Chilled to the Bones

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"What's up, man>" Joe hollered. "Something in your way?" "Yeah, there's something in my way all right. I've uncovered a pile of bones." "Bones? What kind of bones?" "Bones, human bones with a skull." "Oh, my God!" the workers yelled in unison as they scrambled off their paint buckets and slid down the embankment of the hole Warren was peering into, "Should we move them?" Joe asked. "Well, I can't dig with them there," was all Warren could muster. Trevor picked up a long tree root and nudged the skull. It rolled over, and empty sockets stared back, vacant and weathered by time. The backhoe had cast the rest of the bones adrift in the dirt. They were a strange dirty tan color, and the hinges of the arms and legs were bulbous. He leaned down to investigate them more closely. Several hundred years and the right soil conditions for the fungus that had settled in the buried bones propagated a walking terror. Trevor was choses as the new host for that terror. What was left of the other workers' bodies was disposed of, and darkness fell.