#i think yes...

Hemlock Grove; Cemetery, Evening.

She didn't know how she got there or where she was even, but here she was. In a coffin and losing air; fast. Screaming out for help wasn't an option. As she had soon found out that it wasn't helping. She would soon run out of time and air and she'd be dead, again.

The question was, would she stay dead? She wasn't sure how this werewolf thing worked. Yes, at first, she had repressed it. Dismissed her actions as a dream, and put them on Peter. Spread the rumor that he had killed all those girls. It hadn't been til she had seen Peter, and the Godfrey's, through her window in the hospital, that it had hit her; not fully. Not to the point that she knew that she was a werewolf or a vulgarf. 

"Stay calm, Christina. Stay calm..", she couldn't stay calm though. She knew it was impossible, in this type of situation. After awhile, she let out a loud scream and began scratching her nails along the lid of the casket.

"Let me out! Let me out!", she continued to scream, shout, claw and kick her legs. Trying to get someones attention. Anyone's attention. She needed out and she needed out fast.

The air was running thin and she was running out of energy. She'd die here, surely. With one last scream, she fell silent, her bloodstained hands fell to her chest.

"I'll get free... I will... If it's the last thing I... I.. I do...", falling silent. Her chest raising in falling in shallow motions. Would no one take pity on her? Surely there was someone. A grave keeper. Someone who watches over the dead. 

---

The old grave keeper, didn't know that Christina Wendall, would rise from the dead that dead or be the one to investigate. He didn't know he'd die that night other -- of a heart attack, of course. He thought that watching over the dead, was just that. Watching over the dead. How was he to know that the stiffs would come to life, because that doesn't happen, but in Hemlock Grove, anything is possible. 

Right?

He had dressed in his usual uniform before leaving his empty home. See the grave keeper, lived on his own His wife had dead some years ago and his only child lived far away with his little family. Bob had begun to think that his son had forgotten him and in a way, he was okay with that. He had lived his life, raised his son and sent him off, out into the world, like a parent often does. 

Arriving at the Cemetery, he climbed out of his old truck, which barely worked and sometimes took ten to fifteen minutes for the engine to start, grabbed his flashlight and made his way into the gate. Making his roads, while shinning the light around the headstones.

He often wondered what stories the dead held, like many people do. What sort of lives they lived and how they lived them with? But, I guess, it doesn't matter how one lives their life. We all die in the end. 

Christina Wendall's grave was just a few feet away. She had been one of the last deaths in this small town, not mention Letha Godfrey and her aunt; Olivia. It had been; some say, Shelley Godfrey, Olivia's daughter, who had been behind these gruesome attacks and Christina had been her last victim, Bob didn't believe it. Sure, Shelley, may had been; in the eyes of some, a monster, but a monster or not, he didn't think she had been behind the killings. She had, had a kind heart. 

And, while everyone had been afraid of her, called her names, such as freak or monster, this old man did not. He could see the light in others, that most could not. 

Yes, she had killed this young thing, but perhaps, she had a reason. Protections, of someone she loved. Her cousin, maybe. I guess, they would never know.

As Bob made his way towards Christina's grave, he could have sworn he heard screaming and a plea for help. Then again, it could have been the wind, but he was curious and it showed. Kneeling down to the ground, he pleased his head against the ground and listened.

Yes, screaming, shouting, kicking and clawing. She was alive in there. Alive. How could they bury someone alive? How? Frantically, he ran off to his truck to fetch his shovel. Dropping his light about half way through. Even though, it was dark, he managed to make his way across the cemetery, not once, but twice.

"Hold on!", he screamed. His words lifting off the air, the minute it had grown silent again, had been the minute he had started digging. Shoveling the dirt away, his heart pounding in his chest. This could all be a dream and any minute now, he could wake, but maybe it wasn't. 

Bob continued to dig and dig and dig some more till, he spied the coffins lid, dropping to his knees, he pried and pushed the lid away. Revealing Christina's face, then her chest, where her bloody hands lay. All the off.

Falling with a thud to the ground. 

"Oh... dear... Oh, dear..."

---

Christina was still. Unmoving, but she was breathing. Barely. She hadn't registered that her coffin lid had been removed. Until the air at danced across her face through her hair.

