The Ghoul

Published 'Black Lotus' 1993


The earth was easier to dig than the ghoul had feared after all the ground frosts of previous nights. Now, as if a thoughtful God were keeping vigil, the weather had taken an abrupt mild turn.

The solid silver trowel made easy inroads into the peaty soil, but with there being no watchful eye of the moon to oversee progress, there was no certainty as to the delving’s depth – other than the probes of the ghoul’s own fingers which consequently released the handle of the trowel whilst the other hand propped the body at the optimum angle upon the buttocks.

It was not obvious when the blade had met wood since there was no significant difference between the earthy mulch and the rotting coffin itself. But the ghoul’s testing fingers inadvertently threaded empty eye sockets and these sightless crevices sucked upon what they considered to be skirmishing worms – but quickly stopped because, surely, Death had no possible need of true hunger.

On the other hand, the ghoul did not realise how lucky she was to have been wearing gloves (albeit lacy, fashionable ones).