[2019 pride month]
i loved doing "klancemas with cal" so now i'm doin klancepride! small fluffy prompts for each day of the month(: i hope you enjoy it n happy pride month!!<33
okay I know that the graveyard shift is from 12-8 am but I wanted to take it a little more literally so here u go. also sorry its a little bit similar to some of my other shit but like,, lmao zombies
Keith knew that working at the graveyard was weird. He heard it at school, he heard it at home, he heard it from people who stopped in to say hello to loved ones. He knew it was fucking weird, okay?
But, at the same time, it was cool. Really cool. He'd walk around at night with his flashlight in hand, his other palm settled comfortably at the taser on his belt, bopping around as he listened to his favorite bands.
He'd secretly pretend that he was an investigator looking for Mothman, or the third wheel of Buzzfeed Unsolved, or Steve Irwin.
Plus, the hefty $16/hour didn't hurt.
It was a regular morning, the sun rising over the mountains on the horizon, but just barely so the Western side remained speckled with stars. On the Eastern-most section of the sky, cotton-candy pink clouds streaked across the yellowy-orange glow, soon to cast the sleepy town where Keith lived in light.
The rows upon rows of gravestones were chronologically ordered, dating back as far as the early 1900's. Keith loved looking at the headstones from the past, wondering what the peoples' lives were like. He found himself traveling further and further back, wandering among the stones, admiring the flowers left for lovers past, traveling deeper and deeper...
A rustle.
Keith's attention snapped forward. He saw no movement.
Another rustle directly in front of him.
The headstones before him read dates from the 1940's and back. Keith shivered, holding out his flashlight and sweeping it over the lawn.
There was a dull scraping sound, and then, Keith saw it. A hand reaching delicately up through the grass in front of a grave, struggling slightly as it raised, from the wrist to the elbow to the shoulder. Keith stumbled in his attempt to run away and landed hard on his back as the being climbed out of the ground, wobbling slightly as it stood.
The figure yawned, stretched, then looked up. He was hot?!
Keith scrambled backward, his hand on his taser, flashlight several feet away where he'd previously dropped it. The figure looked young, despite being, y'know, dead for the past hundred years, and had tanned skin (though that could have been the incredible amount of dirt and grime caked onto his body) and brown, shaggy hair. He was wearing slacks and a cotton shirt, but his clothes were barely holding onto him and had several holes in them.
The incredible part about his appearance, though, were his eyes. Bright blue. Piercing. Beautiful as he walked forward, his mouth opening as a rough, dry sound escaped his mouth, somewhere between a growl and a groan.
Keith screamed, naturally.
The zombie cleared his throat and tried again. "Handsome stranger, I'm afraid I've lost my way. Could you point me in the direction of Garrison Valley?"
Keith almost screamed again, but stopped himself. The zombie took another step forward and held out his hand to Keith, who was still sitting flat on his ass in the middle of the grassy plot. Keith reluctantly accepted the hand and dusted himself off, looking around the zombie at his gravestone.
Lance McClain
Beloved Son
July 28th, 1901-September 15th, 1919
May he Rest in Eternal Peace
"Lance, huh? Garrison Valley is this way."
this is literally so shitty im so sorry ahhhhhhh i just wanna b caught up again aGH
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