Ouroboros (being rewritten)

They're coming for you, Barbara ✔️

"Do you need to do that ?" I asked Peter before he could light his cigarette.

He shrugged, putting the cigarette back in his mouth, not bothering to wait for an answer, "Why wouldn't I ?"'

It doesn't seem ... respectful ?" He looked around, stopping on the tomb under his foot,

"Rose, what do they care? They're dead." He lit up his cigarette and exhaled the smoke, creating a little cloud in the cold night. "We're here to dig up someone anyway."Touché. It was my turn to look around, trying to heat myself, 

"Oh, there he is ..." I pointed to the figure coming our way, "What the hell is he wearing ?" Roman, dressed in all black from head to toe, was carefully looking around as he was walking to us. Peter couldn't hold back a chuckle, twisting his foot on his cigarette's butt as he did,

"Did you actually dress up as a grave robber?""No," Roman looked himself up and down, "I dressed up like you," The walk to Lisa's grave was silent, still not entirely sure of what we were doing and the gravity of our action, until Roman felt like he needed to fill that void,

"Did you know that people used to believe the dead came back as bloodthirsty revenants because the bloating of internal organs made them like ..., like belch up fluid from the inside the lungs."

"That is some obscure piece of trivia Roman," Peter was still walking in front of us, not even bothering to comment on what Roman had just said, leaving the two of us to bicker like usual. I turned around, waiting on some follow-up fact only to find Roman, stopped by a tombstone looking straight at me, "What are you doing Godfrey ?"

"They're coming to get you, Barbara," It took me a second but the smile creeping on my face was mirroring him, "They're coming for you, Barbara." For a second I forgot we were in the middle of a graveyard ready to dig up a body, at this moment, we were just three teenagers laughing at a simple movie reference.

"You reckon there's a summer school for serial killers?" Peter asked before stopping in front of me, making me bump into him. We had arrived and the task was going to be a lot harder than anticipated. "Shee-it"--The sound of shovels digging up dirt was the only thing we could hear in the cemetery and the now open grave the only thing we could see as I was pointing the flashlight on the two boys."How many funerals have you been to Peter ?" Roman asked, wiping some sweats off his forehead.

"A few. Rumanceks are reliably kicking it."

"What are they like for .. you people? Funerals, I mean." Roman sat down to listen to what Peter was saying and taking a break at the same time,

"You're not allowed to eat or wash. Mirrors are covered and the dead guy's stuff is burnt." He looked up as I was about to ask why and carried on, "A Rumancek should not be remembered for his wordy things." He looked at both of us before finishing, "They also cut off their heads." His eyes didn't meet ours this time and he went back to digging up.

"That seems a bit extreme ..." I added, uncomfortably shifted on the grave I was sitting on.

"Things happen to our kind after death if you don't do the head."

"What kind of things?"

"The bad kind." Roman didn't ask any more questions and after a few minutes he told us about his own story which was rather odd for him to share,

"I've been to two funerals. One was for my dad's. It's all pieces. I remember hearing the shot and going downstairs. He was on the floor. I remember thinking how much trouble he'd be in for the mess..." He blurted out, not stopping shovelling up dirt and not letting us say anything until he was done.

"That's fucked up," Peter said, looking at his friend.

"Peter, shut up," For once, Roman was opening up and I wasn't going to let the guy who just told us they cut off the heads of their loved ones ruin it.

"Anyway Rose, how many have you been to?"

"A couple," I answered, not wanting to bound over dead parents in a cemetery while digging up a corpse, "Nothing too extravagant, everyone dressed up in black and mourning, a drunk uncle making a fool of himself ..." Roman was about to add something when his shovel hit something hard and they both threw them away to get down on all fours. I got closer to the hole and but the light right on the coffin the boys were dusting off with their hands. When they dug up the handle, Peter wiped his hands on his shirts and looked at us, waiting for a sign to go on. We had gone this far and it was rather late to have second thoughts. Roman and I exchanged a look and nodded, preparing ourselves to see the dead body of a girl our age. Peter lifted the casket and I closed my eyes by instinct, waiting to hear the boys' reactions but nothing came.

"Where is she ?" asked Roman, looking around as if she was going to be laying down on the ground instead of in her coffin. "Are you sure this is the right grave?"

"Of course we're sure," I told him, looking around as he did just in case. "Why would they bury an empty coffin?" I was about to point out the soft pink fabric, pointing the light on it when Peter bent down again,

"Hold on," he whispered, his hands looking for something on the edge of the coffin. He lifted the upper part and this time, I didn't get to close my eyes and saw her. She was laying there, her skin pasty white, her lips a bright red and not even the teddy bears around her could erase the image of a severed from the waist down teenage girl. My eyes were still glued on her while Roman climbed out and went down again, carrying an empty jar and giving it to Peter. They looked at each other for a few seconds and in a silent agreement, Roman backed up a few inches. Peter bent down once again but this time, he slowly opened up Lisa's nightgown and took out the knife he was carrying in his boot. His hands lifted above her body danced on the handle until they weren't. The knife was now stuck in her stomach, following the stitches done for the autopsy like a kid's drawing. A yellow liquid came out oozing as the knife was going up, liberating the embalming fluid instead of leaving a red and hot trail. Once the skin was opened once against, Peter then put both of his hands inside of her and that's where I drew the line. The second I saw the intestine being ripped out I put down the light, still headed in their directions so they wouldn't be left in the dark but took a few steps back where I couldn't see her or them. 

The sound of my heart beating and blood being rushed to the rest of my body was all my ears could pick up, forcing me to take longer breathe to call down. It's only after I sat down that the fresh and humid touch of grass beneath me grounded me into this reality; I was doing this but somehow it was ok. It took me a few seconds to readjust to the darkness surrounding us as I opened my eyes and walked back to the hole,

"... funeral, it was Shelley's." Roman finished leaving me confused as to mine he would have gone to his sister's funeral when I had sat next to her in the car that very same day. I opened my mouth to ask him when the sound of an engine made me freeze. Someone was close and we were going to get caught. "We've got company!" Peter gave Roman the jar as he was getting out of the grave and closed the coffin, doing the same. As soon as they were out we grabbed our things and killed the light, scared to draw attention to us.But maybe we should have left it on for just a few more seconds ...