. He heard splintering as her nails grew, then broke through the bottom of the casket as the overall size of her body expanded and the lid cracked open. Mud and dirt began to pour in on all sides. She began to growl a low guttural growl and drooled on Robert’s face. For a moment, she didn’t move too much more and Robert began to fear that she’d overestimated her strength. The growling grew louder and she pushed herself upward. In retrospect, Robert considered that particular moment to be one of those moments that he never actually expected to find himself in. In fact, it probably made the top of the list. Buried alive, trapped in a casket with a beautiful naked woman, who then transformed into a werewolf while straddling him.

“Definitely top of the list,” agreed the voice.

The lid cracked completely and the earth began to shift.

It had taken Frank a long time to make it up Smithwell Lane as his keen sense of direction, heavily influenced by alcohol, had become about as sharp as a plastic spoon. To his credit, he’d actually managed to stay on the road for the most part, except when he stopped to relieve his bladder, during which time he detoured to one of the fields and ended up falling into a ditch. He hadn’t noticed at the time, but the sheep in the field had enjoyed a good laugh at Frank’s expense. Laughing and grinning came much easier to sheep than scowling.

He’d finally reached the graveyard at Slack Top as the rain began to pour and lightning lit up the skies. For a moment, he’d thought that he’d seen a man and a child holding a big garbage bag standing in the graveyard, but then they were gone and Frank chalked it up to being really, really drunk. Frank lived not much farther up the lane, but something else in the graveyard caught his eye. Like any good Yorkshire man, he was profoundly superstitious and fully believed that banshees roamed graveyards at night to guard the dead. He could hear something over the sound of the rain. It was like a growl or a roar, and there was creaking, and then thunder.

Frank was not brave by any stretch of the imagination, but he enjoyed telling a good story as much as anyone. If he actually managed to see a banshee, then that would make a spectacular story to tell the lads down at the pub and so his drunken brain encouraged his jelly-like legs to propel him forward into the graveyard to investigate further. He tripped over the one sheep, who was no longer scowling but continued to be lost in the graveyard.

“Ba-a-a-a!” said the sheep.

“Bugger off wit ya!” said Frank as he scrambled to his feet.

He staggered up the overgrown path that ran through the middle of the graveyard. The lightning lit up his surroundings on a regular basis and Frank found that he’d begun to shake.

“What are you doing, Frankie old boy, this is no place for you,” he said to himself.

And then he saw the earth move over to his right. He stared intently through the darkness at where he’d seen the movement, and as his eyes adjusted, he saw it move again. It was like the grave was breathing.

He squinted at the headstone, which read Elise Marie Palmer . Frank remembered Elise. She was a large woman with eternally messy hair and a general hatred for pretty much everyone. She’d really gone off the deep end when her son had been killed in a tragic farming accident. She’d taken to dancing naked on the moors whenever there was a full moon, and when confronted about it, she hadn’t even known what she was doing or why.