Supposed to be Dead

He was supposed to be dead.

I saw them lay his casket deep into the ground and cover it with mounds of dirt mere hours ago.
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​My fist tightens around the flowers intended for his grave. I don't realize I'm strangling them until petals trickle down like autumn leaves. 

My eyes are playing tricks. What I'm seeing can't be real.

He was supposed to be dead, but here he stands where his body is buried six feet under.

He takes a step in my direction. No footprint is left in the fresh dirt.

I'm frozen. I must be hallucinating.

His feet continue in my direction. Each step is careful and slow.

His eyes lock with mine. He's coming for me.

I don't believe in ghosts. I don't believe in ghosts. I DON'T BELIEVE IN GHOSTS!

He reaches his hand out. His fingertips are inches from my face. A shiver traces down my backbone and revives me from my trance. I drop the flowers, turn around and run as fast as my legs allow.

I don't look back until I've reached the gate. He's gone.