I scratch at the door, the smell of sweet flesh calling to me from inside. My limbs, no longer agile as they once were, weak with decay, pound the wooden surface, unable to find purchase. My mouth hangs open, fetid green slime oozing from my slackened jaw as I moan out wordless pleas. I'm so hungry it hurts. The pain is all encompassing, and the only thing standing between me and relief is a simple, two inch thick plank of wood, but I am not strong enough to break through. I try the handle, but my fingers won't close tight enough to open it.
It wasn't always this way, I know, but it's hard to remember anything before I woke up in the box, so deep under the earth. I don't know how I found the strength to claw free of the dirt, to pull my rotting body from the ground, but I did it. The hunger was so strong, and when I tasted the groundskeeper it was so sweet, and for a moment I could think. I heard screams, and looked to see someone else had witnessed my feast. I reached out, trying to assure them that the hunger was sated, I was alright, they didn't have anything to fear, but all that came out was a gurgling moan and a wet slapping noise as a hunk of the groundskeeper fell from my jaw and hit the pavement.
They ran, and I suppose I can't really blame them, and I followed. I just wanted to reassure them, but it didn't take long before I was hungry again. They ran into this building, the groundskeepers shed I think, and locked the door. A minute ago the groundskeeper joined me, and I'm not sure there will be enough to share. I can smell them in there, and I know they can hear me. I'm so, so hungry.
