Ghost in the Machine (Undertaker x Female Reader)

Chapter Thirteen.

!violence/nightmares
!Not quite NSFW but
!A bit NSFW?
!See, I know what you came for.

Dark and damp surrounded me. I lay bound and gagged in the back of the wagon, quietly resolved to accept my fate and grateful my father was not there to witness it. The scene continued as I remembered it, although its edges shifted about like a black haze.

"The thought you proposed—selling you—does sound interesting," said one of the men, sitting cross-legged next to me. "...as does us having a bit of fun with you before shuffling you loose of this mortal coil. However—" He elbowed the man sitting next to him. "that could accidentally get you making your father an heir. Can't risk you escaping with that even if we do mean to off you."

They laughed amongst themselves; I shuddered, choosing to ignore whatever imagery they had conjured up in their minds.

Brief blackness then, before my awareness shifted to the inside of a wooden box. I was back in my coffin, and the men were mockingly waving goodbye as they slid the lid into place. "Your uncle's suggestion for you," they had grunted as they lifted me into the box. "As slow and horrible as befits demons such as yourself."

I'd half-heard them. In that instant there came from the base of my spine the dreaded cold, the icicles building up my back and the whispers in my ear.

The whisper I never thought I'd hear while I still lived.

A wave of noise and pain and splinters as the hammering of nails fell upon my ears, joined in unholy symphony with the name I was now desperately trying to scratch into my own skin.

For they'd lied. It was a lie, and my uncle had always been willing to go this far for his revenge.

"PAPA—" I managed one shrill outburst before choking on my sore, dry throat.

The men's voices were slightly muffled from outside the box, but their amusement was clear. "Oh, so you CAN tell when it happens, eh? Too bad you didn't know earlier that we had a couple of gents staying back to finish the job for us while we buried you. Poor timing, Your Grace, but you won't need to think of that in Hell."

Another shift, and the familiar crash of dirt from overhead. They had used straps to lower me into the grave they had already prepared. I scratched at the lid, weeping. My title and my father's last smile was all that was left to me, the memory of it slowly fading with my consciousness.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Then, suddenly, the scene changed.

Blurry shapes bathed in gray daylight, the faraway calls of people in the streets outside. I stared at the room, the visions behind my eyes slowly fading as I recalled where I was. My pulse and breathing were receding back from the rampage my dreams had sent them on; I felt heat, a light layer of perspiration having settled on my forehead. I ducked my chin a bit, shifting my arm under the coverlet to wipe at it with the back of my bandaged hand, when I became conscious of the pressing of a warm snugness against my back.

At that moment, the snugness stirred lightly, squeezing my ribs where he had slung one arm over them. A sigh of warm breath brushed over the back of my neck, accompanied by a soft, deep murmur behind my rapidly-reddening ears. I covered my mouth with my palm to stifle my squeak. As the quiet seconds passed, I was increasingly aware of his torso curled firmly against my own curves, his knees tucked against the back of mine. My past medical reading—I thought I was prepared for this in approaching it practically—served only to inconveniently solve any mysteries among the sensations of his physical presence. 

My heart had only been allowed a brief respite; it was racing again now, as I reconciled myself with what had happened. I recalled having company when I fell asleep, but it was the business of soothing my fears and fatigue, as one would a frightened child. I was not unlike a newborn to my current state, after all.