[king4adaze5]

Thursday, September 2, 11:43 P.M.

The moonlight shines down upon a graveyard, illuminating trees, and casting shadows throughout. All is quiet, as all here rest in peace. A wind blows lightly, rustling the branches, and giving the illusion of movement within the confines of the sanctuary of the dead.

The silence, however, is short lived. The sound of rusted old hinges, coming from the entrance gates as they swing wide open, while nearly falling off in the process, signals the arrival of the grave digger. The old man never likes to work this late, but funeral processions are scheduled for the next day, following a very unfortunate accident, and several plots must be dug. He walks slowly inside, carrying in one hand a bottle of JD to keep him warm and in the other an especially worn shovel that has seen more then its share of work over the years. He makes his way over to the first gravestone, takes a swig, and begins his work.

As you look around at the numerous gravestones that mark the bodies of the dead, one in particular stands out above all others. There are no flowers, as theire have never been any visitors. No mourners have ever stopped here. No tears were shed when this body was laid to rest.

Stories are told, rumors of what lies here. Many think of them as mere ghost stories, meant only to frighten little children. Few remain who know the truth; the grave digger is one of them. All who work these grounds know and avoid this plot. There is no upkeep on this grave as the grass and weeds do not grow. Nothing grows nearby. It's been that way ever since the burial.

One Year Ago.

The Humans found him, hunted him like the beast he is. Seeking blood for blood, but they knew not what they were doing, for the scent of death remains on their hands, a stench that condemns all who participated in his murder.

The methods of how he ended up in this place, when replayed in his mind, were truly a display of human nature at its coldest and most cruel that nearly equaled his own sadistic nature. In bringing him here, several of the humans dragged him by a chain they placed around his neck, while others walked by, some beat him while others chose to spit on the creature they so despised. The Humans placed him in an abandoned house, his house, the slaughterhouse of the Kill Machine. Thinking they were truly safe, they removed his mask, revealing the grotesque, disfigured face. They stood, shocked as they peered into those soulless, inhuman eyes.

One of them, who he remembers must have been the leader, took out a match, while another dosed him with kerosene. The humans then walked out the door, slowly creaking shut behind them as the match was thrown inside. He struggled to break free as everything around him went up in flames, but it was all in vain.

On the outside the onlookers rejoiced, he could hear them, shouting and cheering. They saw the smoke pouring out of the house, as he choked, gasping for breath. The flames slowly engulfed the entire building. He looked down and watched as his rotted flesh bubbled and melted away. His memories continued on until the structure collapsed. Everything then went black, a blessing or perhaps a curse.

The show was all over. The humans slowly left. A few stayed behind, their job being to dispose of the body. They waited. By morning, nothing was left but smoldering ruins. The men waded though the remains, until they found the body. They placed him in a coffin, one found the mask, and threw it inside, before shutting it. They then journeyed to the graveyard, where he would be buried.

The Humans returned to their lives after that, some have forgotten, many have long since left this small town, to begin life anew. Others have taken their place.

11:55 P.M.

Six feet down into the earth, lays the coffin, a body and soul lies within, dormant for one year. Buried...not dead...though, not alive... for he merely rests in a state of temporary slumber, sleeping and dreaming of an existence of perverse acts of unspeakable brutality the likes of which mankind has not known.

11:58 P.M.

Lightning strikes suddenly at 2 minutes to midnight. The weather forecast had said nothing of a storm. The gravedigger looks to the sky and sees dark clouds have begun moving in overhead. He hears thunder rolling off in the distance. His hearts jumps. Something he feels is not right; although he doesn't quite know what, but decides the sooner he leaves this place the better, and therefore begins to quicken his pace.

12:00 A.M.

As the clock strikes twelve, the Witching hour begins, and the gates of Hell swing wide open. Rain floods the grounds as the intensity and frequency of the thunder and lightning increases. The grave digger looks around, he has been doing this for over twenty years, but never has he felt the dread that fills his mind and heart like it does at this moment. Just a few more minutes he thinks to himself, hold on for just a few more and then you can leave...

12:01 A.M.

The nightmare that is reality is haunting...but, the time for the evil to awaken draws near, as the rain seeps through a small opening in the casket, forcing consciousness to return.

