A Welcome into Darkness

Trail of the Undead

Dusk was setting in and the rays of the sunlight were becoming translucent. The air was thick with the scent of decay. It could almost dry up someone's lungs if one ever breathed it in. The automobile spurred down the street at an even pace. Little pebbles trickled on the sides of the tires once it hit the dirt road. For a second the steering wheel jerked once it hit the cobblestone, but quickly it was caught by a tired forceful grip. The young man behind the wheel was sweating uncontrollably, his lips parched, his forehead gathering wetness. He licked his lips trying to get something to drink but the only thing he could taste was salt which made him grimace after the fact. Almost instinctively he flung off his sunglasses noticing the sun settle onto the horizon. Soon, it has to be soon. I have to hurry.

The tires spun frantically as he neared the old cemetery, and in one final instant, they came to a halt. The grip on the steering wheel loosened as he nervously fidgeted with the door lock. Once it was open he went to back trunk, eagerly propping it open with a shaking key. A backpack was everything he needed, and once the straps were around his shoulders, he violently shut the trunk. The sweat was drying now feeling the nice cool crisp air hit is neck. It was as if someone had turned on the air conditioning outside; it cooled his lungs, made him walk straighter. His legs moved with a steady pace, his heart pumping at a moderate rate. This is where it was.

Narrowing in on the dented gateway entrance, he surveyed his surroundings. The black metal gate stood there as if to warn out any intruders. A sign posted on the side was faded, and the only word that could be made out was CEMETERY. The name was scribbled off with some kind of dull paint. His hands came up to pry open the gate with no avail. It would have to take some arm muscle to pry the damned thing open. Searching through his backpack he found the crowbar which was easily pried between the lock and one of the poles. Forcing his hands to the side, the gate tore open as if a gun had gun went off. Hopefully he did not disturb the dead, and why shouldn't he, he was there on a mission, on a quest for peace.

Of course peace can be defined on so many levels, he dare not explore the alternatives of the manner. The cemetery looked almost black to the color. Jutted tombs for the taking. Some were the simple kind, with cheaply made marble etched with the names of the deceased. A couple of yards away the graves had gotten bigger and broader. Some had crosses done on the top of them to give the deceased more of a proper burial, others had been destroyed over time due to weather and just time itself.

The young man had been looking for one in particular, one with the name plastered on its headstone: Henry Morris. He knew it had been the right cemetery, he had done all the research in the world pin pointing where his grave had been. After the fact he had spent countless nights preparing for what he was going to do when he found it. He read all the right books, studied at night where the dead flourished with excitement. Writing down notes which made him more proficient in his findings, and mapping out his destination only two days ago, he was well endowed with the equipment needed to get the job done. Nothing else had to be said except for this had been a quest and a mission all rolled into one. The quest to find out what happened to his friend, and the mission to destroy the rest of the body, if he could ever find it.

Accidentally he tripped over the edge of a flower basin and he caught himself in midair. The trembling breath ceased as he regained his composure still not sure if he could what he actually came here to do. He placed his backpack on the ground, digging through the equipment he had brought with him. Inside one of the zippered pockets was his lucky crucifix that belonged to his grandmother, and out of another one he brought out rosary beads made out of wood. Little by little he began to recite the lords prayer as the sun dove into the setting ahead.

He did not know what kind of mysterious energy lurked here. Maybe some teenage kids would practice voodoo magic on someone else's grave hoping they would catch the sight of a ghost. Some more morbid people used to practice séances or engage in witchcraft in cemeteries, so he was not too sure on what would protect him or not. Have the faith, it will be the only thing to protect you. His feet shuffled against the grass creating slight bits of noise that could be heard by the little wildlife. He noticed a nearby squirrel scuttle away as he approached one of the winding roads in the cemetery. The trees were deadly silent, only a whisper of faint wind could be heard. The sky started to turn from a reddish orange to a purplish blue haze. This was not good.