The Soil Remembers What He Did

He isn't crawling out. He's pulling you in.

The grave wasn't deep enough to hold the hunger. His claws, caked in fresh earth, grip the edge of your screen like a ledge. The red cape drapes over the darkness, hiding the rest of the form. You can't see his legs. He might not have them anymore. The crimson stains on his face aren't his own. He waits for you to unlock the phone so he has somewhere to go.