The splatterflicks and pulps hardly prepared us for the day the dead awoke. Frantic news reports of opened graves filled us with dread of shambling corpses.
Then we met them, mothers and brothers, famous figures and forgotten friends. They stood strong and hale, these people from the world's every corner. They smiled and spoke of colors only they could see. The air about them seemed charged with summer ozone.
The next morning, they'd vanished.
We rose, nursed aching joints, sighed over gray hairs and crow's feet. And we wondered if, in the end, the living dead were not we ourselves.
And the Earth Shall Cast Out Its Dead by I Saw Lightning Fall
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