Witchy's hand burst through the soft, wet soil. She began clawing away at the dirt between her and freedom, driven by some kind force urging her out of her earthen coffin. Her head breached the surface; she felt a strange sensation on her face and scalp, something she vaguely remembered as rain. Her decaying lungs expanded as she took her first breath in the few years after her death. In one massvie heave, she pulled herself from the hole in the Earth and stumbled to her feet.
Something....she needed something. Her insides burned like her stomach was on fire. Something to ease the pain.
Her mind was primitive, unable to even wonder why she had just woken up in the ground. She just wanted to ease the pain of her slow rot.
She heard a sound to her left. Shuffling awkwardly to face the noise, she saw from her one eye a young woman kneeling next to a tombstone a few yards away from her. Witchy's body reacted before she could process what she saw and started lurching toward the woman. Using the rain as a cover for her approach, she lumbered up behind the woman and grabbed her by the shoulder. The woman shreiked and turned, causing Witchy to lose her balance and fall ontop of her.
Then it hit her. All at once it made sense.
Flesh. She wanted flesh. She wanted her flesh.
Witchy's jaws opened wide and bit down on the throat of the woman, crushing her windpipe and turning her scream into a bloody gurgle. Placing her hands on the woman's head and chest, she slowly ripped the succulent flesh from the convulsing woman's neck. Her mouth filled with a warm, red liquid that leaked out from the space where her cheeks had been a few years earlier.
The fire in her stomach began to subside the more she ingested. She stripped the cheek fat and muscle from the twitching but lifeless head of the woman, gnawed the right ear off, and pulled the lower lip from its attachment to the woman's jaw with an ironic kiss of death.
"HEY!" she heard someone yell just as she began to work her way down the woman's body.
Multiple flashlight beams landed on her face and she turned to see her new company. Three men in jumpsuits stood staring in shock at the monstrocity; Witchy's face lacked cheeks or a left eye and was covered in blood, fat, and muscle tissue from the corpse of her kill. Content with her meal at the moment, she felt no need to attack them, but she found it odd that they all rushed at her with shovels in their hands. Before she could take another bite of her first meal since her death, the broadside of a shovel smashed into her rotting head, splintering her skull and crushing her brain.
"He didn't just eat their bodies, he ate their souls."