Hair Rising, Heir Raising, Erasing

-Well, well, well, I'll be damned, we can't sleep in peace anymore. What is that cacophony all about?
A skeletal hand pushed open its coffin lid grumpily and a bewildered dishevelled skull appeared, peering outside full of suspicion.
As the cadaver saw others stepping outside of their graves, he realised that something was definitely, disturbingly going on, and he pestered,
-Blast! I will be damned for sure this time around, for it is the bloody apocalypse, and the rising of the bloody dead! Well, I will be better off playing dead and ignoring it all happened, I am sure everything will eventually vanish like a bad dream.

The skeleton cowardly nestled back within the padded security of his coffin, closing back his lid with great care, hoping, praying that none had noticed him.

A loud shrieking voice however saluted him eagerly,

-If it is not Sir Abraham Wilton-Cough, I will be damned and dusted! Hello, how are you keeping after all those years? I didn't seen you turn up at last year’s event. Some are harder to rise than others they say. It all depends upon the heart. You have got a very fearsome look upon your face, you do recognise me, don’t you Mr Wilton-Cough?

The cadaver rolled his eyes with pure annoyance, muttering between his teeth, before lifting his coffin lid with a sense of bothered obligation, and faking a welcoming smile,

-Yes, be damned and dusted, bloody neighbour! Blowing my cover up as usual, old bat, some never change with time.

Then announced out loud,

-How could I honestly forget you, dear widow Bates, my neighbour for twenty years, now that I am going to be damned with you? I can swear upon my empty grave that you haven't changed at all. Now, tell me all, as you always knew everything about what was going on, see, I remember the old days. Tea in your grave, or whiskey in mine?

The widow readjusted her bonnet, and swinging shakily from one skeletal hip to the other, giving her most cadaverous smile,

-Abraham! Flatterer, truly I shed much weight since. I am now as light as a feather and no more strangling corset needed, see. No need to bring my smelling salts to wake me up from any fainting spell, all I need nowadays is them, playing of their instruments with love to rise and dance all night. Your grave is much too formal to be entertaining, even with a glass of whiskey or a whole flask, for that matter. I am going where things do happen.

The old skeleton of Wilton Cough rose from his grave, and standing with a whimsical smile before it, pointed at it proudly, and argued,

-What is wrong with my tomb, pray? Show me yours, woman, of the world you were, hey, living within two rooms your entire life while I had a house and owned half of the old town. Show me the grave that charity bestowed upon your corpse. Let’s compare the material, the wood, the state of my degraded body to yours. I still have hair and clothes, after so many years, what are the gold letters saying intelligibly? Year, 1837 AD. I would bet yours can't be read, erased and eroded with time. I am the great descendant, eleventh removed from the founder of our town, the notorious Noah M Wilton, and the glorious son of Terah Wilton Cough. What can you say for yourself ignorant woman?

The ancient skeletal woman, grabbed a pair of very old spectacles hidden within her bonnet, and putting them before her eyes sockets, advanced,

-Yes, it is very grand to have a name, the names of your forefathers and dates showing up after so many years in gold upon the marble, I must applaud at that I suppose but they forgot to put something else, something meaningful about you, a eulogy. Did you leave nothing to be talked about between your birth date and the last one? Come and see my grave...

Abraham followed her, very annoyed, and pestered,

-You do read, Bates? Since when?

Hair Rising, Heir Raising, Erasing Book cover

Where can i buy this book?

Published 21 Oct 2014

A vibrant beyond the grave tale which will chill your bones while warming your heart. When the deadly serious is delightfully hilarious, you will know you have just been acquainted with Abraham Wilton-Cough. His skeletal hand will drag you from grave to grave, under the moonlight of the night where many dead are rising… Could it be the apocalypse?

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