The Hunted
Chapter 1 Part 2 The Beginning 1845
Long nimble fingers worked effortlessly, pulling thread and needle to finish a seam on a long, black dress. Freya admired her work for a moment, holding it up to the final moments of daylight. She put on the dress over her slip and smiled as she buttoned up the front clasps. She pranced down her porch, gathering her satchel, a shovel, and a bouquet of flowers carefully curated. She stuffed the bouquet rather ferociously into her bag and hurried down her stone steps.
The porch overlooked the town cemetery. A morbid fact to most, but Freya needed to be close to work. Finding and raising the dead was no easy feat, transportation is essential. She licked her lips, the taste of coffee and cranberries lingering for a moment. She wandered around the gravestones, occasionally placing a flower for those in older tombs. With no living family to tend to such a special place, Freya decided to leave gifts as thanks.
The feeling struck her as she placed another flower, with wide eyes she drove her shovel into earth over and over again, a beautiful wooden coffin revealing itself with every heave. Micheal J. Woodward 1807-1828 A Hard Working Young Man was burned into the lid, still readable even with age. Her entire body tingled, she could feel the soul’s attachment.
Freya whispered to the tomb “So you wish to continue working, hmm.”
Freya dug through her bag pulling out a steel bar. She worked out 12 nails, pried open the lid, and slid it off with a thud. Freya huffed and laid in the grass, she whistled a shrill tune into the night. Soon heavy footsteps approached. Frankie let out a low grunt, his body terribly frail. He lifted the bones and placed them in a large canvas bag. Freya rolled up on her side, playing with her curls.
“Arrange him on the table in the backroom, make his stay very comfortable.”
Frankie let out another grunt and emerged from the tomb. His bony hands covered in dirt and grime. He dusted himself off and helped Freya to her feet. This was the usual routine. Freya would dig up the grave, Frankie would exhume the body and then she’d cover her tracks. Freya returned the earth to its place and placed the last of the flowers on the fresh grave-site. It was well into the night now, peepers croaked off in the distance stream, she began her walk back up to her cottage.
Freya’s tall frame struck the ground with more force than she was prepared for, she let out a gasp. Large hands wrapped around her waist and flipped her onto her back with ease. She could feel a dull knife pressed to her chin. She smiled and shivered at the warm body pressed down on her. Their breath mingled together.
“Ah, my imminent death”