13 Halloween Tales: The Cemetery by Kirsty Duncan

I always liked 
old graveyards, 
peaceful and quiet,
familiar places,
their histories of 
families, communities,
until that fateful day,
when I failed to heed
the sentries’ warnings
to grave robbers 
and all who dared 
walk among the dead, 
as I descended down 
the lichen covered steps of 
the blackened churchyard,
read each darkened headstone,
walked deeper and deeper
into the ancient burial ground,
under the ever-watchful eye
of the haunted castle, 
the tombstones grew
older and older,
the sky above,
blacker and blacker,
the temperature
plummeted,
my skin began to crawl,
I started to run,
a cold, sharp wind
hindered my escape,
long, icy fingers clawed 
at my back,
hobbled my every step,
until I reached
the bustling street, 
sunlight and goodness.