Eldritch

Elizabeth knelt on the dewy grass in front of the tombstone, with the sun minutes away from cracking the horizon.

John G. Madison

1856-1889

She waited silently, fixed on each sharply carved character in the limestone, knowing they would erode in time much like his memory. They might forget his name and who he was, but she feared they might not outlive what he’d become.

As the skies grew pink just before the morning light reached her, shivers ran down her spine as a slithering tentacle wrapped around her thigh, then up her side. Thick, black smoke blanketed her, and she closed her eyes, focusing on her other senses.

A second tentacle circled her with tenderness she’d only known from one other.

Smooth breaths stroked her cheek, raising the hair on the back of her neck.

“Hello, dear,” a low, raspy voice said. “I was hoping you’d visit me again.”