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Dead of Night

The sound of the bells ringing twelve carried across the graveyard, through the murky grey mist that had decided to settle. Muffled, the heart of the sound was more prominent than the fuzzy, frayed edges to the deep and echoey tolls.

The rustle and scraping of footsteps through fallen leaves swiftly brought my attention to something closer.

Who’d be walking through the graveyard at this time?

I’d never get to know.

The whispered hiss that came from this approaching stranger made me jump to my feet and flee without looking back.

Ghost-hunting is better indoors anyway, on nights like this.

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Still Night

Shadows shifted as clouds moved in to cover the bright Moon above. Figures danced between the trees below the glow, hidden from the naked eye through the blinding light which tore through the night’s darkness, bringing tears to to the eyes of anyone who should look.

The night was silent.

Calm.

Still.

Echoes carried upon the water faded quickly, as did the occasional ripple upon the water’s surface.

Even the blood-curdling scream bore no effect upon the stillness of the night, although the figures danced within the shadows a little quicker, and the night itself became a little more dark.

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The Wolf

The Crescent Moon shone brightly behind the wispy clouds that attempted to cover it. The sky beyond was a very deep blue, pierced by thousands of stars. Together everything pointed towards the very cold night ahead.

The man looked up to the Moon, watching his breath evaporate before him as he did so.

“At least the wolf will not be around tonight,” he thought as he hurried home, dashing through long-empty streets.

His vision was becoming clearer the darker it became. In the distance, he could see the stones on the road ahead. He knew the beast within was awakening.

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Whispers

The abandoned graveyard lay in ruins on the hillside where it had once stood proudly for hundreds of years. The residents moved to a new location lower-ground, now only the oldest of broken headstones remained.

Elizabeth looked at the date on one of these remaining stones: 1793. It was moss-covered and weathered by time, but the date was still clearly visible. She ran her finger down the headstone, and smiled when she reached what felt like a letter E.

“They won’t be moving me so easily”, she whispered, as she settled herself into the ground she had long called home.

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Drippings

Per-link.

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The gentle musical sound echoed through the shadows, constant in its rhythm and volume.

The walls of the square room provided the most perfect of acoustics, free from any other interruption.

Per-link.

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Per.

The sudden exhale of breath stopped the rhythm instantly. For a second. Then it began again.

Per-link.

Per-link.

Per.

The scraping of a heavy stone interrupted the rhythm once more.

The sound of shuffling echoed through the darkness, followed by the padding of soft skin on the stone floor. Echoing footsteps faded into the distance and out of the crypt.

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