Deathwalker 1.2

             At the time, the image of dead people shelved neatly in a vast freezer terrified me. I pictured my grandparents there. My mother. My father. And I began to cry. Rough hands had patted my shoulder.
            “Shhh. Hush, Seph. They like it there, or they would be happy to be woken.”
            I hadn’t appreciated the irony as a child. Now, as a vast tomb appeared before me like a hulking guard, I was all too aware of it. If the stone pillars looked unhappy to see me, I can only imagine how their resident would feel. I stared up at the looming stone and sighed. No wonder no one else would take the job. That should’ve warned me, but I was hungry. It’s amazing what you’ll agree to do when you’re hungry.
            Resigned, I shifted my coat and made sure I had what I needed. I probably should’ve cut my losses, but, hey, I was still hungry. And stupid.
            “Come on, Seph,” I muttered, “time to go piss off a dead person.”

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