I've Been Deader Read Online Free Page A
Author: Adam Sifre
and freedom. It wasn't much but it was all she had these days.
She saw Mr. Potts laboriously make his way up to the Cullens' house next door, walking even slower than usual. Must be Sears Catalog day. Watching the mailman caused another layer of uneasiness to settle over her. It was the uniform. Uniforms made her think of eviction and jail.
She tried to block out mailmen, mail, insects, pollen, wind, noise and the thousand other little terrors she knew waited out there for her.
Best get moving if I'm going to win this game.
She wanted to shut her eyes, but knew she was too damned old to try walking blind. Once started, best to keep up the momentum. Before she could think herself into paralysis she took another step, and another, and another.
She was about five feet from her mailbox when an angry roar broke through the stillness of the day. Its deep thrumming sound washed over Ellen, drowning out all thought. Her hands flew up to her face, trying to cover both eyes and ears. Sometime later the noise receded and she heard someone speaking to her, trying to soothe her.
"Just a plane. It's just a plane. Just a plane." It took her a few moments to realize the person speaking was her.
So stupid. I was doing so well and I let a stupid, noisy jet ruin the game.
There were tears on her cheeks and she was shaking all over. She stood like that forever. I'll die standing here - the crazy old lady who turned herself into stone . She was so angry. Angry. The thought startled her. For the first time since, well, since forever, she was more angry than afraid. When did my life become so ridiculous? Pathetic .
Without thinking she walked straight to the mailbox and touched the metal red flag. She felt like laughing and crying at the same time.
"Victory!" she shouted up at the sky and the departing plane. "Victory!"
"Braaainss," moaned Mr. Potts.
She turned, confused, and then froze. Ellen had found one more thing to terrify her.
* * *
Something was wrong. It was pitch black. Where were the lights? There were always lights. And why was she so hungry? So dark. And the smell. What was that god-awful stench? She tried to sit up and bumped into something hard and unyielding. Panic bloomed in her chest and overwhelmed her. She tried rolling over and came up against a wall.
No, no, no no , a tiny voice whispered inside her. Can't be happening ... not real. Not real. She managed to get her hands raised a little and started pushing against the box. She was rewarded with a small shower of fine dirt - a musky dusting that coated her face.
Fear wrapped itself around her heart and squeezed. She couldn't breathe. Her hands beat against the box lid with surprising strength but other than causing more dirt to rain down on her, nothing happened. Ellen thrashed her head side to side and started kicking her feet. Small, ineffectual kicks stuttering out a muted, crazed drumbeat against the floor and ceiling of the coffin. Some small thing snaked its way up her leg. She opened her mouth to scream but the darkness, seasoned with grave dirt, poured into her throat. Ellen forgot how to talk; how to breathe. She forgot everything except terror. And hunger.
Ted sat down next to the soft, dark earth, wiping his forehead on his sleeve. He didn't know about other grave diggers, but he hated burying corpses almost as much as he hated digging them up.
On the bright side, digging them up often paid better. It amazed him how much wealth people tried to take with them. The dead made Ted's night life arduous, but profitable.
He retrieved a bottle from his coat pocket, raised it to his lips and took a long pull. It would be another hour or so until full dark, so he'd have to wait a spell. It was going to be a long night. But he was determined to claim his prize.
Chapter 6
Cold Comfort
Found crumpled and stuffed in the mouth of a female corpse identified as Jodie Wylde, 60-65 years of age. Death by blunt trauma.
Jenny's
She saw Mr. Potts laboriously make his way up to the Cullens' house next door, walking even slower than usual. Must be Sears Catalog day. Watching the mailman caused another layer of uneasiness to settle over her. It was the uniform. Uniforms made her think of eviction and jail.
She tried to block out mailmen, mail, insects, pollen, wind, noise and the thousand other little terrors she knew waited out there for her.
Best get moving if I'm going to win this game.
She wanted to shut her eyes, but knew she was too damned old to try walking blind. Once started, best to keep up the momentum. Before she could think herself into paralysis she took another step, and another, and another.
She was about five feet from her mailbox when an angry roar broke through the stillness of the day. Its deep thrumming sound washed over Ellen, drowning out all thought. Her hands flew up to her face, trying to cover both eyes and ears. Sometime later the noise receded and she heard someone speaking to her, trying to soothe her.
"Just a plane. It's just a plane. Just a plane." It took her a few moments to realize the person speaking was her.
So stupid. I was doing so well and I let a stupid, noisy jet ruin the game.
There were tears on her cheeks and she was shaking all over. She stood like that forever. I'll die standing here - the crazy old lady who turned herself into stone . She was so angry. Angry. The thought startled her. For the first time since, well, since forever, she was more angry than afraid. When did my life become so ridiculous? Pathetic .
Without thinking she walked straight to the mailbox and touched the metal red flag. She felt like laughing and crying at the same time.
"Victory!" she shouted up at the sky and the departing plane. "Victory!"
"Braaainss," moaned Mr. Potts.
She turned, confused, and then froze. Ellen had found one more thing to terrify her.
* * *
Something was wrong. It was pitch black. Where were the lights? There were always lights. And why was she so hungry? So dark. And the smell. What was that god-awful stench? She tried to sit up and bumped into something hard and unyielding. Panic bloomed in her chest and overwhelmed her. She tried rolling over and came up against a wall.
No, no, no no , a tiny voice whispered inside her. Can't be happening ... not real. Not real. She managed to get her hands raised a little and started pushing against the box. She was rewarded with a small shower of fine dirt - a musky dusting that coated her face.
Fear wrapped itself around her heart and squeezed. She couldn't breathe. Her hands beat against the box lid with surprising strength but other than causing more dirt to rain down on her, nothing happened. Ellen thrashed her head side to side and started kicking her feet. Small, ineffectual kicks stuttering out a muted, crazed drumbeat against the floor and ceiling of the coffin. Some small thing snaked its way up her leg. She opened her mouth to scream but the darkness, seasoned with grave dirt, poured into her throat. Ellen forgot how to talk; how to breathe. She forgot everything except terror. And hunger.
Ted sat down next to the soft, dark earth, wiping his forehead on his sleeve. He didn't know about other grave diggers, but he hated burying corpses almost as much as he hated digging them up.
On the bright side, digging them up often paid better. It amazed him how much wealth people tried to take with them. The dead made Ted's night life arduous, but profitable.
He retrieved a bottle from his coat pocket, raised it to his lips and took a long pull. It would be another hour or so until full dark, so he'd have to wait a spell. It was going to be a long night. But he was determined to claim his prize.
Chapter 6
Cold Comfort
Found crumpled and stuffed in the mouth of a female corpse identified as Jodie Wylde, 60-65 years of age. Death by blunt trauma.
Jenny's
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