One last friday was her wish, had been her wish. He knew it. It had been years ago, that promise about one last friday. But she had died on tuesday and on thursday she had been buried in a shallow grave next to her favorite spot near the churches door, where she had spent her time waiting for him. And now it was over. Her flesh had been eaten away by worms and other godless insects, but it had been a mercy, not being alive to feel it. And yet, he had never forget her wish.

It was a friday in spring time, almost spring time. The temperatur was quite low for such a day, but it was a sunless day, would stay sunless. The clouds hung low, almost touched the roofs of the small houses in the small and nameless town. The people barely looked up to the sky, already consumed by their constant problems. Looking down on the cobbled streets did not help either, but requiered no strength to lift up their heads.

They did not see him. They never saw him. He was one of them. On the other side, he never had been one of them. His face was always blank, they always ignored it. He was usually working. People were dying here and there and his work was to bury graves and clean them later for a price, mostly paid by visiting relatives who would leave the town as soon the dirt was on the coffin, often just an hour later.

The town was not a nice town. He understood their concern. It was mostly during the late afternoon or early night, people would raise their heads and look at each other and nod as if they shared silent thoughts. He knew it, because he did not hear those thoughts, but they were also unable to listen to his words, thoughts, feelings. He was not from here and this was still a blessing.

She had died on tuesday. Buried on thursday. She had come with her friend. She had visited some old wells, the church, the old fortress in the mountains just half an hour aways. She had been happy back then. Her mind had been free. Her future had been open. But it had been erased in a tuesday.

It had been 20 years ago. Maybe 21 years. Time was impossible to feel here. People died. Were buried. It was the usual thing here. She had also died. Her body had been found next to the street. Her friend was missing back then. Police had not been involved in this. Just a letter for the parents of the girl had been sent. „It was a car accident.“ They never got the letter. There had not been a car accident. Her parents had been dead for decades now. She had been an orphan. Had only been in love for a few years. She had been waiting for her friend to marry her. She would have been happy on friday. But she died on tuesday.

And now it was friday again. Just another day. The clouds felt messy today, the larger and darker ones were different. People looked up and frowned. Their necks were explosed. Pale. Dark old showed old scars. Their eyes were closed, as if they were able to see without them. But they did not need to see. Just just needed to listen.

And there was nothing.

He had gone to the large place in the middle of the town. He had set up a fire. Wooden blocks, dried for months now. They were almost invisible, because no one was there. Only a few visitors had looked at him, but they did not exist outside of their thoughs. Their minds were blank, just filling up with new information, unholy prayers of forgotten lore.

He had gone to the fortress, the one she had visited with her friend. The location was officially not safe enough, but he knew the reasons. The fortress was old, maybe a thousand years. It had no windows. The roof was broken down, but not everywhere. Under one of the surviving roofs he had found the black box, rotten stone, its symbols and pictures washed away by time. He had felt the small gaps in the stone, the incisions of metal. He had pushed the box with all of his strength, it had moved, had opened an abyss of hate. But he did not feel hate or rage. He had pushed the stone, opened the void even more. Then he had jumped down, crashed to a wall, tumbled down stairs. And then he had seen it. Seen him. He was awake and yet not awake. His face had been bloody. His teeth had been even bloodier. His hands had held a partial head, flesh had been ripped away, the fear in the surviving eye had been burned out its own existence. The rest of the body had been strewn over the place. Another visitor.

And now it was friday. And the clouds felt weaker than before. And he was alone, but not alone anymore. They had arrived from all over the town. Their eyes were angry and hungry. They did not speak, but he could hear their screams in his mind now. He held a candle in his one hand, the hammer in the other one. He turned around. The body from the abyss struggled while becoming alive. It screamed silently, then loudly. Tried to move. Could not. Nine inch nails had nailed him to a cross. The hammer had also broken his fingers and hands, had broken his jaw, had ripped out his teeth. Black ooze dripped down from its maimed face, a face which showed rage. Now fear.

He shoved the candle to the body of the creature. First, the creature laughed, but the fire was fast, purifying, good. It sprang over to the wooden blocks, dried wood. He thought, that he could feel the pain, but he could not, not for years, since the creature had killed his girlfriend, his fiance. He felt just the agony of the other creatures, the townspeople, which had been infected with the madness. It was friday. And soon he would be as free as her.