Grave

By M. K. Werner

My best friend was dead. That was what they had tried to tell me, though I refused to believe it. It was something inconceivable; she couldn’t be gone. I told them so, and eventually they stopped trying to convince me, leaving me in silence to grieve. But I didn’t want to grieve. I couldn’t grieve, because Anastasia wasn’t dead, so there wasn’t anyone to grieve for. 

They had her funeral today, which I wasn’t allowed to attend. They thought I would cause a scene. But when my mother told me I couldn’t go, I didn’t cause a scene. I was calm, serene, attempting to prove that everything was okay. I didn’t want to go to that funeral anyways. And when she eventually left me alone, I crawled out my window. 

I ran, as fast as I possibly could, to the graveyard I knew they had buried her in. The graveyard I had to save her from, because if they really had buried Anastasia, she was in danger. I wasn’t sure how long a person could survive being buried alive, and I didn’t want to find out, so I pushed myself even harder, sprinting furiously to the gravesite. I wasn’t sure where they had buried her, though the fresh grave would be clue enough. It was dark now, and my flashlight would help, but it might take a while to search. I didn’t have time for that. 

It turned out I didn’t need to worry about that though, because when I arrived in the graveyard I knew where to go. Something was pulling me to her, telling me exactly where she was. When I got close enough I heard the screaming. There it was in the line of graves, a pile of dirt missing a gravestone. I used my hands to dig up the fresh dirt, which fell away easily, not yet packed down by rain or steps. 

“I’m coming, Anastasia! Just wait a few more minutes!” I shouted back, her screams becoming louder the further I dug. By the time I finally reached the wood of her coffin she had stopped screaming, either having grown tired or realizing I was so close. I kept digging until there was enough room to pry the lid open. 

I pulled it open and found her there, pale but alive. She was in the white frilly dress they chose for her to be buried in, her hair pristine. The only sign of struggle were her wide eyes and cheeks covered in tears. I dropped inside before she could get out, unable to go another second without having my arms around her, without having proof she was still here. She squeezed me back even harder and started to cry again. Her raspy breathing was loud in my ear, and her chest expanded and deflated against my body. She was alive. 

“Thank you,” she whispered into my ear as she clung to me. I couldn’t respond without getting choked up, so I just held her even tighter. 

I’m not sure how long we laid there in her grave, but eventually I gathered the courage to pull far enough away to look at her face. She had stopped crying, though her face was pink, puffy, and wet. She was shaking violently, from the cold or the fear I wasn’t sure. I decided it was best to get out of this coffin as soon as possible. I stood, crawling out of the shallow grave. 

I crouched on the lip of the grave, reaching my hand down for her. She was still knelt inside her coffin, looking around like she couldn’t believe any of this was real. 

“Anastasia,” I said, getting her attention. She focused in on my hand, reaching for her, and began to cry softly again. She wordlessly took it, letting herself be pulled out. Now, standing in the graveyard in the dead of night, I wasn’t sure where to go next. The hospital? She might need medical attention after being almost suffocated inside a coffin. Or her house? Her parents needed to know she was okay. 

I stood, wiping the dirt off my pajama pants before grabbing Anastasia again. I could barely go a few moments without feeling her skin against mine; every moment apart felt like I was back in the hell I’d been in for the past week. She was too weak to stand on her own, so I draped her arm around my shoulders and helped her move. It was slow going, but we were in no rush. I had her again, and I cared about little else. 

Once we had finally maneuvered our way out of the graveyard, she asked me where we were going. 

“I’m taking you home.” 

She stopped walking abruptly, pulling me to a stop as well. I turned my head a fraction to see what was wrong, but her face had gone deathly white again. Her eyes were wide, the fear back in full force. “Don’t.” 

I blinked, confused. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t take me back there. Take me to your house,” she whispered, as if she were afraid someone in the empty street might hear her.

I pulled her closer to me in an effort to soothe her, which it did slightly. I wanted to ask why, wanted to know what was scaring her so much at her house. I wanted to know how she had ended up in that coffin. But Anastasia could barely walk, and she didn’t look to be in the right state of mind to start answering questions. It could wait, everything else could wait. 

