Night At The Graveyard

A frigid gust of damp air sent shivers down my nape. Cloaked in impenetrable darkness, the graveyard lay sprawled before me, the moon imprisoned within a shroud of heavy clouds. Our house perched precariously close to the town's final resting place, and the echoes of my father's rage, fueled by cheap liquor, were my only companions. His lashes, relentless and unprovoked, had been my constant visitor, driving me to this desolate refuge. Nowhere else offered solace, so I huddled in the cold embrace of the cemetery, a prisoner of fear and pain.

As the moon vanished into the churning clouds, the night pressed down, thicker than ever. The air buzzed with the secret symphony of nocturnal creatures, their chorus echoing off the silent tombs. I sat alone, a prisoner in a concrete jungle, eight stories of death towering before me. Some slumped, five layers deep, others six, their names etched in cold stone. A towering cross, silhouetted against the moon's pale ghost, cast a hungry shadow that swallowed me whole. A flat, cold slab pressed against my back, the final resting place of an unknown soul. Beyond, the cemetery stretched, a labyrinth of shadows and whispers.

My fingertips traced the raised ridges on my skin, mimicking the cruel score etched by my father's belt. My body, a canvas of swollen flesh and stinging welts, ached with every ragged breath. Even the carved inscription on the back of the gravestone offered no solace, its shadows swallowing the words. But I persevered, tracing each letter with calloused fingers, their slow dance revealing a chilling and macabre warning: "Beware of Darkness."

In the green vault of my youth, seeds of unease sprouted as I traced the weathered letters. Was it prophecy, or mere scribblings? Regardless, the words chilled me, and I sought solace in prayer. A sudden crack, sharp as a whip, echoed as I lifted my hands. My fingers, twisted in terror, clutched the epitaph, and with a sickening crunch, it shattered. A fiery orb, the size of a dragon's eye, pulsed from the broken stone. Three more flickered into existence, swirling and shifting in the air. My heart, a trapped bird, hammered against my ribs. Panic clawed at my throat, urging flight, but my legs were rooted to the earth. I choked back a scream, pleading with the unseen. As the flames drew closer, I scrambled back, trapped by the rising mounds of earth. Just as their searing touch threatened to consume me, a spark ignited from the broken grave, a desperate shield against the advancing inferno.

Panic snagged my breath as I tore through the maze of headstones. Each sprint, a desperate bid for an escape that seemed to shrink with every stumbling turn. Moonlight glinted off polished granite, but offered no compass in this graveyard labyrinth. Then, a flicker in the periphery – a monstrous wave of fire swallowed the path behind me, hotter than the three it devoured before. Fear became a searing wind in my lungs, propelling me forward. Tombstones rose like silent ghosts, their epitaphs a blur of grazed knuckles and scraped shins. A sliver of hope glittered ahead, an escape carved into the cemetery wall. Just as I lunged for it, the fire roared, its breath singeing my hair. Above me, an altar perched atop a weathered tomb. Scrambling for purchase, I clawed my way up, moonlight bathing me in silver just as the flames reached for my feet. But with a thunderous hiss, the fire vanished, leaving only the smell of brimstone and the pounding of my heart.

My chest burned, legs heavy, but a wave of relief washed over me. The horizon stretched clear, unmarred. Then I saw it: a cemetery, transmuted into a monstrous castle, its entrance choked by colossal pillars. I blinked, took a step back, and realized I stood on its very patio.

A gasp escaped my ten-year-old lungs as my eyes flew open. The view – breathtaking, alien – sent a shiver down my spine. Excitement battled caution as I crept down the hallway, drawn towards the silent doors lining its walls.

Crimson silk whispered beneath my feet as I navigated the aisle, a molten river flowing towards an unknown destiny. Candlelight, a constellation of flickering stars, spilled from a golden stand, painting the vast emptiness in warm hues.

Eight figures, silhouettes draped in night, materialized at the end of the path. Their hooded faces remained mercifully hidden, but the darkness emanating from them sent shivers down my spine. Seven stood vigil, scythes held aloft like skeletal wings – three on the left, four on the right, their blades catching the stray flames in a macabre dance. In the heart of this obsidian tableau, a throne, carved from shadows and moonlight, awaited its occupant.

He emerged from the gloom, a wraith in a midnight cloak. His scythe, a cruel crescent, rested against his knee as he settled onto the throne, its immensity dwarfing him like a king swallowed by his own crown. My gaze snagged on a hulking clock suspended above, its face a cyclopean eye staring down at the scene. Time, I realized with a jolt, was about to expire. It was 11:55.

The air crackled with tension as I crept through the shadowed hall. Each creak of the floorboards echoed like a gunshot, and I strained my ears for any sign of movement. As I rounded a corner, I spotted them: a group of hulking figures gathered around a throne at the far end of the room.

Their leader, a massive brute adorned in spiked armor, rose from his seat. He hefted a bizarre weapon – a monstrous flute with razor-sharp edges – and with a single, earth-shattering blast, filled the room with a cacophony of sound. My ears pounded, and I stumbled back, shielding them from the onslaught.

Disoriented, I glanced at the clock on the wall: 12:00. Midnight. As if on cue, the pleasant aroma of incense that had permeated the air curdled into a stench of decay. My stomach lurched, and I knew it was time to get out of there.

With a newfound urgency, I retraced my steps, my heart hammering against my ribs. But just as I reached the entrance, a bone-chilling groan echoed from behind. I spun around, my blood turning to ice.

One by one, the doors lining the hall creaked open, each revealing a skeletal figure as horrifying as the last. Their vacant eyes burned with an unnatural phosphorescence, and their desiccated flesh reeked of the grave. Trapped, with nowhere to run, I knew I had only one option: face the oncoming horde. Gripping whatever courage I had left, I steeled myself for the fight.

Adrenaline pumped through my veins, urging me toward the stairs, escape. But behind me, the other doors groaned awake, spewing forth their putrid cargo. Panic gnawed at my resolve, each heartbeat a frantic drum against my ribs. Halfway there, the monstrous door at the end of the hallway slammed shut, severing my path like a butcher's cleaver. I spun around, eyes darting for another opening, another hope. Nothing. The undead horde flooded the aisle, a maelstrom of hungry moans. My legs turned to lead, rooted in place. Was this it? No escape. A figure lunged, reaching for my throat with skeletal fingers. My vision blurred, blackness creeping in. I surrendered to the embrace of oblivion, the chilling certainty of death replacing the sting of despair.

Consciousness crept back as a faint, flickering light danced across my tear-streaked face. Three AM, the cracked wall clock proclaimed. Numbness blanketed my body, wounds throbbing in the chill that seeped through the half-closed window. Rising, I replaced the guttered candle, its frail flame casting long, ominous shadows. A sudden gust extinguished the one in my hand, the remaining ember a dying firefly in the gloom. Fear knotted my gut as I reached for the window, but before I could touch it, a cold hand fastened on my shoulder. My scream split the silence, only to dissolve into a sob as recognition washed over me - it was Father.

Author's Note: ▼

Written for: "Twisted Tales Contest" 

1345 words