Drabbles: A Hundred Words of Dread

Do Not Disturb!

Buried for a thousand years beneath the blooming heath atop a hill, I slept. Until one awful fateful day a constant rumble shook my hidden crypt, with my coffin unopened deep beneath.

I did not know what above my silent stone sarcophagus caused this rumble. What if they're workers digging, seeking, treasure to fill their plaid coin purses, to squander on wanton women at a May fair, or elsewhere?

They, I can feast on. But if you are excavating this site to reach my crypt, to pull my corrupted corpse into the sunlight, you will suffer a long slow death.