Deep Sea Embers

“Seems I’m all alone in this…” the elderly caretaker uttered to himself, a note of resignation in his voice. He tugged his coat tighter around his body, the soft leather and the metal plates embedded within rubbing together to create a faint, yet distinct, noise. He observed with a mixture of curiosity and unease, “This fog’s reach is too far and wide…”

The slight sounds of friction and clattering disrupted the prevailing silence in the cemetery. Underneath the oppressive haze, the coffins arranged on several nearby mortuary tables appeared to quiver subtly.

“Can’t you folks rest in peace, given that I stand guard over you night after night?” The old caretaker scowled, gingerly hoisting his firearm. He was fully aware that these bodies, which had lain quiet and still for days, were now oddly “active” due to the ominous fog. He felt helpless against this inexplicable phenomenon.

The only option available to him was a grim one: to wait for them to rise, only to return them to their eternal sleep with the aid of his bullets.

As he was engaged in these somber thoughts, an unusual noise, different from the eerie stirring within the coffins, abruptly pierced the silence, snapping the old man’s attention. He reacted swiftly, his eyes darting towards the narrow path leading to the cemetery’s entrance.

Emerging from the other end of the path was a small figure, appearing as a bobbing sphere akin to a snowball, as she stumbled forward.

“Guardian Grandpa! Please help me! Guardian Grandpa! Are you there!?” The voice of the bobbing figure echoed through the graveyard, carrying with it a desperate attempt to contain her rising panic and anxiety.

“Annie!” The grizzled caretaker, taken aback, instinctively bellowed through the fog towards the girl, “Quick, come this way, not that!”

The young girl, who had charged into the cemetery in a state of extreme fear, finally caught sight of the old man standing near the guardhouse. A wave of relief washed over her scared, anxious face, and she sprinted towards him, “Guardian Grandpa! I’m so glad you’re here…”

“What on earth are you doing outside in such dangerous conditions!?” The old caretaker had no time to indulge in the girl’s relief, immediately reprimanding her with a stern expression. Today was far from an ordinary day. The threat posed by the fog was incomparable to mere slippery streets on a winter’s day. “Are you aware that the entire city is under martial law?!”

“I got separated from everyone else!” Annie recoiled slightly at the harshness in the old caretaker’s voice but quickly began to explain, her hands flailing animatedly as she did so. “Our teacher had taken us on a field trip to the museum, and when we were leaving, we encountered this intense fog. Our teacher tried to lead us to the nearest shelter for the night, but before I knew it, they had all vanished into the fog…”

The old caretaker stared at her in astonishment, “Vanished… into the fog?”

“Yes, just like that, vanished in a blink,” Annie replied, her voice trembling slightly as she recounted her ordeal. “So I decided to find a place to hide. The museum had closed its doors, and I couldn’t find any adults on the streets. All the buildings were locked up tight, and no amount of knocking made anyone answer. Then I remembered what our teacher had said, that if we ever found ourselves in danger, we should seek help from the nearest priest, guardian, or sheriff. The cemetery was closest, and you’ve always said you were an experienced guardian…”

The old man’s facial expressions cycled through a gamut of emotions as he listened to the young girl’s hurried explanation. He realized that he had perhaps been too harsh with her, given their immediate danger. Considering her age, her response was commendably collected. Still, not wanting to appear soft, he held onto his stern demeanor, “So you sought refuge in the cemetery?”

Annie nodded her head vigorously, “Yes, people always say that veteran guardians are much stronger than regular ones…”

“But a cemetery is not a safe haven,” the old guardian replied solemnly, “especially under such circumstances.”

Annie seemed to falter, “I… I shouldn’t have come here?”

“No, there’s hardly a better alternative under the current situation. You running around lost in the foggy streets could have potentially ended much worse,” the old guardian shook his head, “for now, you need to hide…”

His words were abruptly cut short by an eerie cracking sound nearby. Out of his peripheral vision, he noticed a shadowy figure abruptly rise from the closest mortuary slab. A crude coffin lid was pushed aside forcefully, and a restless arm struggled its way out of it. Then, with an unsettling shuffle, the undead rose to its feet! There was no time to instruct Annie to avert her gaze. The old guardian acted on instinct, lifting his double-barreled shotgun. With a deafening “bang”, the shaky figure that had just emerged tumbled backwards, thrown off balance, and rolled off the mortuary slab.

“Ah!” Annie, a mere child, who had taken refuge behind the old guardian, was rattled by the thunderous report of the shotgun. However, the shock of the gunshot was secondary to the sight that had unfolded in front of her eyes – a corpse had just sprung to life amidst the fog.

“That… that…” The small girl was at a loss for words, her finger trembling as she pointed towards the now vacant mortuary slab.

