Night of the Spirits
by sloanranger
Part #14
An idea came to Angus. He tied two of the blanket ends together making a homemade litter. It was hard getting the blanket wrapped around the dog but he finally got Joe's stiffened corpse into the contraption.
Taking hold of the other two ends, Angus backed himself into the wind.
Dragging Joe backwards down the path to the cemetery, the storm was hard, but not as difficult as it was earlier. It eased the Scot's mind somehow, not to be facing the wind. The inability to see into the night was strangely comforting.
Almost before he knew it and at about the time he was losing strength in his hands, the forest thinned. He passed a gravestone on his right...he was in the graveyard.
Angus turned around and for a brief, blessed minute the wind abated.
The sight was serene. The cemetery was a quiet oasis in the middle of the surrounding forest. Whitish gravestones stood out, catching the light of the now visible moon. Wooden crosses filled the spaces between the stones.
His eyes were scanning the graves, searching for Jeb's gravesite, when it all began again.
Clouds enveloped the moon and with a sudden scream the wind tore down from the trees, blowing so hard it tore the load from Angus's hands.
Poor Joe rolled out of the litter onto the ground and the yellow blanket took skyward.
(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.
