The Haunted Traveler Vol 1 Issue 2

57
Gemma climbed from her casket, a wisp of a
thing already robed in grave worms, clutching to its
sides with bony claws as if to prevent her from floating
away. The angels cawed at the smell of her mouldering
bones. The carnage around him dimmed, the
sound bleeding away; he felt like he was deflating, the
very sight of her a sucker punch.
He had not seen her at the end. Now, his mind
reeled, at a loss to explain how she went from bombshell
to Belsen so quickly.
She wore an old fashioned blue dress, the one
he hated, the one her mother bought her and the one
he had mocked her for, calling her Goody Keys. The
bastards had sent her into eternity dressed for antiquity.
The dress hung awkwardly on her coat-hanger
shoulders, billowing against her nonexistent breast.
She tottered toward him on spindly legs with a
face like mouldy fruit. She smiled, revealing the pale
grey remnants of gums, and an old familiar maggot
thought burrowed into his brain – How can such a
thing exist?
When Rhonda hatched this plan to alleviate his
guilt revenge had been a secondary motive to him. His
first thought had been of Gemma, of seeing her again,
but in his heated delusions she had been healthy, vital,
pure; not this soulless stumbling husk accusing him
with its festering eyes. He hadn’t realised she had
awaited eternity’s kiss with such an eager mouth.
All the words he had constructed, rejected,
and rearranged in countless affirmations of worship
decayed now in his heart, rang untrue in the sobering
knell of her ragged breath. She touched his chest with