The dreams cease...the torturous visions come to an end. His mind thinks, Rest? No, this is not rest. His eyes open to the frightful image of the darkness, of being trapped in a diminutive enclosure. His hands claw at the wooden casket, slowly but determinedly splintering the wood, while at the same time piercing what remains of his flesh, before finally bursting through, to be confronted with the task of digging through six feet of dirt. He begins making his way to the surface, determined to rise up and through what was thought to be his eternal resting place to once more walk amongst the living.

He crawls out, and attempts to stand. After several failed attempts, his legs finally support his weight and he begins to look around at his surroundings. He remembers he once had a name...Chainsaw Freak. That was what the humans had called him. He did have a human name once, but it has long since been lost.

Nearby, the gravedigger, who is disturbed by the noise as he is making his way out of the cemetary, walks over. He looks tired and winded by this point.

"Sir...sir, can I help you?" He says," You shouldn't be here. You're going to catch your death of cold being out on a night like..."

He stops, frozen in his tracks as he shines his flashlight on Chainsaw Freak, revealing his hideously burned skin. Decayed flesh hangs loose from his face, revealing bone, and eyes that glow eerily green in the dark.

The gravedigger attempts a scream...but he finds his fear has paralyzed him...there is no sound as the evil draws near.

"Hunger...hunger for fresh meat." he says.

The Freak continues walking forward, as the man collapses. His voice has returned and he begins screaming and begging.

Help me! Please, somebody please help me!"

The Freak places a hand onto the man's head, as if trying to calm him. The gravedigger's cries stop, but he cannot stop trembling and tears run down his face. Freak looks at the man, almost sympathetically. He takes the man's hands, and smells them...visions flash through his mind.

"Gravedigger..." The Freak says in a demonic, growling voice.

The gravedigger shakes his head from side to side trying to deny the truth. The Freak's eyes glow brighter as he grabs the man...and ends his hunger as fanged teeth, more animal like then human, begin tearing into the flesh.

Once his appetite has been satisfied, Freak grabs the man's shovel, and drags the half-eaten corpse over to his plot. He reaches back down inside, and takes the mask back. He places it upon his face, proceeding he buries the grave digger. The rain washes away the blood left behind, blending it with the mud leaving everything exactly as it was.

12:37 A.M.

The Kill Machine walks out the cemetery gates. He is damned to spend all eternity searching out his victims. His sole desire to feed off the living, for there can be no rest for the wicked...

[Lubesh]

A good effort, but I did notice a lack of description or detail in your phrasing, which at times is almost note-like. I made one or two minor chnages where repetition occurred and the phrase or grammar wasn't quie right, especially towards the end. You can compare with your copy and choose what to do.

[Hynes02]

Change your title, if you ever try and get this published you'll probably get sued.

[king4adaze5]

Originally Posted by Hynes02

Change your title, if you ever try and get this published you'll probably get sued.

Why, it's just named after one of my favorite Rob Zombie songs, although the story and characters have nothing to do with it with the song. If you notice while reading it, there are many references to other heavy metal songs, too.

[Peppy]

I can't help but feel this is your oldest work you've created. I loved Square Trilogy something, and when I read this I felt you were slacking on your writing. I love horror stories. This one is awesome, your character are damn unique, I can't help but feel sympathy for them even though they're bad. Hmmmmmmmm...

Good, short story though.

[RENA HANDS]

"There are no flowers, as there have never been any visitors." The second original "theire," was misspelled and incorrect.

"Few remain who knows the truth;..."

The word is cemetery.

Is this story to be a connection to "Texas Chainsaw Massacre?"

I believe that there is still repetition also you need more details to the story in whole.

[JoeConway]

I don't know the number but this is a scene in a Friday the 13th movie. Even if I overlook that fact, the writing is not that good. The section that starts with "One Year Ago" would have been better in the beginning with a jump to the current time. Or you could have made it a memory of the gravedigger.

The flow and the feel of the narration has an uncomfortable feel to it. You should rework the prose to sound more natural.

[Gurdit]

Lightning strikes suddenly at 2 minutes to midnight.

Iron Maiden?

Help me! Please, somebody please help me!"

The starting quote mark is missing.

The Freak places a hand onto the man's...tears run down his face. Freak looks at the man...

While "Chainsaw Freak" is not a bad name to give to a man like the one you've decribed, calling him that in your narration appears to be just a little bit overdone/cheesy to me.

