HSSC - Dirt (I know it's late...please please look at it though...)

Dirt.

The taste and smell of dirt was all Hank could think of. Total darkness surrounded him. Where am I? Hank thought to himself. Trying to move, Hank found that his legs and arms were bound. Panic struck, he struggled at his unseen bonds. Dirt fell around him. Wet, fresh earth. In his struggles, Hank felt something at his side. He strained against the rope as best as he could do. His hand gripped the object. It was wooden, and long. Pulling it with his fingertips, inch by inch, he finally got to the end of the wooden pole. It was a shovel. He ran his finger along it's cold metal edge. It had a sharp edge from years of use. Maybe, just maybe, he could cut the ropes and be free of....where? His wrist hurt as he rubbed the ropes along the shovelhead. Every other attempt at cutting would gain him another cut on his already bloodied hands. Pain. That was real. Something he could feel. Urging him on towards freedom. After what seemed like an eternity, Hank felt his bonds slip of his aching hands. He sat up and struggled with the ropes on his legs. He grabbed around for anything to help pull himself upright. The walls around him were moist dirt that crumbled down around his feet. Standing up he felt a slight breeze, and could barely make out a shape at the edge of the shallow hole he was in. Hank's mind was full of questions. Why am I in a hole. Who tied me up. Where am I? For now, all he wanted to do was get out of the hole and see what the shape next to the hole was. Maybe it would jog his memory.
One hand over the other, he pulled handfuls of dirt towards him. Gaining enough of a handhold was difficult, but finally Hank was out. He stumbled towards the object. It was stone, a gravestone. He was standing at his own gravestone. As his bloodied fingers ran over the chiseled letters, he didn't need to see to know it was his name. Hank Fielding. The date October 31, 20**...the rest was unfinished. A light played through the trees in the distance. Flashlights. Coming closer. Three or four of them. He ducked behind the gravestone. Cold and shivering he heard the footsteps crunching leaves. The lights flickered around the tombstone, but not illuminating his hiding space. "Over here guys! This is where I put him...I swear....b-b-but..where is he now!? Jake. What did you do with Mr. Fields? It wasn't supposed to go this far. It was just supposed to scare him a bit. Jesus Jake !! We killed him !! We're going to jail !!" Hank recognized the voices. They were his students. Jake Brinley, Terry Johnson, and Jessie McDonald. Not bad kids. Just a bit rowdy. Why? Why would they do this. He remembered a doorbell ringing. Opening his front door. Three costumed kids definately too old to be trick-or-treating. He started to tell them this...then WHAM!! His head was reeling with a white light. They hit me with a shovel...the one I have in my hand....the one I kept in my garage.....the one I have always used to bury MY victims !! How dare they think they can bury me. On MY night....the one night a year I can be myself.......The Creeper !! As the students stood over the shallow grave, they never saw the figure that perched itself on the gravestone. The shovel took all three of the students heads clean off. The last thing each of them saw....was dirt.


I know it's a few hours late...but please consider it...it's my first competition......

Kinda funny, I liked it.

awesome i liked good job