Up From the Grave

Adele moved through the darkened garden without making a sound. Slowly and carefully, she made her way to the glass doors of Edwin’s bedroom. The handle turned easily and she slipped inside.

A faint smile touched her lips as she moved to the side of the bed. “Little brother,” she whispered. She leaned down and kissed him lightly on the forehead.

Edwin moaned softly as she set her hands on his shoulders. A faint glow surrounded him and his energy flowed into her.

“Adele,” Edwin shrieked, as he woke. His heart was pounding and his head swam. He looked around the bedroom, lit only by the moon.

There was nothing. No one was in the room. Edwin shivered and snuggled back down in the covers. It was nothing more than a horrible dream. Adele was dead, her body in the grave. She couldn’t – wouldn’t – do him any harm.

A soft rustling sound reached Edwin’s ears and he moaned softly again. Rolling over, he looked over towards the sound. The curtains fluttered in the breeze. Beyond, the door leading to the garden stood open. Edwin shrieked a second time, wordlessly this time. Then, he called for his father. His terrified screams continued until no one in the house still slept.

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