“Okay,” I agreed, turning around in the middle of the street to walk towards my house instead. I would need to sneak in the back, so as to not wake my mother up. I can only imagine her reaction if she saw me dragging Anastasia in, alive and covered in dirt. It could wait until morning, when we were cleaned up and Anastasia was well enough to let me know everything that had happened. 

She let out a relieved sigh as we started in the direction of my home. We made the journey in comfortable silence. I was torn between asking her a million questions and confessing how relieved I was to find her alive. But I wanted to wait until we were safely in my room. Anastasia seemed content in the silence, lids heavy and her head leaning on my shoulder for support. 

We made it back to my house almost an hour later, it was almost three o’clock in the morning now. If circumstances were different, if this had been a night a few weeks earlier at one of our many sleepovers, I would have made a joke about it being the witching hour. I don’t think that would land well right now. I crept through my back door, thankful everyone still seemed to be asleep. We tiptoed upstairs, carefully avoiding the third step that creaked loudly when you stepped on it, completely silent until we reached my bedroom door. I let Anastasia in, and slowly closed the door behind us. 

Anastasia was able to stand on her own slightly better now, although she stood a little hunched over, like she might fall at any second. Her pristine white dress was ruined from the dirt that had piled into her coffin, and her arms and legs were covered from the climb out. I looked down at my own clothes, in similar disarray. 

“Do you want to take a shower?” I asked her. She looked down at her body, seemingly just now noticing the state she was in, before nodding yes. 

She followed me into the bathroom and watched me fiddle with the knobs on my old shower. 

“Can we take a bath?” she asked quietly from behind me after I turned the shower on. I turned, sharper than I intended. She was looking at the tiled floor, face slightly pink. I felt my face turning red as well, stuck on the word “we.” Can we take a bath. I had been running the shower for her, I was going to wait until she had fallen asleep to take one myself. But she wanted me in there with her. We hadn’t bathed together since we were children. As embarrassed as I felt at this moment at the thought of being naked with her, I focused on Anastasia. On what she needed at this moment, and I was in no position to deny her anything. 

I nodded and moved to shut off the shower,  turning on the faucet for the bath instead. I crouched there for a few seconds, hoping the red was draining from my face, before turning back around. Anastasia was sitting on the floor now, legs pulled up to her chest. She was watching me, head resting on her knees. I sat beside her, close enough that our bodies were pressed together. She was still so cold, I hoped a bath would at least warm her up a little. I was also still worried that she might need medical attention, but she seemed to be fine, all things considered. 

“How did you know?” she asked suddenly. 

Another vague question that this time I understood perfectly. How did I know she was alive? The answer was complicated, because of course I didn’t know, not for sure. It was just something I felt. 

I shrugged and turned my face towards hers, which was only a few inches away now. Ever since I pulled her out of that grave, it felt like our bodies were magnets, aching to be together and fighting against parting. I thought it was all in my head, but maybe she felt it too. 

“I’m not sure how to explain it,” I admitted softly, our faces so close her features were starting to blur in my vision. 

“Try,” she whispered. 

“When they told me you were…” I couldn’t use the word dead, “gone—something inside me told me they were all wrong. Like you were whispering in my head that it couldn’t be true.” I paused, pulling back a few inches so I could read her expression, some sign that she thought I was crazy. But her eyes were soft with understanding. I closed my eyes and continued.

“Everything was too…normal. If you were really gone, I think the world would stop spinning. I would feel your absence somewhere deep in my chest. I would know the second you left the world. But I could still feel you.”

I opened my eyes slowly, ready for her to tease me for being dramatic or to tell me stuff like that doesn’t really happen. You couldn’t feel a person’s death. But she didn’t look like she was going to tease me. She looked like she might start crying again. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, and I wasn’t sure what she was thanking me for. So I didn’t answer, I just nodded, and moved to check if the tub was full yet. The water line was reaching close to the drain, so I reached to turn off the faucet. I stepped back, remembering that Anastasia had asked if we could bathe together. Maybe she just wanted me to stay in the room with her. 

