Eeeeeek…hoo-hoo-hoooo…
An ear-splitting cry ricocheted across the crumbling tombstones, sending an uneasy shiver down the backs of the tour group.
“Not to worry…,” their guide’s voice rumbled like distant thunder, “merely a screech owl on his nightly hunt for rodents and the like.”
Emily had butterflies in her stomach.
Exploring a cemetery on Halloween seemed like fun at first, which is why she accepted the dare last week from her friend Sarah with a laugh. But now that she was here, she felt a bit on edge. The Halloween Graveyard Ghost Tour, a yearly tradition in this small New England town, promised tales of local haunted history and the possibility of spirit sightings. Although Emily didn’t exactly believe in ghosts, she couldn’t completely dismiss the idea, either.
The night was chilly and, except for the cry of the owl, utterly silent. Smoky streams of clouds hung over the slivered moon before beating a hasty retreat as if sensing the spirits below would soon be out to prowl.
While waiting for the tour to begin, Emily huddled under the barren limbs of a massive oak with Sarah and the others—the cemetery loomed just ahead. Dating as far back as 1660, the ancient burial grounds sat on an eerie stretch of frost-heaved earth marked with gravestones in no logical pattern. It was as if the spirits of the dead had arranged them for some sort of otherworldly board game that only they knew how to play.
Their tour guide, Andrew, a dashing figure with his top hat and billowing black cape, carried a lantern whose flame flickered bravely against the gloom of the late October night. Emily felt a tingle of excitement at the thought of exploring the cemetery with such an attractive man leading the way—until she reached the entrance gate.
A rusty iron behemoth, it stood like a grim sentinel to all who entered, swinging inward on shrieking hinges as if expecting them. Something about that gate and the inky darkness beyond gave Emily pause as a cold sense of foreboding washed over her, creeping down into her bones. She took a deep breath and did her best to ignore it as she tucked a wayward curl behind her ear and marched along with the group.
No one spoke as they entered the cemetery. Leaves crunched beneath their feet while the hushed silence of death kept up a never-ending refrain. Through the thin rubber of her sneakers, Emily imagined she could feel the ground pulse with the souls of the dead preparing to make an entrance.
Stopping in front of an elaborate gravestone, Andrew held his lantern high to reveal its intricacies. The weathered grey stone stood about five feet tall and was flanked by what looked like angels kneeling on either side. As her eyes adjusted to the light, Emily realized they were actually snarling gargoyles with fangs bared. Their talon-like claws clutched the base of the stone as if through mere might alone, they could yank the unfortunate occupant back from the dead. A large, delicately carved skull sprouting a pair of feathery wings topped the stone, its mouth spread wide in a rictus grin. From her vantage point, Emily could only make out the words, Here lies the body of…
“Tonight, as you walk through this lonely patch of land, tread lightly, my friends,”
Andrew explained with a dramatic flourish, “For here lie the souls from centuries ago, those of the brave and the bold, those of lost youth and innocence, and those who may have struck a deal with the very devil himself!”
Sarah moved closer to Emily, grabbing her hand.
A whiff of something foul seeped into the crisp night air, growing stronger with each breath Emily took. She couldn’t place it at first, but as the fetid odor lingered, it dawned on her—sulfur. Andrew’s body stiffened, but he did nothing except raise the lantern higher while staring into the pitch-black beyond the gravestone
Strange tendrils of mist began to form above the stone—wispy outlines in vertical rows, and for a moment, Emily thought her eyes were playing tricks on her. She rubbed them with the heel of her hand but to no avail. The vaporous strands continued to multiply, swirling and rotating as if batted about by an errant breeze, though the night remained deathly still. They reminded her of the long, bony fingers of a wraith-like harpist who had performed during her senior year of high school. The woman’s fingers had flown up and down the strings as if fueled by an unseen force, their motion blurring like hummingbird wings.
But there were no soft, melodic notes drifting in on the sulfurous cemetery air, and no harp emerged from the shadows. Emily watched in disbelief, feeling her mouth go dry as, inch by inch, the spinning mass slowly took shape, and a pale apparition appeared, hovering over the gravestone. With empty, black eye sockets and corkscrew curls cascading down its back, the spirit focused all its ethereal attention on Andrew, who seemed unable to take his eyes off the spectral display. Slowly removing his hat, he bowed deeply and exclaimed with awe, “Madame, you honor us with your presence!”
Emily’s heart skipped a beat, and she dropped Sarah’s hand. She had to get closer—had to see the spirit more clearly. Taking a tentative step forward, she crept nearer until she was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Andrew. An involuntary squeak, like air being sucked in through tinny, timeworn pipes, leaked out of her. Her hand flew to her mouth, but it was too late. The spell between Andrew and the spirit had been broken. When the ghost whirled toward the source of the noise, Emily knew. Terror bubbled in her chest, as caustic as acid, and she began to shake. It was unlike anything she had experienced in her twenty-something years on earth—as if a looking glass from beyond the grave had suddenly materialized in front of her.
The ghost was a dead ringer for Emily!
A lifelong resident of New England, Cheryl is captivated by its haunted history. Coupled with her love of the mystery-horror genre, she is inspired to write stories of spooky New England. Cheryl is an RN with a degree in nursing and English who enjoys playing tennis and trying out new recipes.
Please share this to give it maximum distribution. Our contributors’ only pay is exposure.
If you would like to be part of the Rural Fiction Magazine family, follow this link to the submissions guidelines. If you like contemporary dark stories and poems, you may also want to check out The Chamber Magazine.
Rural Fiction Magazine 