The peeling gravestone

The peeling headstone read ‘Ezra Wilkins - 1876’.

I rubbed the inscription, intrigued by the abandoned grave.

Suddenly, a crunching sound emerged from the earth.

I recoiled in horror as the remains of Ezra Wilkins emerged from the rusted grave. Shreds of rotting flesh hung from his bones as he advanced towards me with outstretched arms.

-Were you looking for... someone? -the apparition croaked in a cavernous voice.

The stench of death hit me hard.

Terrified, I broke into a run without looking back.

The creeping footsteps and hissing of the creature echoed closer and closer, ready to catch up with me in the darkness of the cemetery.

Night had fallen, and I was its next victim.