$name1 ventures into a graveyard one night, where she meets her match in the macabre, and succumbs to the Zombie’s desires…
The iron gate groaned like a dying thing when $name1 pushed it open. Beyond, the graveyard stretched under a fat, indifferent moon, casting long, skeletal shadows from leaning headstones and crumbling angels. The air hung thick and still, smelling of damp earth, old stone, and something deeper, richer – decay. It wasn’t unpleasant to her. It felt honest. Real. A shiver, delicious and cold, traced her spine as she stepped onto the overgrown path. Her boots crunched on gravel, the only sound besides the frantic thump of her own heart against her ribs.
She wasn’t afraid. Not exactly. More… intensely alive. The quiet desolation, the whispers trapped in the stones, the sheer otherness of the place – it called to the part of her that collected antique taxidermy and read Gothic novels by candlelight. Tonight, the pull was stronger than usual. It had drawn her past the familiar plots, past the weeping cherubs, towards the far corner where the oldest residents slept.
And where the mausoleum stood.
It was a hulking silhouette against the bruised sky, its once-proud marble facade cracked and stained with lichen. Moonlight streamed through jagged holes where stained glass used to be, painting fractured patterns on the leaf-strewn floor inside. $name1 paused at the entrance, the heavy oak door hanging askew on rusted hinges. The scent intensified here – wet stone, mildew, and that undeniable tang of rot, sharpened by the cool night air. She breathed it in deeply, letting it fill her lungs. Excitement prickled across her skin.
“Hello?” Her voice echoed slightly in the cavernous space, swallowed quickly by the profound silence. Only the faint skittering of something small in the far corner answered. She stepped inside.
Broken tiles crunched underfoot. Dust motes danced in the moonbeams. The air felt thick, ancient, pressing in on her. Her eyes adjusted slowly. Stone sarcophagi lined the walls, their inscriptions worn smooth by time. Cobwebs draped like ghostly lace. In the center, dominating the space, stood a massive marble altar, its surface scarred and stained dark.
She traced a finger along the cold stone edge of the altar. It felt alive beneath her touch, humming with forgotten stories. This was it. The heart of the mystery. The source of the pull. She leaned back against it, the chill seeping through her thin sweater, a counterpoint to the warmth blooming low in her belly. The silence wasn’t empty anymore; it felt charged. Waiting.
A low, guttural groan shattered the stillness.
$name1 froze. Not a rat. Not the wind. This sound came from deep within a chest, thick and wet. It echoed off the stone walls, vibrating in her bones. Her breath hitched. She slowly turned her head.
He stood in the deepest shadows near the back wall, a shape darker than the surrounding gloom. Massive. Hulking. Moonlight caught the edge of a ragged coat hanging off broad, slumped shoulders. Then, as he shifted, two pinpricks of light flared in the darkness. Green. Not reflective. Glowing. Like swamp gas, like phosphorescent decay.
Her pulse hammered against her throat, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. Fear, sharp and primal, sliced through her excitement. But beneath it, stronger, surged a terrifying, electrifying curiosity. She didn’t run.
He took a heavy, shuffling step forward. The moonlight fell across him.
Oh god.
The stories hadn’t prepared her. Not really. His skin wasn’t just pale; it was the color of spoiled milk, stretched taut over prominent bones in some places, sagging loose and grey-green in others. Patches were missing entirely, revealing glimpses of dark, fibrous muscle and the startling white gleam of bone beneath. Dirt and moss clung to him like a second skin. His jaw hung slightly slack, revealing broken, stained teeth. But those eyes… those unnerving, luminous green eyes… they held her. They weren’t vacant. There was a terrible, dull awareness in them. Hunger.
Another wet, rattling groan escaped him. He took another step. The smell intensified – earth, grave-mould, and the sickly-sweet stench of putrefaction. $name1 pressed back harder against the unforgiving marble altar, her fingers digging into the cold stone. Her mind screamed run, but her feet stayed rooted. That green gaze locked onto hers, stripping away pretense. He saw her. Saw the pulse fluttering in her neck. Saw the heat radiating from her living flesh.
He moved faster than something so decayed should. One massive, dirt-caked hand shot out, clamping around her upper arm with bruising force. It wasn’t cold, as she might have expected. It was unnervingly lukewarm, the skin leathery and rough. She gasped, more shock than pain, as he yanked her forward, away from the altar’s support. His strength was immense, terrifying.
