The wind screams in my ear, almost warning me of the danger in the graveyard. It tears at my face, beating my cheeks . I shield my face with my arm and stagger into the gate of the graveyard.
The headstones are scattered over the field, not in any particular order. I shudder as the wind suddenly drops, leaving me in silence. The noise is deafening. The sudden croak of a frog draws my attention to the ground, and I notice a thick fog forming around my ankles. I start walking.
The graveyard tastes of death, and I try to swallow my fear. The sensation fills me with dread. Like soldiers, the headstones lay out in front of me, grey and crumbling. They cast shadows over the dry, dead grass, and most have started to fall apart. No one has taken the time to care for them.
The smell of fertiliser was somehow sinister, reminding me of the thin layer of earth which separates me from the bodies. The gardener must have recently come, but you couldn’t tell by the look of the graveyard. Flowers wilted near the headstones, and some sort of weed was twisting itself around the gate. Bushes were also overgrown and pushing themselves between the frame of the fence and the ground.
I shiver again, wishing I was somewhere else. Anywhere else.
A grumbling noise comes from behind me. Startled, I turn around and gasp as the darkness, emptiness encloses around me.
