accumulate on either side of the grave.
Lambert felt the perspiration seeping through his shirt and, twice, he had to stop to wipe it from his forehead. He leaned back, using the handle of shovel as a kind of stool. Kirby too, stopped for a moment and wiped his brow.
'Four hundred years ago we'd have been burned at the stake for this,' he said with a grim humour in his voice.
Lambert nodded and smiled weakly.
They continued with their digging, aware of nothing but the sounds they made as they turned the dark earth and the gentle rustling of the wind in the trees above them. Both men were stooping now to get at the fresh earth.
'Nearly there,' said Lambert, quietly. Almost triumphantly. He felt his heart quicken a little bit.
The earth was piled high on either side of the hole and both men found that it was sticking to their clothes. Kirby tried to pull the clods from his shoes but it was useless. They stuck like lumps of thick brown glue. The prongs of the fork, too, had become encrusted with the wet ground.
There was a dull scraping sound as Lambert's spade struck wood.
He pulled away the remaining clods with his hands, baring the brass plate on the coffin lid. He reached up for the torch and shone it on the plate.
'This is it,' he said.
'How do we get the lid off?' said Kirby, noticing the thick screws which held it firmly in position.
Lambert produced a penknife from his trouser pocket and, tossing the spade aside, pulled the blade up into position.
'Shine the light here,' he snapped, handing the torch to Kirby who put down his fork and held the beam over the place where the Inspector was indicating. Inserting the wide edge of the blade into the groove in the screw head, Lambert began to loosen it. It turned easily and he grinned triumphantly up at Kirby.
One by one, the screws were removed and Lambert slid his fingers beneath the lid to ease it free. He swallowed hard, not knowing what he was going to find beneath the heavy lid.
'Keep that bloody light steady,' he whispered.
Heart thudding against his ribs, he pushed the lid to one side.
Lying in the coffin, arms folded sedately across her chest, was Emma Reece.
Lambert looked at Kirby who shrugged with the sort of gesture that says 'I told you so.' The Inspector stood up, wiping a hand across his forehead, his eyes riveted to the two empty sockets in Emma Reece's face which had once housed eyes. Gaping black maws now filled with the dirt of the grave. And yet, there was something else…
Kirby stepped forward, handing the flashlight to Lambert. He knelt beside the corpse and touched a hand to the face. It was ice cold.
'Curious,' he said, abstractedly.
'What is?' Lambert wanted to know.
'She was buried three weeks ago. The skin usually begins to undergo some minor deterioration within a matter of days. Her skin is still, supple.' He prodded it again. 'No deterioration at all.' He reached for the right arm and lifted it a few inches. 'Not even evidence of rigor mortis.' Kirby straightened up, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. 'It must be something in the soil.' He felt a lump between his fingers. 'It is very moist, that could account for the preservation.'
Kirby knelt once more, shining the torch into the face of the corpse, bending close until the putrid smell finally drove him back. He shook his head and straightened up again, turning towards Lambert.
'Well, Tom,' he said, brushing the din from his hands, 'that seems to put pay to your theory.'
The thing which had once been Emma Reece leapt from the coffin with the speed of an arrow.
Kirby had no time to move and Lambert was momentarily frozen by the sight before him.
The living dead thing fastened both hands around Kirby's neck and pushed him forward, grinding his face into the mud wall of the grave. He struck blindly at it, trying to shake himself free of the vicelike hold. Lambert struck out madly with the torch, shattering the bulb as it crashed against the top of Emma Reece's head. The place was suddenly plunged into darkness, only the vague light from the street lamps outside the cemetery illuminating the unholy scenario.
Kirby was clawing at the bony fingers which encircled his throat, the dirt now beginning to clog his nostrils. He was fighting for breath, his throat being blocked by the crushing fingers while the stinking dirt of the grave filled his nostrils. He felt unconsciousness wrapping its dark blanket around him and his efforts to break free grew more feeble.
Frantic, Lambert drove a fist into the side of Emma Reece's face, hearing bone splinter beneath the impact. It was enough to make her loosen her grip on Kirby, who slumped to the ground sprawled half in and half out of the open coffin.
The living dead thing turned towards Lambert, and he saw with horror the blazing red pinpricks deep within the gaping empty eye sockets. Saliva dripped from her open mouth and he noted, with disgust, that her false teeth were dangling pathetically from her top jaw. Emma Reece leapt at the Inspector across the narrow hole but he caught her by the wrists and held her, surprised at the strength of those apparently frail arms. Her face pressed close to his and he was splattered with the yellowish mucous. A hideous grin began to spread across the creature's face as she forced Lambert back, her talonlike hands reaching for his throat. He stared into those bottomless pits of blackness that had once been eyes and, with a surge of strength aided by fear, forced her back. They both fell, still locked together, Lambert not daring to relinquish his grip on those arms. But now he was on top of her. Still that feral grin sneered up at him.
Kirby, meantime was dragging himself to his feet, his head spinning.
'Kill it,' screamed Lambert, realizing that the Reece thing was squirming free. But Kirby could only stagger against the wall of the open grave, watching the life and death struggle before him. Paralyzed with fear he saw Lambert jump back, his hand groping behind him to the lip of the hole.
His hand closed around the spade.
The living dead thing raised both arms and launched itself once more, but this time at Kirby, who, in his dazed condition, went down under the rush.
Eyes wide with horrified revulsion, Lambert saw the thing throttling the doctor, pressing its vile body against him in a manner which made Lambert want to vomit.
With a shriek of rage he swung the spade and slammed its edge into the spinal area just above the pelvis. There was a loud snapping sound, like a branch being broken, and the thing stepped back. Moaning in agony, it stepped away from Kirby, both hands elapsed to the rent in its back. Lambert lashed out again, the powerful stroke catching Emma Reece just below the chin.
The head, severed by the blow, rose on a fountain of dark blood and thudded to the ground several feet away. The living dead thing remained upright for a second, blood spurting madly from the severed arteries, then pitched forward into the coffin. The white satin rapidly turned vivid crimson.
Lambert dropped the spade and crossed to Kirby who was slumped against one of the grave sides coughing. Even in the darkness, Lambert could see the savage cuts around the doctor's throat, bruises and lacerations that would have been normally credited to a garotte. He tried to speak but could only cough, a string- thin trickle of blood running down his chin. Lambert helped. him to his feet and then vaulted up out of the dark hole, taking Kirby's hands and pulling him up, supporting him when he was clear.
The Inspector looked down and saw the head of Emma Reece lying nearby. He rolled it gently with his foot, upping it into the grave where it landed with a thud, the black, empty, eye sockets gazing up at the night sky. He shuddered and turned away, supporting Kirby until they reached the gravel drive. The doctor stood alone for a second then nodded that he was all right. His voice, when he spoke, was dry, like old parchment and every syllable brought a new wave of pain.
'It looks like you were right,' he croaked, touching his throat. 'Drive me to my surgery.'
Lambert nodded and the two of them made their way back to the waiting Datsun.
Kirby collapsed into the passenger seat and gently touched his injured neck. He wound down the window and spat blood onto the road.
'You need a hospital,' said Lambert.