“You’re… real,” she breathed, the words escaping in a shaky puff of condensation.
He didn’t speak. Could he? Another guttural sound vibrated in his chest cavity, a sound that bypassed language and spoke directly to her hindbrain. Prey. He pulled her flush against him. The smell was overwhelming now, a physical assault. His body was solid, unyielding, radiating a strange, low thrumming heat she could feel through her clothes. Beneath the decay, there was immense, undeniable power.
His other hand, equally huge and ruined, slid down her back, pressing her hips hard against his pelvis. She felt it then, unmistakable even through layers of fabric. A thick, rigid length pressed against her lower belly. Hot. Pulsing. Alive in a way the rest of him seemed only partially animated. Her gasp this time was sharp, involuntary. Not just fear now. A jolt of something else, dark and unwelcome and terrifyingly potent, shot through her.
He leaned his ravaged face close. She could see the intricate network of ruptured capillaries beneath his decaying skin, glowing faintly green like his eyes. His breath hit her cheek – damp, cold, smelling of the grave. A low, continuous growl rumbled from deep within him, primal and possessive.
$name1 moaned. The sound surprised her. It wasn’t purely fear. It was shock, yes, the visceral terror of being trapped against this monstrous thing. But tangled within it was a horrifying spark of… recognition? Of the raw, unfiltered life force radiating from him, even in decay? Of the sheer, terrifying audacity of his existence? His need?
His monstrous cock throbbed against her thigh, a hot, insistent pressure through the thin material of her skirt. The green-tinged veins beneath his undead skin pulsed with a sickly light, mirroring the rhythm. His grip tightened, fingers like iron bands digging into her arm and hip, pinning her mercilessly against the cold, unyielding marble altar behind her. The chill of the stone seeped into her back, a stark contrast to the unnatural heat radiating from the decaying body pressed against her front. His glowing green eyes, fixed on hers, held no tenderness, only a ravenous, ancient hunger. The growl deepened, vibrating through her own bones. His slack jaw opened wider, inches from her face.
The stench of damp earth and old death filled her nostrils as his ruined face hovered close. Cold, fetid breath washed over her skin. Terror screamed through $name1’s veins, a primal alarm urging flight. Her muscles coiled, ready to shove, to twist, to scream the graveyard awake.
But.
His eyes. Those impossible, glowing emerald eyes. They weren’t vacant pits. They held a depth, a terrible, ancient knowing. A raw, unquenchable need that resonated somewhere deep within her own forbidden core. The sheer, overwhelming presence of him – a mountain of decayed power radiating unnatural heat – pinned her as effectively as his massive hands. The cold marble altar pressed into her spine, a stark counterpoint to the furnace of his decay pressed against her front.
That hard, throbbing heat against her thigh wasn’tt just an obscenity. It was a terrifying pulse of life amidst the ruin. Alien. Monstrous. Yet undeniably potent. The green-tinged veins beneath his parchment skin pulsed with that same rhythm, a sickly bioluminescence in the fractured moonlight. His rumbling growl vibrated through the stone at her back and into her own bones.
It wasn’t pleasure. It wasn’t even desire, not in any way she understood. It was… recognition. Of the profound, unsettling strangeness of this moment. Of the macabre fascination that had drawn her here, to this crumbling temple of death. Of the raw, unfiltered force embodied by this reanimated thing. Her breath hitched, catching in her throat not just from fear, but from the sheer, terrifying intensity of it all. Her fingers, trapped at her sides, spasmed.
“Please,” she whispered, the word barely audible over his growl. But it wasn’t a plea for freedom. It was the sound of something fracturing inside her, the sound of surrender to a curiosity darker than the grave’s shadow. “What… are you?”
He didn’t answer. Words seemed beyond him. His grip on her arm tightened impossibly, a promise of bruising. His other hand slid lower, past her hip, fingers splaying possessively over the curve of her ass, pressing her even harder against the rigid length straining against his ragged trousers. The rough fabric scraped her thin skirt. His jaw worked, a wet clicking sound accompanying the low growl. That open maw, inches from her face, felt like an abyss.
