Don't listen, don't look, don't turn around. . .
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| Paris - An Old Cemetery, by DG Hudson |
A child sleepwalks, unbeknownst to the rest of the family. Out the door, and into a nearby cemetery, stepping gingerly, not feeling the cold night air. She halts amid the dark stone tombs of yesteryear, eye closed and hands sensing her path and her active mind guiding her tiny feet.
A cat growls and hisses in the shadows of a nearby tomb and the child awakens. There is fear in her eyes yet she knows not what caused her to awaken. She looks around, feeling an aura of restlessness in the spirits biding in the place. All the things around her are dark and foreboding. . .she screams, breaking the stillness of the night. . .
Back in her own home, a few houses away, a mother hears the scream through her sleep and awakens panicked. She knows her child walks at night. What calls her? She is up in a minute knowing where to find the little one. The child is always drawn to the cemetery, as if for a purpose. A shiver runs down the mother's spine.
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I woke up sweating, looking about me and trying to determine where I was. In the dark, my sleepy eyes could still make out some things by the light of the moon shining outside, its light beaming in the window. I tried to calm myself, this was familiar, not like the dream from which I had woken. A dream where I was alone in the dark, in the middle of a cemetery hundreds of years old, with no idea why I was there nor how I had gotten there. I drifted back into sleep and the dream continued. . .
I didn't recognize the place at all, and there was a feeling of very old things lurking. Why was I standing still, why did I feel like something was getting closer, something I didn't want to see. Why wasn't I running or at least moving away?
I turned, hearing something behind me. There was nothing there. I looked for my house, but I couldn't see anything, the fog has rolled in, damp, cloying and thick enough to smell. An earthy smell, like earth freshly turned. Or, musty like a grave. What am I doing here? How did I get here?
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The doorbell rang, and I nearly fell off the couch. I had fallen asleep again, Was that really a bell I heard or did I dream that too? There was no way I was answering a door after midnight.. .especially on Samhain, All Hallows Eve, when the spirits can cross over. No way.
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WEP
Minor feedback acceptable Or MPA
WC=449
That's my entry for this October Challenge of WEP, Write...Edit...Publish, hosted by Denise and Yolanda at the WEP site. This is Flash Fiction using your creative turn of mind in the form of prose, poetry, non-fiction, art, or photos.
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| Check the WEP site for details |
The prompt: Tell us about the horror that stalked you in the night. Write about it for this challenge and turn those childhood fears into a scare-fest like no other. . .but then leave your night light on when you go to bed. It's supposed to prevent the spirits coming in under cover of darkness, or so my friend's Italian grandmother told her. . .
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Do you dislike being in dark dank places, especially cemeteries? Do you feel an affinity to the spirit world, walking dead or otherwise?
Please leave a comment to let me know you stopped by and I'll respond. Don't forget to check the list for DL (Direct Link) at the WEP site to read more Halloween tales. It's your treat for Samhain.
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