More Than Skin Deep
Untitled | Erina Coutinho | Pencil
More Than Skin Deep by Mathilda DeCosse
Wrapped up warm against the icy fingers of dusk, the caretaker closed the cemetery gates. But who was that watching him? A dark silhouette masked behind the thick fog stood, almost paralyzed, across from the barren graveyard. I closed and reopened my eyes, squinting to get a better look. Nothing. The old raggedy caretaker jangled through the premise, his keys making a chiming sound with each step he took. CREAAAK. The uncomfortable sound of the rusty gate being opened and closed rung through my ears and tingled down my spine. I started my move. The sound of crunching leaves under my big feet made me come to a halt. I could not draw attention to myself, and this noise would certainly catch the attention of any passersby. Tripping over my outward turned duck-like feet, I decided the course of action would be to remove my big, red cloppy shoes. Now, my mission could commence.
Slipping through the gap in the metal fence, I slithered through the cemetery, unbothered by the screeches of crows in the distance or the shrieks of the wind. I had come for one thing. One person. The moss-covered stones depicted the capability of the caretaker. Small, filthy placeholders of someone who once was. The more valued you were, the more clean your remembrance rock was kept. I trudged on through, brushing as much loose dirt as I could off of the stones, hoping to come across the one that I had made an effort to visit. Finally, as I brushed the crusted dirt off of a large but simple tombstone, I read the name of my beloved. I knelt down, weeping at the remembrance of the grief and sorrow that his death had caused me. I took a deep breath, wiping the salty liquid off my pale, bony cheeks. I had a job to do.
I took a shovel that I had planted a few days ago at a nearby grave and began to dig. The wind stung as it slapped me in the face. As the sweat pushed through my pores, the coldness only stuck to the moisture on my body. I dug and dug with no sight of anything promising. A tickle on my neck sent chills down my spine as something brushed against my hair. I glanced behind me expecting to see nothing but fog, letting out a scream when it was no such thing. There he was. Skin torn around his features but yet still so recognizable. He seized me by the neck, bringing my face level to his. He cradled my face in between his hands, knowing how I hated how they were always so cold. But maybe he knew I would never reject his touch.
Kissing me on the forehead with his cracked lips he whispered, “I love you.”
That would be the last lie he would ever tell me. Pushing me back with a smirk, he tossed me into the hole I had sweat only moments ago to create. I guess the issue was that I would kill for him, but he would too. My eyes closed as he grabbed the shovel, for all was worth it, if only laying eyes on him one last time.
