THE CEMETERY AT NIGHT

Chapter 9: Facing the Demons at the Cemetery

Sami ran through the cold, misty air of the cemetery, his breath coming in sharp, labored gasps. His legs burned, but his eyes remained locked on the figures ahead—Grace and Hawthorne. His heart pounded in his chest, not just from the sprint, but from the weight of what he carried in his hand. The note felt heavy, like it held the fate of everything they had been fighting for.

"Grace! Grace!" Sami shouted, waving the note in the air with his left hand. His voice cut through the oppressive silence of the cemetery, the only sound besides his footsteps on the damp ground.

Grace spun around at the sound of his voice. Her eyes widened when she saw him running toward them. Relief washed over her face, and she turned quickly to Hawthorne, who was leaning heavily against an old tombstone.

"It's Sami! He's back—and he has the note!" Grace exclaimed, her voice tinged with a mix of excitement and urgency.

Hawthorne, despite the pain evident in his face, managed a smile. His right arm hung limply at his side, broken and wrapped hastily with a torn piece of his coat. Sami could see the strain in Hawthorne's eyes, but the sight of his friend's battered condition only spurred him on.

Sami reached them, breathless but triumphant. Without thinking, he threw his arms around Grace, pulling her into a tight embrace. The momentary relief of seeing her safe washed over him, if only for a fleeting second.

"I got it, Grace. I found the note!" Sami said, his voice still breathless. His eyes, wide with urgency, flicked from Grace to Hawthorne, who stood a few feet away, his face pale but determined.

Grace pulled back from the hug and stared at Sami, her expression a mix of awe and worry. "Thank God, Sami. I didn't think you'd make it back in time."

"Barely did," Sami replied, still catching his breath. He quickly glanced at Hawthorne's injured arm and frowned. "What happened?"

"Hawthorne fought off whatever that thing was, but it broke his arm before we could get away," Grace explained, her voice steady but filled with concern.

"We don't have much time," Hawthorne interjected, his voice tight with pain but laced with urgency. "Did you find out what the note says?"

Sami handed the note to Grace, who unfolded it with trembling fingers. She scanned the page, her brow furrowing as she tried to make sense of the cryptic symbols and hurried handwriting. The words were frantic, the ink smeared in places, as though written in a state of panic.

"It's all here," Grace murmured, her eyes flicking over the strange phrases. "The Ritual of Shadows. It explains how to stop it... but it's dangerous. It warns that we'll need something from the grave of the one who started the ritual."

"Lydia," Sami said quietly, his voice almost a whisper.

The three of them stood in tense silence, the weight of the truth settling over them like a suffocating fog. Lydia had been involved in something far darker than they had imagined. The ritual had consumed her, and now it was up to them to stop it—if they even could.

"We have to go to her grave, don't we?" Grace asked, though she already knew the answer.

Sami nodded, his jaw clenched. "We do. But we have to be prepared. Whatever attacked Hawthorne, whatever's been hunting us, it's not going to let us finish this easily."

Hawthorne, despite his pain, straightened and gave a determined nod. "We don't have a choice. If we don't end this tonight, it'll never stop."

The wind picked up around them, carrying with it an eerie whisper, as if the very air around them was alive with unseen forces. Sami glanced toward the far end of the cemetery, where the shadows seemed to gather in greater numbers. Something was waiting for them there, something ancient and full of malice.