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The parking lot was empty today, the only sound of the cool autumn night being the quiet hum of frogs. Large, towering statues scattered throughout the graveyard were backlit by the sky; clouds faintly painted pink as the sun nearly vanished beyond the thick trees.
A small, beat up old car occupied one spot in the otherwise empty parking space. The car door swung open as Herbert West stepped out. He scrunched up his nose as he was hit by the breeze, and immediately knew that he should've brought a scarf. He walked over to the back of the car; trunk clicking. It opened to reveal a large shovel, which he grabbed.
It closed with a loud, echoing click, causing Herbert to poke his head up and monitor the area around him. Had someone followed him here? Did one of his reanimated creatures find their way back to him, seeking revenge for its failure of an existence? Was a curious local behind the trees, recording his every move? No one could find out about what he was doing. No one except-
Daniel Cain buried his hands inside the pockets of his jean jacket. Compared to Herbert's lack of preparation, his outfit was much more appropriate for the temperature. The setting sun illuminated his face, as he stared at the graveyard, emotion unreadable.
Both of them had the weekend off. Most roommates probably bonded by going out to bars, or renting movies together, or studying. Not these two. They were grave robbing.
The sounds of Herbert’s footsteps transitioned from the rough concrete to the crunching of dead leaves. He paused. It was strange how much life there was in a place so known for death. Moss coated the endless stream of long forgotten tombstones, bouquets of flowers laid on the ones lucky enough to be remembered.
Behind him, Dan's voice faded in. "Who are we looking for again?"
Herbert continued to analyze each individual name in front of him. "Look for a Stanley Harmon. Died last night," As he spoke, he reached into his pocket to reveal a small newspaper clipping. Finally meeting Dan's gaze, Herbert held the clip towards him. His lips went up in a cruel attempt at a smile, one with nothing but the worst of intentions behind it. "... Murder victim."
Eyes wide, Dan remained completely still for a moment. "Ah," he replied as he grabbed the paper from Herbert's outstretched hand. He read aloud. "Funeral services will take place at 4:00 PM. That was-"
"- Four hours ago," Interrupted Herbert, checking his watch. "The body will still hopefully be fresh enough to reanimate, at least with my newest serum. Time is of the essence, though, and it's important that we get the freshest specimen we can find."
Dan, again, walked at a few paces back behind Herbert. "Wait-" he paused. "It's only 8:00? Feels so much longer than that."
Herbert loathed small talk. Instead, he turned to go and search, responding only with a small "Hm."
They searched until only the faintest amount of pink in the sky remained. The graveyard was ancient - the earliest stones dating back to the 1850s. There was no order. Scattered among the older graves were fairly recent entries as well, all alike in their careless placement.
At around 30 minutes in, the pace of the two had slowed. Dan made his way over to a bench that was on the path. It could be called a bench, however, it was more like a rectangular slab of stone, indistinct from the graves surrounding it. Herbert, determined, continued to search.
Names passed by, none of which matched a Stanley Harmon. Frustration started to kick in.
Herbert tilted his head up and sighed. The sky had gotten dark at this point. There was so much less light pollution outside of town - stars shining brighter than ever. His eyes shifted towards his roommate, who sat on the bench, resting his chin on his hand. Dan didn't notice him staring, his roommates eyes unfocused.
There was work to be done, as well - to successfully dig six feet under. It took massive amounts of body strength that Herbert just didn't have. Dread started to overtake him as he realized what the future would entail - hours upon hours of constant physical strain, digging through the endless soil. Suddenly, he was rooted into said soil, unable to continue.
In front of Dan was a moss-covered tomb, one with a statue of an older man. It was an old, broken statue, and its threatening gaze seemed to follow Herbert wherever he went. Avoiding the face of the statue, he propped the shovel up against the base, immediately making his way over to Dan.
Dan gave him a small smile as he sat down, "Do you think that the corpse has expired by now?" The hour-long drive out to the graveyard had been a long one- there were very noticeable bags under Dan's eyes.
"Not sure," Herbert replied. There was a faint feeling of guilt that he had for the man. Dan hadn't been coping with the massacre as well as he had.
The conversation ended right there. For a while, everything stayed perfectly still. Time passed in silence.
Then, there was an unmistakable feeling of warmth on Herbert's hand.
Immediately, he looked over - First, to another one lying on top of his. Second, to the unsettlingly neutral face of Dan. Dan, who was attempting to hold his hand.
He jolted back in an emotion that was completely unknown to him. A defensive “Dan, just what are you doing?” left his mouth as he brought his hand to his chest, resting all of his weight on the hand opposite of Dan. His face was desperate for an answer.
Dan spoke. “Sorry," He looked away now, disappointed. Speaking faster, he continued, “I can stop if you don’t-”
“It’s-” Herbert interjected. What was there to say? His mind was racing. Opening his mouth to speak, he made an attempt to speak but the words just weren’t there. Every moment of silence felt like an eternity. “I’m just worried. About someone seeing us.”
“Is anyone else here?" Asked Dan, voice barely audible. He faced Herbert now, with a concerned expression.
"I-"
Was there? He was sure that the only living, breathing, people in the vicinity were the two. They occupied each other's space, and strangely enough, Herbert found himself enjoying it. Finally, he spoke. “You can continue.”
“Continue what?-” Dan hesitated. “Oh.” he slowly brought his hand back down to meet Herbert's. He intertwined their fingers together and gripped as if letting go would cause one to fall. They both looked anywhere but each other.
Recovery was a long, confusing process. This reaction, this sudden change in Dan - it was some desperate attempt to move on, to cope with Meg’s loss. Herbert knew this, and pitied him for it. None of this was real. Love wasn’t real.
Oh, but how warm Dan was.
It felt so familiar to him- so right. For just this brief moment, everything was perfect. There was no fear of a catastrophe, of Herbert’s Work being revealed prematurely. Exhaustion and shifts and reagent and Meg and death itself - it all never existed. It was only the two of them, silent, under the stars, enjoying each other's company.
Bright fluorescent lights switched on overhead. Brought back into reality, Herbert quickly let go of Dan and stood, frantically monitoring the area surrounding them. Nothing. “Must’ve been automatic,” He said, walking forward to pick up the shovel. Turning to Dan, he spoke. “We should probably go.”
To go home? To continue searching? He didn’t know. Dan nodded. Maybe he understood.
Maybe a conversation would happen soon, one where they could settle what their relationship is. If they wanted to continue on romantically. Romantic relationships frightened Herbert. Attraction wasn’t the issue, either - he had found others attractive in the past. He just never acted on any of his desires. They required a commitment.
But Dan. Dan was different. His hand was soft, and warm. His hair, now grown out, curled around his ears. Something deep inside of Herbert wanted to reach into his hair, to lean in and smash their faces together, to abandon everything to be with him, to-
Not now. There was work to be done. The memory of Dan's touch lingered on Herbert's hand, as he made his way back into the infinite sea of gravestones. Dan followed close behind.