Matheus stuck his head out of the crypt. The fading sunset lingered on the horizon, brighter than Matheus expected. He wondered what the time was. He slipped outside, shoving the heavy door closed after him. Footsteps muddied the snow; a semi-circle outlined the path of the door’s swing. Matheus frowned. Even an idiot might find the idea of people entering and exiting a crypt suspicious. Grabbing armfuls of snow, Matheus covered the marks. He stepped back to the path, examining the crypt. The snow looked odd, but better than a bunch of footprints screaming out “Grave robbers! Necrophiliacs!” to the whole world.
Mrs. Rathbone’s headstone beckoned. Matheus stopped, rereading the inscription. Overhead, storm clouds tumbled in from the ocean, catching the light off the rising moon. Matheus inhaled, the sharp tingle of oncoming snow filling his nose. In the distance, a siren rose and faded. Matheus shook his head. He needed supplies, new clothes, and most importantly, a shower. Leaving Mrs. Rathbone behind, Matheus tromped to the open gate. The BMW had disappeared; tow truck or car thieves, Matheus didn’t really care which. Apartment buildings filled most of the area around Hopeside. Matheus tried a few of the darkened windows, hoping the inhabitants had left, and didn’t just enjoy hanging out with all their lights off. His third attempt opened with a squeak of protest. Matheus pushed in the screen, then clambered over the sill.