Night of the Spirits
by sloanranger
Part 5
There were two cornfields that came before the forest, harvested now and the Scot had passed over these. He was on the narrow trail that led through the dense woods to the cemetery. A pale moon shone but in these woods, it gave little light.
It was not an easy trek; the recent rain had made the trail difficult. The night creatures were starting to make noises and the wind was coming up. Tree branches wet with leaves barely clinging to them, were swiping at his face and clothes.
Angus heard an owl screeching as it swept down on some poor rodent but it wasn't an owl that flew by his face and struck him. He screamed and dropped his load as the thing flew back into the trees.
What in blazes was that, he thought, shaking as badly as the tree leaves. He told himself to calm down, t'weren't nothing a'tall - probably an old bat. He shivered twice as much then, because Angus feared and hated bats.
"Unclean things, don't care what nobody says. I hate 'em." He said aloud. "Whisht – now they got me talking to myself."
He picked up his burden again but couldn't seem to get a righteous hold on the bundle. A 35-pound dead dog is an unwieldy thing to carry. He finally got old Joe over his shoulder when something else hit his face. Another of them black devils, he thought, terrified.
It flew right at him and side-swiped his cheek, again. "Aaahhhh," Angus cried, and he dropped Joe again, slapping at both sides of his face as though there were ants on them. He jumped from one foot to the other and finally ran off as fast as he could.
(To be continued).
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Night of the Spirits - @Short Story
Short Story@SHORTSTORY - Historical Fiction, Horror: Dying man Jeb Crayton, asks his friend Angus, an old Scot who likes his liquor to help his widow after he's gone. Days later, Angus is asked to bury Jeb's dog, Joe. It becomes a horrific task.
