A violent Storm, A shrouded Silhouette, A dead body. As the tempest storms edge in closer, they show a sign to the unarmed humans below. They will be invaded and the graveyard is moaning. The dead are rising and they are hungry, very hungry...for flesh. Not even the group of alien hunters can save the world if they are trapped in a library
The night time echo was dull and eerie, the birth place of the undead was glistening off the corner of the moon. The blustery atmosphere was tightening and it felt as though people could have chocked on the gas it was realising. A shrouded silhouette passed through the graveyard and finally put down the eccentric vase on the crumbled headstone. The tombstones were like body guards and were covering up his lower body and his crimson eyes were the only visible part of his face that his jet black hood was covering up. The only tree for miles around was blowing in the blustery air, it seemed nonplussed, as though it was testing fate to reach out and coil around him. It was waiting, waiting for the undead to rise.
The dirt was piling up and the coffin lying beneath had snapped into two and a grimey hand reached up into the air. The moaning had begun and something was pulling itself from the dirt. The elusive figure took a step back and the black nails kept pulling itself up.
He looked around and smoke began to rise from the graves and it began to rise from the other graves. More moaning continued and more undead zombies began pulling themselves up. More and more. Blood curling around the watered mouths, starving for a feast of fleash. Swarmig around the figure until he showed and reached a pendant into the air.
A local reporter had seen it all and the figure had pointed over to him. A violent storm was brewing and rained poured and lightning struck him but his vision and all himself was intact, as he slowly got chewed to death.