The story was simple enough: they were dead, both of them and they couldn’t find rest.
One night, a few days after she had arrived on a Saturday, they had seen each other from their respective side of the graveyard, for the graveyard was divided into two pieces by a river.
As we know, the (un)dead can’t cross running water, so they were stuck, sort of.
They could stand in front of the wooden bridge connecting the two halves of the graveyard and call out to each other without being able to reach the other. They would lead the most astounding of conversations, about life and unlife, death and undeath, the afterlife and well, afterdeath, oh, and how to keep away the bloody maggots when you went to sleep throughout the day, of course. Her fingers were itching to touch him (but maybe that was simply due to the mud underneath her fingernails, which stuck quite fiercely to her fingers, as she had to dig her way out of her grave every night – you can’t even image what a bother it is to get back into your coffin, and have it look like you didn’t leave at all, all while climbing back inside of that damn uncomfy box – phew).
So it seemed, that they had finally found in (un)death what they weren’t able to find in life, namely each other, but how did one get on about the let’s call them spacial difficulties?
There wouldn’t be any problem at all, but for the unwritten rule (which you shouldn’t take too literally, as somewhere someone surely has written it down at some point) that they weren’t to leave the graveyard grounds they were buried in, otherwise they could simply slip out through the gate to meet each other.
That way they had to work with the means at hand. Their first idea was the following: just raise the whole (undead) neighbourhood to haunt the place and then to deliver their demands, i.e. to make them redirect or fill up the river or whatever, an undead sit-in, or rather haunt-in, if you will. But that idea was scrapped after rolling it around for a bit and tentatively prodding it with a stick in their heads, because the prospect of a bunch of exorcists with flamethrowers to purge the shit out of them all frightened them – a bit. When they had nearly went through all of the possibilities that came to their mind, she had an idea that might just work.
What if they would simply shift a bit of the ground they were buried in, instead of themselves? With the help of an architect (at least that’s what he called himself, having worked as a janitor in the architecture department of the local university does seem to qualify you for that sort of job) they devised a cunning construction to finally bridge the ghastly river.
With a little help from some others her coffin was excavated, dragged across half of the graveyard (the drag marks would surely make for a nice surprise for the cemetery warden) and dumped across the river. After making the vernier adjustments according to the instructions of the architect, her grave was sealed and the empty coffin filled with earth, of which she kept a handful in her pocket – just to be on the safe side, as you never know with those written or unwritten rules and stuff. When they had finished, she took a deep breath – still just a bad habit from being alive – and set her foot onto the soft earth in her coffin. She giggled because of how her bare feet sank into the mud and dancingly crossed the river – though she could’ve saved the pirouette at the end, but you know what women are like – into her lovers outstretched arms.
From that day on they lived, or rather were dead, together ever after and if someone would try to exhume his body for some dubious reason someday in the future, he wouldn’t only find his remains in his grave, but the bones of two people in there clasping each other tightly.