He shifted his weight. One massive knee nudged insistently between her legs, forcing them apart against the altar’s cold edge. The pressure was immense. Unavoidable. Panic flared again, bright and sharp. She tensed, instinctively trying to clamp her thighs together against the intrusion, against the overwhelming reality of his decaying body, the alien heat, the pulsing demand pressed against her.
Her gaze locked with those burning green embers. The hunger there was absolute. Primal. But beneath it, a flicker of… something else. An echo of the intelligence she’d glimpsed. A silent, desperate question in the face of her resistance. The terrifying allure of the unknown, the magnetic pull of the forbidden she’d always courted, surged within her, a dark tide washing over the fear. This wasn’t death. This was other. This was the edge she’d always sought, crackling with perverse energy.
The resistance bled out of her limbs. The breath she released was shaky, long, a letting go. Her body, pressed against his decaying warmth and the cold stone, relaxed infinitesimally. Her gaze never left his as, slowly, deliberately, she eased the tension from her thighs.
The yielding movement was small, almost imperceptible. But the change in the creature was immediate, electric. The rumbling growl stuttered, deepened into something more resonant, a bass note vibrating through the stone altar and into her bones. Those impossible green eyes flared bright as swamp fire, fixed on hers with an intensity that stole her breath anew. His grip on her arm and hip didn’t loosen; it settled, became an anchor.
She felt the rough, leathery skin of his knee press higher, insistent against the thin barrier of her skirt and panties. The sheer, alien rigidity straining against the rough fabric of his trousers was undeniable now, a hot brand imprinting itself against her lower belly and thigh. The scent of damp earth, ancient rot, and something strangely metallic filled her nostrils, mingling with her own sharp intake of breath. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic counterpoint to the deep, rhythmic thrum emanating from his decaying chest.
He leaned in, his ruined jaw brushing against her temple. A strand of her dark hair caught on a rough patch of his skin. She could feel the unnatural warmth radiating from him, fighting the chill of the marble at her back. The wet clicking sound came again, closer to her ear this time.
“Whhhaaaat…” The word was a guttural exhalation, thick and labored, pushing past broken teeth. “Keeeeeps…” Another wet rasp. “…you?” The effort was immense, the sound barely recognizable as speech, yet the question hung in the air, raw and primal.
$name1 stared into those burning emerald eyes. Fear warred with a dark, exhilarating thrill. He wasn’t just brute force. There was a mind, however fractured, however bound to decay. The question resonated in the hollow space fear had carved inside her. What did keep her here? Not just trapped. Present. Willing.
A shaky, almost hysterical laugh escaped her lips. “You,” she breathed, the single syllable swallowed by the damp air. “This… impossible you.”
Recognition flared in his gaze. Or maybe just hunger reaffirmed. His massive knee pressed higher still, a demanding pressure that drew a sharp gasp from her. Her body arched slightly against the altar, her head tipping back. Her fingers, still pressed against the cold stone, curled helplessly.
With a sudden, terrifying efficiency borne of immense, decayed strength, his free hand – the one not clamped on her arm – ripped at the flimsy barrier of her skirt and underwear. The tearing sound was shockingly loud in the crypt’s silence, a violation underscored by the flutter of ruined fabric. The cool night air kissed newly exposed skin for only a heartbeat before the rough, crumbling texture of his trousers rasped directly against her naked thigh.
The heat radiating from him intensified, concentrated now at the point where his body strained towards hers. She felt the slickness of her own treacherous body betraying the terror, preparing against all reason. The thick, rigid length pulsed, impossibly hot, against her bare skin. The luminous green veins beneath his parchment-like flesh throbbed violently, casting a sickly glow on her own pale skin. His growl became a sustained, possessive rumble that vibrated the ancient stone beneath them.
He shifted his weight, his body a crushing presence. His glowing eyes locked onto hers, holding her captive as surely as his hands. Her breath came in shallow, ragged pants. The scent of wet earth and decay was overwhelming. The cold marble dug into her back. The heat of him pressed against her front. The skittering sound in the far corner had ceased. The world narrowed to this altar, this creature, this terrifying precipice.
He repositioned his hips, the massive, rigid heat finding its mark against her wet flesh. The pressure was immense, blunt, a claiming force. $name1 cried out, a sound lost in his guttural groan. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing against the cold stone, every nerve ending screaming.
