She clawed in frustration as the moon shone upon the grave; her fingertips soaked in dirt and blood. A hundred years had passed since the ghosts had spoken to her about Eric, a hundred years had passed since she last ate or drank a bottle of wine. She heard the owls screeching as the wind howled incessantly, causing hair at the back of her neck to stand up in alarm. She screamed as two hands jerked and pushed her off the grave.
“You wretched piece of urban shit how dare you come and touch this grave!”
Camellia spat into the ground in pure disgust as she attempted to smooth out her prussian blue dress; “I don’t need your permission you filthy, lying bitch!”
No sooner had she spoken, a voice hoarse from breathing underground sounded from the grave. Both women stared in horror at the sight that welcomed them in the dead of the night.
“I am so bloody tired of you two bickering each and every night! Now if you will excuse me I need to go back and rest for the next hundred years.” The corpse flashed an evil grin before it disappeared back into the grave.
“My goodness! Did you see that! He didn’t even bother to invite us in!”
Camellia laughed out hard and punched playfully on her arm. She realized that they were both being stupid, fighting over a man who had been dead for the past hundred years. She winked as they joined hands to craft a healing wish:
Photo credits: Pinterest
Posted for ‘Witches in Fiction’ @ MG’s blog party