Still her eyes remained closed. It wasn't till Bob had pressed his hand against her throat to get her pulse, he was rewarded with a faint throb. 

She was alive.

Gasping for breath, she rose, half dazed. The sound that fell from her lips, was inhuman and in an attempt to get herself free, she lashed out at the man down; whom was still trying to help her from her grave.

Kicking and screaming. 

She dug her blooded fingers into the mans face and causing him to bleed, he had snapped the young woman's arms back. It was then that Christina became aware that she had been freed.

Without a word, she scrambled to her feet and ran off, she was dazed, confused and about to pass out, but she had a mission.

Not only did she want to remove herself from the position she had currently been in, she wanted to remove herself from the scene, entirely.

--

As Christina made her way to the exit, Bob felt the twinge and pain deep within his chest, followed by a sharp pain shooting up his arm. He knew the sings all to well.

He was having a heart attack and there had been no one around to help him. If he had, had a cell phone, he would have called for help, but he was to old fashioned.

So he took his fate as it were and let the good lord take him.

---

Somehow, she had managed to make it out of the cemetery and far away, her feet were doing the thinking for her and before she knew it, she was at the gypsies empty trailer. 

It hadn't even hit her till she had awoke the next day, tangled up in the sheets that littered the floor, a sheen coat of sweat, adorning her face, with a struggled breath, she wiped her face and made her way towards the bathroom.

You know how Alice felt when she fell down the hole? Well, that's who Christina felt, not only that, but she felt lost and dizzy. Cleaning the dirt, sweat and blood from her face and hair, she shed the clothes she had been buried in, stepped into the shower and washed her body, in-between her frantic screams and cries, that is.

After she finished, she climbed out and dressed -- in same clothes she had shed before stepping into the shower. She made her way around the empty trailer, finding a bag of chips; she ate them down quickly, walked back to the bathroom and ran the faucet o the sink and drank as much as she could, without getting sick, wiped her face. Waited a few moments and repeated the process.

After awhile, she explored every inch of the trailer, she found a few articles of clothing and changed into them, tossing the clothes she had been buried in, into the fire place and lighting it up. After warming up, she got up, went to the kitchen and drank some more water. In fact, she kind a lived in the kitchen, never straying to far from the sink.

This continued on for a few days and on, she had forced herself away from the kitchen and on the old, beat up couch and fell asleep, what she thought was the third day, she found a piece of paper and a pen, sat down and began to write. 

Why, simply because she could or and this has been established, she's a fucking freak like that. 

---

I used to be this normal human girl, trying to understand the world and all things in it, but It all went to shit, when that gypsy moved to town. Sure, I guess, I can't blame everything, all on him, but he is the main reason I am the way I am. 

He made me.

I was curious and confused; more confused than curious, I admit that now and when I threw myself head first down the rabbit hole, looking for answers and a place to belong. I guess, I should have done my research more thoroughly or asked Peter what it was like to shed his human form on the full moon and cross that threshold from human to werewolf.

Perhaps, I was ashamed and to lost in my delusions, to even know that what I had become, wasn't a dream, but was indeed, real. 

I did some things, I killed of girls that flaunted their sexual side, instead of hiding them, like I did. I admit, that what I did, was wrong and I'm sorry now. 

I only want to get help. I want to understand and control the animal within. 

Peter made me, he should at least try and help.

I still hate him. I still hate that whore of his -- even though, she's dead, doesn't mean I can't hate her. Should I feel sad that her and that thing she was carrying is dead? I guess, I should, but will I? Never.

I don't think they realize I'm back yet or maybe they don't want to. Maybe they've had enough shit go on this little shit town of ours that they just want to turn their backs on the strange and supernatural and forget. 

I'd want to forget to, but unfortunately, I can't.

Chances are, they think it was another grave robber, and they aren't looking for me, but my body. 

Who knows.

Who cares.

---

Sitting the pen down, and the page, she stood and stretched, once on her feet, she dusted herself off and left. 

Peter was gone, as it was clear to say, judging by the empty trailer.

Olivia Godfrey, the woman who, apparently ran this town, was just as dead as her niece was. 

Jawsh Hotcherson

"My jawline brings all the girls to the yard"

NEVER BEFORE HAVE I LOVED A JAW SO MUCH

She touched the Jaw

Yeah...

Ok I get it

I have lots of issues