Apart from that, I liked the usage of time. It quickened the pace of the story quite a bit.

[foxblade]

Haw haw! 2 minutes to midnight... Good song, good song. Wasted Years is better though.

Anyway, back to the story, The beginning of this was fantastic! I was really digging into it. The way that it flowed was very unique, even though you were missing a lot of detail that could have improved the story ten-fold.

Over all, good job, but like someone mentioned before, try to stray away from cliche things and possibly copyrighted names and labels.

[GermanRose21]

I freaking loved this story. No other way to put it. It kind of reminded me of the Phantom of the Opera, with the disfigured man being tortured. The only thing I would love to know how he became disfigured. But again I really enjoyed the story.

[jaziz69]

I liked the ending, many say that cliche's are like the worst things to use, but i think they can be effective if used with relativity. The revenge narrative is always a goody to read, and i hope the story continues! Although not simply in a slasher style.
A few things, i know it's been mentioned, but grammar/spelling. Also, sometimes your past/present/future tenses were a bit muddled which was confusing and also a bit annoying; if this was deliberate, it doesn't work.

Also, for me, there was a huge anti-climax concerning something that i realise is a personal aspect of your story, but the name "Chainsaw Freak". The guy has just risen out of his grave, and the first thing he remembers is that his name is Chainsaw Freak. I know it immediately implies huge connotations, but maybe something a little more subtle. I almost made me laugh, which is a very bad sign in this position of a horror narrative. Also, "Kill Machine", it just seemed a bit tacky.

Something else is did really like was the use of the 2nd person here:
"As you look around at the numerous gravestones..." I think horror is a good genre to use some 2nd person voices, and it would have been nice if you incorporated it again somewhere.

Just one more point, near the middle you use "he says/The Freak says" where it really isn't necessary. It drew me away from the story, and also i don't think you should ever have to use the word 'says' to describe dialogue.

Overall i really like the idea, and although i initially felt the situation was very much Freddy Kruger-ish, with a but more development it will stand it's own.

Good work, keep writing.

[Ambrose]

At first I did not like how the grave digger dies, but his reaction to the zombie and his memory of the guy's execution clearly indicate that he had a hand in it, so I guess it was inevitable. Another thing I did not like was how the grave digger, upon discovering the zombie, remained rooted to the spot and let the zombie walk up and kill him. I always find it unrealistic when people are completely stunned by fear in stories. A person might be stunned for an instant, but I doubt anyone if put in that situation would neglect to run.

There was one sentence that struck me as awkward:

The sound of rusted old hinges, coming from the entrance gates as they swing wide open, while nearly falling off in the process, signals the arrival of the grave digger.

I think you mean to say that the hinges on the gate are nearly falling off but since the subject is the sound itself it does not quite fit.

[DanHill]

Awsme story just i think you need more describtion and isn't the title a name of a Rob Zombie song?

anyway good story

[Fumus]

There are way too many comas...and it makes the story difficult to read...

The sound of rusted old hinges, coming from the entrance gates as they swing wide open, while nearly falling off in the process, signals the arrival of the grave digger.

There is a real lack of description in this story, as a writer you don't want to just say what is going on. As a writer you need to describe what is happening and give details. At one point you write the caretaker is carrying "JD", I assume you mean Jack Daniels Whiskey but why are you abbreviating? Showing the reader that the caretaker is carrying whiskey is a cool detail, but you just need to describe it a little better.

Idea: "the whiskey in the caretakers flask swishes back and fourth, as he lumbers along his way" (or something like that)

Why is it called "I, Zombie"? It's not like a journal or first person account of what it's like to be a zombie or anything...aside from just being a cool title I don't really see how it fits.

The core ideas are interesting, that is to say the idea for the story is a good one. I love zombie movies, and the horror genre so naturally I want to like this story. It's a good attempt, and pretty creative.

[crackdaddy]

the writing got a little choppy at times, but i think you could really go somewhere with the basic premise. i love seeing how different writers take the age old idea of masked killers and turn it into something more. theres so many different directions you could go.
so ya just a slightly cleaner/clearer narrative style and as someone else said before the "cheesy factor" or something like that may be a little overwhelming at times.

but at the same time if thats kinda what your going for, kind of like a pop culture themed story, then run with that.
keep writing!