Anastasia stood, barely shaking at all anymore, and started to undress like it was completely normal. The white dress came first, followed by the shoes and then the stockings. I coughed awkwardly and turned away, too self aware at how hard I was staring at the movements. I saw her pass me and slip into the tub in the corner of my vision. I stayed staring at the wall, waiting for her to tell me what to do. 

“Are you getting in?” she asked, as if she had read my mind. 

I suppose I was. I started to undress as well, still too nervous to look into the tub, though I knew I would have to look soon enough. I tried not to think about the fact she was probably watching me now as I unclasped my bra and stepped out of my underwear. My face was red, I could feel it, though there was nothing I could do about that. 

I turned back to the tub, trying hard not to show how nervous I was. I felt my breath catch in my throat when our eyes met. Her hair was wet, and she was playing with the strands absentmindedly as she stared at me curiously. Her eyes roamed my body in a dangerous way, but dangerous for whom I wasn’t sure. The only part of her body I could see was the top of her breasts just barely peaking over the top of the water. 

I blinked hard and stepped into the bath, trying to sink as deep as I could without getting in her space too much. I felt calmer in the hot water—perhaps too hot, but Anastasia wasn’t complaining. 

When she saw me start to relax she closed her eyes and tipped her head back. I wish she would have kept her eyes open, because now I was able to stare without shame. I let my eyes roam up and down her body; though distorted by the water I could see everything pretty clearly. I had the aching urge to touch, but I shoved the desire down deep into my body and held myself back. 

Even if she wanted something like that, which I was sure she didn’t, now wasn’t the time to be thinking about it. Only a couple hours ago she was trapped inside a coffin, unsure if she was going to live or die. But the way she looked at me before I climbed in the tub stayed with me. I was so lost in thought I didn’t realize when her eyes opened again, boring holes into me. 

My eyes snapped to hers, caught. I thought I should apologize, but when I opened my mouth, nothing came out. 

Anastasia leaned forward and beckoned me to do the same. Our legs had become haphazardly intertwined in the water, every inch of my skin that touched hers burned. Our faces were close again, but far enough that I could still make out all the features of her face. 

“I almost died tonight,” she whispered. 

The thought struck me like a blow to the chest, so hard that I thought I might start panicking. But I took a deep breath, reminding myself that she was here, and she was safe now. 

I nodded. 

“Do you want to know what I was thinking about when I was trapped in there?” 

I blinked. I did, and I didn’t. I wanted to know, because anything that she felt I wanted to understand, because I so badly wanted to know every part of her. I didn’t want to know, because to know what it was like for her in there would be like putting my body through that same pain. 

I didn’t answer, but she continued anyway. 

“I thought about everything I was going to regret not doing. I didn’t get to say goodbye to my parents. I hadn’t done enough to make them proud. I was too mean to my sisters. But most of all, I never told you.” She paused, eyes skating over my face like she was looking for some kind of answer there. 

“Told me what?” I said in a similarly hushed tone. 

She took a few more moments to stare at me in silence, trying to find some kind of answer in my expression before giving up and leaning closer to me instead. She stopped only an inch away, lips so close to my own I could feel her breath. I wondered why she stopped, why she wasn’t moving further, and then I realized she wanted me to close the gap. This was the question she wanted me to answer. 

And so I leaned forward that final breath, answering. 

Our lips met softly, timidly. But as soon as they met something inside me lit up like a spark, causing me to press into her further, mouth opening in a way I hoped didn’t scare her. But she responded immediately, just as eagerly. Her tongue slid into my mouth and I forgot how to breathe. I forgot everything else in the world except her legs intertwined with my own, and her hands touching my face, and our tongues sliding against one another. 

I thought I might be dreaming. Was any of this real? Did I rescue Anastasia from her grave tonight or was this all some sick fantasy I manufactured? I hoped it was real, I couldn’t bear waking up again with only the distant memory of what Anastasia tasted like. But this was different from my many other dreams, I could tell. It was real. 

She pulled away, a soft smile playing on her lips. I wore a matching grin. She held up her hand, it was shaking. Was she nervous? 

“It’s cold,” she answered for me, gesturing to the water. It had gone cold, I hadn’t even noticed. 

