Return
The cloaked figure cut a swathe through the field of crops as it made its way toward the experimental station. It did not appear to notice the panicked secret agent who was retrieving scattered gun parts from the dark and muddy furrows at his feet.
Eventually Wood assembled his pistol and readied himself for action. There was no one, mysterious or otherwise, to be seen. Wood inwardly triangulated the direction in which the figure had been going and knew that it was heading for the one building that had a light on.
Within the laboratory Lillian finished packing up John Furniture’s work into a small black briefcase. She locked it with a key which she placed in a gold locket around her neck. Keith Whicker stood by the door.
“Izzat ev’ryfink naw, Lillian?”
“Yes Keith, John’s life is in here now.” Lillian patted the briefcase gently.
The door flew open. There stood John Furniture in the clothes he was buried in.
“John, you’re alive,” cried Lillian in amazed astonishment, “how can this be?” She was delighted, yet a confused hysteria struck her. John had returned from the grave. Alive. Yet he was somehow different. He was not usually so pale, almost white. His eyes never burned red, not even on a Monday. It was also out of character for John to stand with his arms up, holding his cloak out like demonic wings while snarling like an animal. It could be down to irritation at being buried but something was not right here.
Keith, initially shocked, ejaculated an involuntary “Oo-arr”. Then as recognition dawned he moved to embrace his friend. John Furniture looked down at the hunchbacked west countryman as he approached and brought his arms down to meet him. He picked up Keith and threw him across the laboratory, crashing through the window to the hard concrete three storeys below, cut off in mid “Oo-…”
Lillian screamed in horror as the apparition of Furniture turned her way and advanced inexorably.
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