Graveyard, the Undead

Carla stolled down the street wearing her usual attaire. Black leather pants, black steel toed boots, a latex shirt with straps buckling at the front up and down the vestment and the sleeves ripped off. She had short but thin hair dyed black, heavy eye shadow, and black lipstick, her eyes were blue. Thin, the woman was 5’5 and just turned 19. She had shaply thighs, she ran alot. 
She was a goth.
She did what she would do often times on various night of the week, buy a bottle of whiskey, go to the cemetary and drink around the graves of the part of the cemetary that the grounds keeper would call, “that best forgotten” section. Where all the worst murderers, pedophiles, mutilators and rapists, even wiches and devil worshipers were buried. Some of them hung, others shot dead, and even some burnt alive. 
It was easy to see what attracted her to this part of the cemetary. Many of them were misunderstood and lashed out because they were outcasted and exiled from society, like her. 
But unlike her almost everysingle one of them were men, even most of the witches were men. She always sat against the tombstones, in her sick little mind she liked to think that she was giving these psycho’s one last appatite of flesh, mainly by sitting her sexy ass either over their faces or sitting at the midsection of the grave to sit on their dicks. Many of them were buried without coffins she was told.
She took a long drink of the whiskey shutting her eyes letting the burn in her throat pass. Her fingernals were painted purple and her hand covered in a thick black fishnet like glove that went up her forearm. 
She moved one of her blonde bangs from her face and with a smile strutted along the graves looking at each one and at what they did to deserve Death.
She saw one unkempt with a waring granite headstone covered in moss. She could barly make out the name, saying thr name as she scraped away the moss.
“Jerrod Harrows, ?-1946 ‘Burn in hell'”
She had never seen someone so bad that their was a messege scrolled on the tombstone. She bit her lip smiling. She immeditly pulled out her iPhone looking up the name ‘Jerrod Harrows’. In her town. “Charged with serial murderer, attempted murder, robbery, torture, mutilation, kidnaping, assualt, battery, arson, conspirisy, Cannibalism, and a fuckload of rape charges. He was buried with all of his murder weapons apperently.” she smiled as she slid her phone in her pocket and sat down on the grave as her ass flatened on the grass. 
“Raped all those women, I wonder how big he was.” she said with a smile, her eyes peered down, “You would tell me how big you were right sexy?” she teased the corpse laying under 6 feet of dirt. 

Eyes that had not moved in over 50 years shot open. It made a fist with it’s decaying hand causing many cracks. The unliving fiend breathed in filling it’s lungs with air, it’s once finely tailored suit shredded and filled with dust. It’s black hair down to it’s eyes, it felt it’s eye sockets. With rough withers fingers. Nothing there, but it could somehow see. It had no nose, but it could see, and smelled the sweet sweat of a female women, and perfume and whiskey under 6 feet of dirt.