Ezra took a shaky step forward, dead leaves crunching underfoot. Like the bodies of the dead. A foul stench rose up around him. The stench of rotting corpses. His mind screamed at him, yelled at him, pleaded with him. It begged him to turn around. He couldn't. Ezra stood transfixed at the sight of the old stone altar. He had this strange feeling that he wasn't alone. A hunch, if you may. But Ezra stood, alone. Well, that's what his eyes told him.
Screams echoed through the woods behind him, but he couldn't move. He stood transfixed at the old stone altar. A blood moon became clear through the clouds, a mumbling, a chanting grew up around him. He now saw the horror that his eyes had kept from him. Tall, slender figures, with malformed, burned, scarred faces. Empty eye sockets stared back at him.
The chanting grew louder. Words Ezra couldn't make out. But they frightened him. Chilled him to the bone.
Shrill shrieks rumbled through the gravestones, a slight breeze moving the dead leaves.
The chanting stopped.
The shrieks grew louder, and louder til they were inside his head, his mind, eating him from inside, gnawing at his thoughts, devouring him.
"Sleep like the dead! Nos fertum lynthisya vetos! Nos fertum lynthisya vetos!" Ezra stumbled backwards, falling to the ground. The creatures, the, the things, closed in around him, they took out a small curved dagger, with a gold embossed hilt. He tried to cry out for help but no words would leave his mouth. Blood spurted from his mouth as the ceremonial dagger entered his stomach. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped backwards.
The beasts would have their feast.
