Veronica never thought she would be digging a grave at 2.30 am but it's funny what desperation can make people do. She was out of breath and sweaty, her black tank top under her blue flannel shirt clung to her body. Trying to ignore her own odour, she pushed the shovel deeper into the moist soil.
She felt her heart skip a beat when the shovel struck something hard, making a blunt ting sound.
Her father, Rodger Cooke, was a short pudgy man with discrete male pattern baldness. He was a manager at a local retail store and had been for most of his life.
Veronica looked at her father as she pulled the shovel out of the ground. He crouched down and on to his knees, hastily brushing away the dirt from on top of the coffin.
"Move," he muttered as he grabbed the shovel from her and hoisted it over his shoulder.
Veronica stepped away only to look up and see the graveyard caretaker, staring back at them from across the yard.
He turned his flashlight towards her, looking equally surprised as Veronica did.
"Hey! What the hell are you doing over there?" he yelled, making his way towards them.
Veronica felt the panic rise like bile up her throat. Rodger had managed to open the coffin with the crowbar he'd brought with him. It was an old coffin, poorly assembled with what seemed to be random pieces of wood and nails.
"Help me, Veronica," Rodger hissed, struggling with the top of the coffin.
"Someone's coming, dad," she replied, getting down beside him.
"Just hurry up."
With the caretaker approaching fast, Veronica took the crowbar and struck it repeatedly on the coffin, shattering the lid.
She could see a man inside the coffin, her insides churning with anxiety. Though he'd been buried for years, he hadn't decomposed at all. In fact, without all the dirt and debris, it merely looked like he had been asleep.
He was well dressed in a black suit and shoes but the dirt obscured his features. Veronica looked at his closed eyes, surprised to see that he still had them. She had expected the stench of rot but it never came. This was the second dead body she had ever seen, after her mother's.
But this wasn't the grave of a typical man, she had to remind herself.
"Fuck," she heard Rodger swear under his breath.
She was afraid that her peers would wake up to her face being flashed on the morning news if they didn't somehow escape soon. The caretaker had them cornered and she could see it all now.
Eighteen year old, Veronica Cooke, caught digging a grave with her father.
Or maybe something with a little more drama;
Teenage cannibal found digging grave with father for a midnight snack.
She felt mortified by the thought.
"Shh," Rodger muttered, taking out the hex bag from his pocket.
"Dad," Veronica said with urgency.
The caretaker was both bewildered and terrified by what was happening in front of him. He held the torchlight firmly, his knuckles turning white.
"Hayekh mu tasa'la fasikmu'ta lamiskh," Rodger chanted, squeezing the hex bag.
She backed away as the caretaker roughly gripped Rodger's shoulder, pulling him away from the grave.
"Oi, I've called the police! You can't be diggin' up graves, you bloody sickos," he said, clearly disturbed.
"Mevi tu' saleh makhtu fawa," Rodger finished uttering.
Suddenly, the man in the coffin opened his eyes. He looked at Veronica and then Rodger who were looking right back at him in shock. Veronica almost stumbled over her own feet, shocked that the spell had worked. If she didn't believe in sorcery before, she certainly did now.
Slowly, he grabbed on to the sides of the coffin, lifting himself up.
Rodger was in disbelief as he watched the dead man rise.
"Oh my god," Veronica whispered, retreating slowly.
"What the hell?" the caretaker stuttered, aghast. "What type of satanic shit is this?"
It was as if his sudden increase in volume triggered the man from the grave as he lunged forwards at him. Veronica screamed as he grabbed the caretaker's neck with both hands violently.
"Do something, dad!" she yelled, shaking her father's arm in terror.
He tore into the caretaker's neck, yielding an agonising scream. Veronica watched the caretaker struggle as the colour from his face drained. When he was done, he broke his neck and let the limp body fall to the floor. Veronica held her hands over her ears, horrified by the sound he'd made.
The man turned slowly and looked at Rodger, blood still on his lips. "You were foolish to come here."
"I know what I have done," Rodger said, confidently. "I am the one who released you and in return, you shall do as I say."
The man narrowed his eyes at Rodger, finding it amusing that a mortal thought he could threaten him. "You're extremely naive to think I wouldn't kill you."
"Ah-ah-ah, I wouldn't try anything if I were you," Rodger said. "I'll have you burn in flames."
The man looked down at the hex bag in Rodger's hands.
"You think your little magic bag will save you? Will let you control me?" he laughed, menacingly.
Rodger squeezed the bag and the man's knees buckled before he fell to the ground. A sharp pain radiated up his legs, rendering him unable to get up again.
"Yes, actually. I do think this will work just fine," Rodger said, readjusting his red woollen hat.
Veronica met the vampire's gaze and she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Something about the way he looked at her told her that opening that coffin was a decision that they would come to regret in time.
"I own you, Lucius. And you will help me with what I need," Rodger said, looming over him.
•