Andolfo had been a gravedigger for a decade, digging holes in this hallowed ground since he had to bury his young wife in this cemetery. Tonight he dug in the raging storm, but not to bury. The rain slid off the head of the stone angel on the gravestone, looking like tears for the dearly departed he was exhuming.

A heavy weight hit Andolfo in the back, knocking him into the grave. Sharp claws dug into his shoulder and turned him over onto his back. He stared up at a black sky, dumbstruck. A crash of lightning revealed black leathery wings, each wing as broad as the slender figure looming over him was tall.

“You should not have dug me up, Andolfo. But you already knew in your heart that I wasn’t in the box, didn’t you?”

All Andolfo could mutter was “Why?”

“Perhaps you would prefer suicide? I can offer you cyanide.”

“Suicide? I’ve already died. Cyanide? I’m living dead inside.” He paused. “Break this empty shell forevermore.”

“As you wish, my husband.”

“You’re just the funeral I’ve been waiting for.”