Attempting to comfort her, the elderly guardian began, “Don’t be afraid, that’s just…”

“Volume three, chapter six of ‘Supernatural’ discusses this phenomenon!” Annie found her voice again, speaking in a rush, “My teacher said that in such situations, we should silently invoke Bartok’s name in our hearts, then use an acid branch or a smoked rope to whip the restless ones, and then run as fast as possible to the nearest church for refuge…”

The old guardian paused, caught off guard by the young girl’s torrent of words. After a momentary lapse, he quickly reloaded his shotgun and aimed it at another mortuary slab without so much as turning his head. The loud “bang” that followed ensured that another restless entity, fresh out of its coffin, was returned to its rightful place of eternal rest.

“Your textbooks are different from what we used to have. We didn’t study such lessons until high school,” he remarked casually.

Annie instinctively covered her head, her petite frame shaking slightly under the impact of yet another gunshot. Despite her quick recital of the textbook instructions earlier, her fear and anxiety were intense.

“Get inside the guardhouse,” the old man commanded, protectively shielding the young girl as he led the way to the guardhouse. He opened the door with his free hand, gently nudging Annie inside, “No matter what happens outside, do not leave this place. As long as you stay put, this little house is as safe as the sanctuary in a church, understand?”

Wide-eyed with fear, Annie nodded subconsciously. Her gaze wandered over the eerie fog outside. The mortuary slabs amidst the fog seemed to take on their own life, with shadows slinking between them. Unseen growls reverberated through the cemetery, echoing off of the coffins that were bursting open one after another. Terrifying figures were rising from their resting places, the beds that were supposed to guarantee eternal peace.

Having ushered Annie into the cabin and closing the door behind her, the old guardian then turned around to face the horde again, firing yet another shot.

The guardhouse was solid and bore protective symbols, but if all the dead within the cemetery rose in unison, this modest shelter may not hold up against such a relentless onslaught. Even if it were to withstand the physical assaults, the psychological trauma that the siege of the dead could inflict may pierce through the shelter’s defenses and leave a lasting impact on the young child.

Each restless corpse he was able to put down meant a little more safety for Annie.

“Lord of Death, I’ve been retired for a decade!” The seasoned guardian mumbled to himself, deftly working the bolt of his shotgun, ejecting the spent shell and loading a fresh one with a spark of resolve flaring in his aged eyes. Almost without having to aim, his eyes instinctively found their next target.

With each gunshot, a restless entity was returned to its eternal rest. Gun smoke hung heavy in the air, carrying with it the souls of the departed.

“The gatekeeper of the ‘other side’ must be having a field day. I hope they’re prepared for an influx of souls checking out earlier than expected.”

The old guardian’s gruff mutterings provided a grim soundtrack to the chaos, his hands never ceasing their relentless dance of reloading and firing. His trusty shotgun sent them on their premature journeys one by one, but still, more restless bodies were rising from the ground.

Their increasing numbers momentarily stumped the old guardian.

Could the cemetery accommodate such a vast number of bodies? Could all the mortuary slabs combined hold this throng of restless entities?

Were they materializing out of the dense fog?!

Bang!

Another loud gunshot echoed, followed closely by a roar that seemed to come from nearby. Without raising his head, the old guardian’s left hand instinctively moved towards his chest, retrieving a short sword. The next instant, he had almost teleported a few meters away from the guardhouse. His short sword fell with lightning speed, taking down another restless one, its swollen and distorted head rolling onto the ground.

The old man glimpsed downwards, noticing a large eye adorning the head.

His astonishment was fleeting. He was already back at the guardhouse’s entrance, his gun raised and aimed at another unsteady silhouette looming through the fog. As he pulled the trigger, there was no bang, just the hollow click of an empty barrel.

A momentary flicker of concern passed over the old man’s face. He quickly holstered his short sword and reached for the ammunition pouch at his waist—it was also empty.

After a brief pause, the old guardian let out a resigned sigh, “That’s alright, the count should be about right…”

He laid down his now useless shotgun, reaching again for his short sword as he squared up to face the restless ones shuffling towards him from the fog.

Then, a soft creaking sound reached his ears, originating from behind him – it was the guardhouse door being cautiously opened. To his astonishment, Annie emerged, her small hands clutching a loaded high-caliber rifle. It was his reserve weapon.

Beneath Annie’s tiny feet lay several bags and boxes of bullets, varying in size.

Scratches scored the floor, a testament to the little girl’s strenuous efforts in dragging these hefty items from a corner of the room.

“Guardian Grandpa, use this,” Annie offered, her small hand trembling slightly under the weight as she handed the high-caliber rifle to the seasoned guardian standing before her, “Will it be of help?”

“…Yes,” the old man affirmed after a moment’s hesitation, reaching out to accept the rifle while passing the double-barreled shotgun to the girl, “Load this.”