I stood, pulling her with me and trying not to look at either of our naked bodies. I grabbed a towel for each of us and waited until hers was safely wrapped around her before daring to look at her face. Her mouth was still tugged upwards in the corners, ever so slightly. 

I wanted to say something, to do something, to kiss her again probably, but all I could think of was, “Are you tired?” 

She nodded. 

I found us clothes, feeling slightly more at ease once we were fully dressed. I wanted to see her undressed again, but another time. Hopefully sometime soon. 

I put our towels away and when I returned to the bedroom she was already in bed. I thought she might have already fallen asleep, but she turned over when I entered the room, eyes wide and bright. I crawled into bed beside her, trying to keep a respectable distance. She huffed a laugh and pulled my arm so I could scootch closer to her. She didn’t stop pulling until almost every part of our bodies were touching. 

My skin felt electrified again at being this close to her, at the reminder that she was here and she was alive. She was still so cold. 

I rubbed my hands up and down her arm, trying to warm her up, wondering when I should be concerned that her body temperature still isn’t regulated. 

Her eyes were drifting now, and that was good, she needed the rest, but I felt so wired I wasn’t sure if I was ever going to be able to sleep again. She let out a small yawn, burrowing her head deeper into my shoulder before she whispered, “I love you.” 

I was stunned into silence, I wanted to reply, to tell her the same thing, but by the time my voice finally found me, she was asleep. I could tell her tomorrow. There was always tomorrow. 

I woke to a scream. I leapt into action, my heart beating wildly. Something was wrong with Anastasia. What had happened, was she hurt? But when I glanced down at her, she was still sleeping as peacefully as she had been last night. 

“Emily, what did you do?” a voice said faintly from the other side of my bed. I turned, it was my mother. She was standing only a few feet away from the bed, hands clasped to her chest and a look of horror on her face. 

“Mother, it’s just Anastasia,” I said, trying to placate her. Maybe I should have woken her up last night to tell her what happened, she’s probably in shock to see her alive and well after attending her funeral just yesterday. 

She was crying now. I don’t blame her, this was quite the scene to walk in on. 

“Get out of the bed,” she said in between tears. “Please.” 

I did as she asked, though I really did not want to leave Anastasia alone. Right now though, I needed to calm my own mother down. She pulled me aside, leaning over the spot where I had been laying a few moments earlier. She was looking at Anastasia, reaching out to touch her. 

“Mother, don’t wake her.” I whispered, trying to grab her arm and pull her away. 

She followed, reluctantly. When she finally turned back to face me I was surprised to still see a look of panic on her face. 

“Mother—”

“Why would you do this?” 

Do what? Save Anastasia? Bring her home without telling her parents first? I wasn’t sure what she was referring to. 

“I—” And that’s when I saw Anastasia on the bed. I really saw her. I saw her through my mother’s eyes. She was no longer sleeping peacefully, arm thrown in the spot where I had once been. She was on her back, stiff and paler than I remember her being last night. Her eyes were closed and I couldn’t see the rise and fall of her chest; she was too still. She was still covered in dirt, but that didn’t make any sense, we bathed last night. I looked down at my own pajamas, to find I was still wearing the dirt covered pair from last night. I held my hands out, they were shaking and still caked in dry mud. 

I looked back at Anastasia, cold in the bed, and for a split second I thought her eyes were open, her arm reaching out to touch me. Another blink and she was in the same position as before, cold and unmoving. 

My mother was speaking to me again, in a low soothing voice, like I was a nervous creature she was trying not to spook. I wasn’t listening to what she was saying, but when she started to lead me away from Anastasia I snapped back into action. I fell to the bed, reaching out and grabbing her hand. It was cold and hard, like a statue. Like she was dead. 

It didn’t matter, I wouldn’t leave her. I would never leave her again. 

Author Bio

M. K. Werner grew up in Mississippi, though she has lived in a total of eight states throughout her life. She is currently pursuing her MFA in Writing and Publishing at Emerson College and is working on her debut novel. When not writing or working her day job she can be found at home, probably re-watching her favorite shows.