Doom's Lot

A new fraternity pledge must spend one hour alone in a vacant lot rumored to be haunted.

Eric G. Ekaut Approx. 4,900 words

24772 Murray Street

Harrison Township, MI 48045

586-295-1074

[e-mail]

DOOM'S LOT

by

Eric G. Ekaut

A once logical mind now found itself clouded with doubt.

Twenty-year-old Jacob Ginn strolled across the Littlefield University campus, his heart racing. He knew what was ahead and for the first time felt unsure whether he could go through with it.

Jacob sported a blue Letterman jacket with white vinyl sleeves and matching block L embroidered on the left breast. Awarded pins and medals for both baseball and hockey enhanced the inside of the L and around it. Resting under his right arm was a hardcover Advanced Calculus II textbook. His dark brown hair appeared black. His remarkable green eyes and a sturdy jawline stressed his impeccable skin and bronzed face.

As Jacob stepped onto the street, a black Ford F-150 pickup truck came to a halt by the curb. Three doors swung open and three young men jumped out. They grabbed Jacob and forced him into the backseat. The three young men hopped back into the pickup and slammed the doors shut. The pickup turned right and quickly drove away. It raced past a giant hand-painted banner that was stretched across the campus lawn, reading "RUSH WEEK."

#

Isaiah Trent leaned to the right, left hand on the steering wheel. He fixed his gaze on the dark road. At twenty-two years old, he was an African American sporting a navy-blue Detroit Tigers baseball hat backwards. He had a navy-blue hoodie with white Greek letters ZK on the chest.

Brett Sullivan sat shotgun. He wore an emerald-green polo shirt, which created a contrast to his cool Irish skin. His casual khaki pants were without a wrinkle. His emerald-green canvas slip-on shoes matched the color of his shirt.

Eyeballing Jacob in the rear-view mirror, Isaiah said, "Initiation has begun."

"That's right, pretty boy," Brett said. He faced Jacob. "You ready to be Zeta Kappa?"

Jacob glanced in Brett's direction and avoided eye contact. "I've been ready for this since birth."

Vic Perez shared the backseat with Jacob. Hispanic and five days past his twenty-first birthday, his black long sleeve T-shirt with Party Time written in neon green cursive letters summed up his reputation. He thumbed through a recent issue of Playboy magazine and found a blonde playmate on page thirty-three. He held the centerfold inches from Jacob's face. "You need to be ready," Vic said.

Jacob blushed and turned away with a sheepish smile. He stared through the window and bit his fingernails. His father's deep, robotic voice echoed throughout his head and pounded his eardrums. I gave you life and I can take it away! Never question my authority!

Jacob flinched when remembering the familiar snap of a wooden stick wrapped with duct tape. He hummed to himself as he watched trees whip by in a green blur. He placed his clammy hands on his lap and rubbed them up and down. Jacob's stare turned impassive. He drifted into his own world without blinking, reaching profound depths. His father's voice now pierced his eardrums with the same pain caused by a white-hot sewing needle. Jacob winced. You will obey me and do what you're told! I run this family, no one else. Is that understood?

Jacob breathed a sigh of relief when the voice faded and yielded to the hypnotic rhythm of tires rolling over smooth pavement, which turned into crunching gravel as the pickup made another sharp turn.

Jacob swallowed hard and pressed his forehead against the window. His stomach quivered as his eyes followed the uneven movement of a desolate dirt road. Jacob confessed to being unfamiliar with this road.

"Few are," Isaiah said.

Brett dangled one arm over the seat and faced Jacob. "You ever hear of Theodore Doom?"

"The chemistry professor who looks homeless?"

"No." Brett shook his head. "Theodore Doom was a brutal serial killer who slipped through the cracks of a broken judiciary."

"And an ugly mutha fucka from the pictures I've seen," Vic said. "Dude had dirty skin, rotten teeth, and a cleft lip."

"He killed men, women, children...he didn't care. If it had a heartbeat, Theodore Doom reveled in stopping it," Isaiah said.

"Yo, that mutha fucka was straight up crazy," Vic said in his best gangster impression.

"Pure evil," Brett said. "Not the mentally ill victim society portrayed to be."

Vic rolled his window down. "What happens next? His luck runs out." He drew in a deep breath of fresh air. "It was a night identical to tonight."

Brett further educated Jacob. He told him how when the police arrived at Doom's house to make an arrest; they discovered the entire house had burned down. Ash, rubble, and the charred remains of Theodore Doom were all that remained. And six other victims, whom they identified from missing person reports.

"To this day, the house fire remains a mystery," Isaiah said.

Jacob absorbed what the frat boys were telling him, maintaining his stare outside into the blackness of the night.

#

The pickup decelerated. It crept into a gravel driveway and parked. The headlights illuminated a scaled-down version of a triumphal arch. The faded red bricks suffered chips and cracks at the hands of harsh Michigan winters and brutal summer thunderstorms, which pelted it with hail and debris picked up and thrown down by high winds. Leaning to the side, an old tree draped its remaining dead branches over the arch.

"Welcome to Doom's Lot," Isaiah said.

Jacob claimed he never heard of it.

"The lot Theodore Doom's house sat on before it went up in flames."

The pickup doors popped open. Jacob exited last. Four boys scanned the lot when a sudden shiver struck them in unison.

The arch stood at the entrance of an empty lot littered with tall, scraggly grass ravaged by dandelions, which swayed in the cool autumn breeze. Halfway out, a wall of dense fog shrouded the horizon and cut off visibility.

"Now that I see this shit up close, no way you'd catch me in that lot, even if Brittney Bloom was waitin buck naked," Vic said. "And she's the hottest girl at Littlefield U."

Isaiah stepped forward, turned to Jacob, and leaned against the archway. Isaiah clarified that one person will go out. He pivoted and stared out into the open space. "Did you know every cemetery in town refused Theodore Doom's burial?"

Brett leaned close to Jacob and whispered. "Hence the myth."

Jacob pulled back. "Myth?"

Isaiah continued staring out into space. "The myth that Theodore Doom's mother buried him somewhere out there and marked his grave with a huge rock."

"So, the lot is...haunted." Jacob used air quotes when emphasizing the word haunted.

"Not at first," Brett said.

"The myths began after two teenagers allegedly vandalized the rock," Isaiah said. "They split the top part of the rock to poke fun at Theodore's cleft lip."

The four boys paused, gazing at the fog-covered lot, and wondered if the rumored headstone existed.

"Some folks say the fog is smoldering rubble from Doom's torched house," Brett said. "Others say it's the unrested souls of his victims."

Isaiah went on to say many believed it's Doom himself, forever suspended between Heaven and Hell.

Vic just stared out.

Brett leaned towards Jacob's ear once more. "Hence the myth."

This time, