The Burial Plague

by Count Von Bloodletter

I felt my spine tingle as I admired the diamantine burial box. Within lied the old man, rich as any man had ever been, surrounded by his scornful relatives. They were as snobbish as the old man had been in life. I found my dreams flutter about in my head about the riches I could obtain if only I could possess that burial box. I looked over at my brother, and I could tell by the glaze in his eyes, he was thinking the same thing I was. My brother was a strong man, but not as wise as myself. His hair was short and thick, but like mine it was dark as pitch. Around us stood numerous people I had never met, nor intended to, each of them only present to say their final farewells to their ill-stricken, departed friend. No one was even the least bit conspicuous of me and my brother's intentions.
I found myself engulfing wine that was easily accessible at the event of the old man's funeral. It made quite a bit of sense to me, that nothing cured mourning better then alcohol. Looking about me I felt nearly invincible, all about were drunkards and folk who had already seemed to have forgotten the man. Society shows very little respect for the dead. That's alright, neither do my brother and I.
The following day the man had been buried, then that night, after the cemetery had closed, my brother and I arrived, equipped with shovels and a rusted old Ford truck, but if all went well, that truck would be replaced soon enough.
My brother looked at me and spoke, "Lovely day for a grave-robbery, wouldn't you agree Emmanuel?"
I merely smirked sinisterly in reply. My brother and I were quite unlike most siblings. We never rivaled, being only a few years apart, we found it better to always join and conspire against others, rather then ourselves. His name was Tony, which I thought suited him well enough, being the brute that he was.
Hours went on through the night, as we took our shovels and dug them into the fresh soil. Pound by vigorous pound, the dirt flung from our shovels to the nearby ground. Beads of sweat dripped down my head as I felt exhaustion approaching. I kept pushing on knowing that eventually my work would pay off. It was Tony's shovel that had first crunched as metal hit metal. I let out a sigh of relief, and crawled out of the grave to fetch our burly rope. I tied it about the casket, then I stood back as my brother reversed the truck. The rope was tied to the truck, and easily anchored out all the majesty that was the burial box.
"Who says the poor never get lucky and strike it rich?" I asked my brother.
He smiled in reply, then helped me lift the coffin into the trunk of the rusty old truck.
Once I found myself in my apartment, I found myself sprawled out on my bed, admiring the coffin. My brother was across the hall, already fast asleep. He could sleep through a hurricane if he had to, he reminded me much of a mammoth. My eyes glittered as the dim light of my room bounced off of the gold and diamonds that composed the burial box. If I wasn't such a gentlemen, I'd have been drooling at the site of it. After we removed the carcass from within the box, it would simple to cut of gold and diamonds into easily exchangeable and merchandisable pieces. The casket had to have been worth at least several million, if not more. For that kind of money I'm almost surprised the family hadn't hired armed guards to watch over the burial. They'll never suspect a thing, for it was easy to replace the dirt where the man was originally buried. I found myself grow increasingly more anxious to reward myself with the fortunes of the box. As I dreamed on, eventually, I fell asleep.
As I awoke, I found my door open, and the casket gone. I had figured my brother had gotten an early start on the removal of the corpse, for when I looked at the clock I had gotten up quite late. I stretched and yawned, and felt myself having one of the best mornings I had ever awoken to. I was about to be a rich man, a very rich man.
Slowly I found myself approaching the workroom, where I was positive my brother would be with the coffin. Indeed, the gorgeous coffin did lay there on the floor, with a crowbar in its side, opened only a mere crack, but I did not see my brother. In an instant I heard the sound of distress, and I rushed to the sound of it. I stood in the doorway of the bathroom, and I saw my brother's back facing me. He was crouched upon the floor, vomiting in a way that must have been horribly painful for him.
"Are you alright?" I asked him cautiously.
Slowly, his vomiting ceased, and he turned to face me. His usually very neat hair, was now disorderly and messy. His eyes were as bloodshot as I ever could have imagined any human's eyes to be. Tears rolled down his face from the immense pain of the vomiting and sickness that had stricken him. His face was pale, and shriveled, as though he looked forty years older.
His mouth gurgled, and frothed a bit, then a few words came out, the were very hard to decipher, " I almost got it…"
He instantly fell, unconscious to the floor. I dragged him to his bed, which was no easy task, for he was quite a large man, but I did indeed eventually get him there. He laid there with his eyes open. I felt his pulse, and it raced as though his heart was beating a thousand times faster then it should. His mouth still frothed, bit by bit, blood trickled down his lips. I dug some Tylenol out of the cabinet, but he found himself too ill to take it. He didn't even respond when I asked him to take it. I sat at his bedside, and gleamed into his eyes. They were complete blank, as though he was not even within his own shell of a body. I found myself worried about him.
I let him rest, in hope he would feel better soon. Several hours later, I came back to check on him. He laid where he had before, his chin and chest now completely soaked with his blood. His mouth no longer frothed. I felt his pulse, it was absent altogether. I looked at his face. It had turned green and pasty, as though his skin itself had turned into a rotted sludge. I pressed against his cheek, and by surprised by fingers sank right through and hit his jaw. I found my heart race with shock and I pulled my fingers out from my brother and looked at them. They were now covered with blood, and bits of the green sludge. I looked with horror into my brother's eyes. The iris was absent. His eyes still stood, blank. My brother was dead.
I knew not what kind of illness had stricken him, but it horrified me. It was awful, I refused to indulge in the thought of it another second. I found myself determined to get over the death of my brother. I let my thoughts wander, until they found a bit of hope. Within the workroom still sat the riches of the burial box. Now I did not have to share it, now I had all the riches of the world to myself. I smiled a clever smile, then I found myself sprinting to the workroom.
The crowbar still was found sticking out of the lid of the casket. I used all my force to attempt to further open the casket, to remove the body. My body strains and my veins bulged out like lava from a volcano. Beads of sweat came down my forehead as I put all my weight into the crowbar. Finally, the lid gave way, and it slid off. The light slowly hit the inside of the casket, revealing the corpse of the old man my brother and I had once despised.
The man looked more rancid in death, then he had in life. I found myself on the edge of gagging, until I caught his eyes. They were open, immediately I thought this to be a mistake, for usually they close the eyes of the dead before they were buried. I clenched my eyes shut then opened them back up, expecting to find the man's eyes closed as they should be. They were not. They still stood open, looking straight into mine. They leaked into mine. I felt my blood run cold. My heart pumped faster, to the extent where I didn't even feel the beats anymore. The eyes looked at me, deeper, and deeper. I saw all of the making of a demon in my view, or all of the essence that was once a man. It saw me too. It's eyes gleamed and I found myself trying to scream, but no sound came out. I choked on the air I tried to breath, as each breath I took in seemed to be the breath left within the decayed lungs of the dead old man. I fumbled back away from the coffin, away from those cursed eyes, and found myself cursing the riches of that awful burial box. My dreams all slipped away in an instant. I could not breath, but only choke, and vomit poured forth from my mouth. It poured forth for I could not breath, but only choke, so it never stopped. Profusely a river of my insides flowed out of me, until I had nothing left in me. I laid upon the floor, frothing up the last of my blood. I had no energy left to move, I had no energy left to attempt another breath. I could still not tell the beating of my heart, but now I almost doubted it's existence. I felt as though my body was decayed in an instant, all of my worst fears being realized in an instant. It was as though the nightmare came true of the most nightmarish, foulest demon imaginable. My visions blurred, as I felt as though my eye balls were melting beneath their sockets. My thoughts faded, but I had one last thought, before all ceased, who says the poor never get lucky and strike it rich?

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