The force punched the air from her lungs. A strangled gasp tore from $name1’s throat, swallowed instantly by the crypt’s suffocating silence. It wasn’t just the invasion, the sudden, brutal filling. It was the temperature. Unnaturally, impossibly hot. A searing brand thrust deep into her core, a shocking counterpoint to the cold marble seeping into her back and the decaying chill radiating from the rest of him.
She instinctively arched, a silent scream locked behind clenched teeth, her spine grinding against the unforgiving altar. Her fingers scrabbled uselessly on the slick stone, finding no purchase. The shock was physical, visceral, a lightning bolt of violation and terrifying, unwelcome sensation. Above her, Mortis loomed, his glowing green eyes fixed on hers with that ancient, ravenous intensity. His ruined jaw hung slack, dripping viscous saliva onto her collarbone. It burned.
He didn’t pause. Didn’t tease. His massive hips pulled back with a wet, sucking sound that echoed obscenely off the stone walls, then slammed forward again. Harder. Deeper. $name1 cried out, a raw sound ripped from deep inside. The rhythm was relentless, punishing. Each thrust drove her body harder against the altar, the edge digging painfully into her buttocks. The heat radiating from where he impaled her was spreading, a sickening warmth flooding her belly, warring with the icy terror clamping around her heart.
Her mind was a fractured mess. Fear screamed escape. Curiosity, dark and twisted, whispered feel it. The macabre allure that drew her here was no longer abstract; it was a monstrous weight pinning her down, tearing into her. His leathery, decaying skin scraped against hers where their bodies met. The stench – grave dirt, rot, and now the faint, coppery scent of her own blood – was overwhelming. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the sight of his ravaged face so close to hers, the glowing green veins pulsing violently beneath his parchment skin.
“Stop,” she choked, the word barely a whisper. “Please…”
He didn’t hear. Or didn’t care. His guttural growl intensified, vibrating through her bones, a constant, possessive drone beneath the wet slap of flesh meeting flesh. His grip on her arm was iron, his fingers like stone claws. He shifted, adjusting his angle, and the next thrust hit something deep, something that sent a jolt of unwelcome, electric sensation shooting through her traitorous nerves. A ragged moan escaped her, unbidden. Shame flooded her, hot and acidic, mixing with the terror and the impossible heat spreading inside her.
His movements grew more frantic. Less controlled. The wet sounds grew louder, punctuated by his rasping breaths and her own desperate whimpers. He felt enormous inside her, a solid, burning intrusion that stretched her to an agonizing limit. The green glow emanating from his skin seemed to intensify, casting flickering, ghastly shadows on the vaulted ceiling above. His eyes burned like toxic embers.
Then, with a final, bone-jarring thrust that pinned her completely, he froze. A deep, seismic shudder racked his decaying frame. A sound ripped from his throat – not a growl, but a guttural, almost agonized roar that shook dust from the ceiling. His head snapped back, tendons standing out like rotten ropes in his neck.
Inside her, the impossibly hot length pulsed. Not once, but in thick, powerful waves. And with each pulse, she felt it. A flood. Not warm, but scalding. A torrent of thick, viscous fluid, hotter than living blood, surged deep within her. It wasn’t just heat; it carried a strange, prickling energy, a low thrum that resonated in her very marrow.
The sensation was beyond anything she could have imagined. A searing, alien fullness. The glow beneath his skin flared violently, illuminating the inside of the mausoleum in a sickly, pulsing green light for one horrifying second. She could feel it, see the unnatural luminescence even through her closed eyelids. It felt alive. Wrong. Corrosive.
As suddenly as the flood began, it ended. The pulsing ceased. The roar choked off into a wet rattle. The immense pressure pinning her slackened. Mortis’s glowing eyes dimmed, the fierce intelligence flickering out like a dying bulb, replaced by a dull, vacant emptiness. His massive body went rigid, then abruptly collapsed forward, his full, decaying weight crashing down onto her like a felled tree.
$name1 couldn’t breathe. Crushed beneath his cold, rotting bulk, the scalding heat inside her core a stark, painful contrast, she stared up at the cracked ceiling. Dust motes danced in the returning moonlight. The only sounds were the frantic hammering of her own heart and the slow, wet drip of something green and viscous sliding down her inner thigh onto the cold marble beneath her.