The girl out of the grave walks at twilight, whispering out into the night weird words over and over with her raspy dead voice. Her black hair falling in front of her rotten face with skin that is as white as milk. She walks on and on over the other graves glancing at each tombstone smirking at the dates that they died. At the end of her nightly walk she tiptoes back to her own grave and sets herself in it mumbling things that no one would ever dream of thinking. She lays back closing her weak eyes and waits till she can climb out again.