Damien huffed as he worked his shovel. The night was cold against his flushed cheeks.
He laid a diamond necklace on his growing pile of goods. Though dusty from the grave, the diamonds glittered like teeth.
One grave left to pillage. Nothing valuable here, only a broken pipe beside a grinning skull. A rat poked its snout through an eye socket.
"Hey," the groundskeeper shouted. "Grave robbing's illegal!"
"Not on purge night."
"Ah, that's right." A shot rang out and blood bloomed across Damien's chest. As he fell, a hand scooped up his collection. "Thanks for doing the heavy lifting."
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alt="Flameout by C.L. Sidell"
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height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="First Kiss, Second Kiss by Jeff Currier"
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>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Up, Up and Stay by Jacob Conflitti"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="The Butterfly Defect by Andreas Flögel"
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height="630"
>