Buried But Not Gone

They say the dead can’t speak. But what if they were only waiting for the right moment?

Act One: The Uneasy Beginning

A small town cemetery holds hundreds of graves, each marked with stone, dates, and the illusion of peace. But beneath one cracked headstone lies something restless. Locals whisper about it—how the ground near the grave feels warmer than anywhere else. How the flowers placed there never wilt, but instead rot overnight.

Eleanor, a college student home for the summer, heard the rumors her whole life. Yet she never believed them. That was until she stumbled across the grave while jogging at dawn. The soil was disturbed, as if something had clawed its way up.

And here’s the funny thing—why do we always assume ghosts float? What if they crawl?

Act Two: The Rising Terror

That night, Eleanor dreamed of being buried alive. The weight of soil pressed on her chest. She couldn’t scream. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. When she jolted awake, dirt fell from her hair onto the pillow.

Shaken, she returned to the graveyard, determined to prove to herself that it was just a dream. But the headstone was gone. In its place, an open pit yawned like a mouth waiting for its next victim.

She leaned closer. And then—a hand shot up from the darkness.

Pause for a second: if you were Eleanor, would you run… or would curiosity kill you, too?

Eleanor didn’t run. She grabbed a fallen branch and struck the hand, but it didn’t flinch. It tightened, pulling itself upward—revealing a face, pale and bruised, eyes wide as if it had been waiting centuries to see the light again.

Act Three: The Final Descent

Eleanor screamed, but no one heard. The figure whispered her name, in a voice that wasn’t hers but her grandmother’s. “You buried me wrong.”

The words carved into her mind like knives. She stumbled backward, but the ground gave way. Suddenly, she wasn’t standing in the cemetery anymore. She was beneath it—trapped in a coffin, wood splintering, the smell of earth choking her lungs.

The figure loomed above, smiling. “Buried,” it said. “But not gone.”

And then silence.

Cliffhanger Ending

The next morning, joggers found Eleanor’s sneakers neatly placed by the cemetery gate. No one ever saw her again. But every so often, dirt appears on the pillows of those who dare whisper her name.

So… dare I ask—what’s on your pillow tonight?

If you enjoyed Buried But Not Gone, you’ll want to read what happens after death truly comes knocking. Don’t miss my other story—The Final Three Minutes—a chilling dive into what might be waiting for you when the clock runs out.