Cemetary Autumn
The leaves fell from the trees in drops of red, orange and gold, falling into a hovering mist the color of the old monuments and statues of the graves. They swirled the mist slightly as they fell, as the sun slowly retreated into an explosive blaze of a colorful autumn sunset.
At the highest point in the graveyard, where the mausoleum for a wealthy family from days gone by sits in solitude, the mist slowly rolled downward to fill the lower parts of the cemetery, giving the area a silent twilight movement that is normally only seen when the ghosts come out to play in the dead of night.
Through this mist a solitary figure strolled, his wake caused the mist to stir and boil like a witches cauldron. He looked around as he strolled, not in search of anything in particular, but to make sure that he was alone in the cemetery before finally leaving through the last open gate and closing the cemetery for the night.
The mist and the twilight created optical illusions, making trees and shrubs look more like people than plants, so it took the man longer to close up than was usually normal. When he was finally sure that no living creatures, human or otherwise, remained within the cemetery, he stepped out of the last open gate, locking it behind him.
The cemetery was surrounded on all four sides by red brick walls topped with an iron railing studded with sharpened spikes, broken only by the four iron gates that led to the sidewalks and cobblestone streets. The streets were themselves bordered by houses built so close together that neighbors could reach through open windows and shake hands with each other across the open space.
And as the last rays of the bright golden sun disappeared over the western horizon, a bloated and orange-colored full moon raised from its slumber in the east, shining down on the houses in pale comparison to its much larger and brighter daytime sister.
It was then that the streets surrounding the graveyard came to hyperactive life. Witches, goblins, vampires, ghosts and the occasional werewolf and pirate filled the streets, excitedly running from door to door, laughing and giggling in their quest for sticky sweet treasures.
None of them looked at the graveyard. Even the most terrifying of monsters on the street was too afraid to look into the graveyard at night, especially not this night.
But the graveyard was looking out at them.
Standing by the recently locked main gate, a shadowy figure all in black watched the activities on the street, waiting for the opportunity to present itself. Just one of those ghosts or goblins or witches or vampires or any single one of the many other types of people on the street would be enough to fulfill the figure until next year. All it took was one to satisfy the hunger, a hunger that burned and ached within him with such intensity that it blocked out all other feelings and thoughts, a hunger that had swelled up within him over the past year and was now ready to burst through his body and consume whatever it could find.
Opportunity came knocking about half an hour later, and the hunger could not resist its call.
A witch had gotten into an argument with the group of vampires and ghosts that she had been walking with and stormed off to be alone. She crossed the street and started to walk on the cemetery side, where the shadowy figure watched her, the hunger growing inside him, desiring to be satiated.
As she came closer to the main gate of the cemetery, the shadowy figure stepped further back into the shadows. As the witch stepped in front of the main gate, the gate slowly opened with just the hint of a squeak as metal moved against metal, making the witch stop in her tracks and look at the opening the gates now made in the wall.
She stepped closer to the opening and peered inside the cemetery. “Hello?” she called out, looking into the moonlit mist of the cemetery. “Is anyone there?”
She could hear giggling and laughter from inside the cemetery, the sounds of children playing a game. Curious about who would play in a cemetery, the witch stepped through the open gate, looking around for the children that were playing among the graves but seeing only the gray mist as it swirled among the headstones.
“Hello!” she called out louder than before, trying o get the attention of the kids that seemed to be having so much fun. When she didn’t receive an answer, she walked further into the cemetery, her movements sending the mist swirling around her so that the lower portion of her body could not be seen.
Again she heard the laughter, and voices of children calling out to each other, as if a game of hide and seek were going on, so she walked a further ten feet into the graveyard. Looking around for the group of children she could hear but not see, the witch never heard the creaking of the gate as it closed and locked itself behind her. She did not see the shadowy figure as it crept out of the darkness and came to stand behind her. She did not see the glowing red eyes of the figure as the hunger within it became almost uncontrollable. She did not see a mouth full of long, needle-like teeth that opened, dripping venom onto the ground.
The headline of the newspaper the next day was about a terrorist attack on a US embassy somewhere in Africa, but the readers of the paper would see the story about the little girl named Wendy Meyers on page 4, who had gone missing while she was out trick-or-treating with her brothers. She had been dressed as a witch, had blond hair and blue eyes, and was only 7-years-old. If anyone saw her, they were to call the local police station immediately.
The caretaker of the cemetery showed up for work at 9:00 on November 1st. He found the gate locked, just as he had left it the night before. As he walked into the cemetery, he expected to find some sort of damage in the cemetery from teenagers who would be out causing havoc on Halloween, but he was surprised to see nothing out of the ordinary in the cemetery.
But further inspection of the cemetery revealed one thing that seemed out of place: a torn up piece of black cloth, covered in mud. The caretaker picked up the cloth, looked at it, and then walked over to one of the garbage cans and tossed the cloth inside.
He had never read the newspaper, and knew nothing about Wendy Meyers.
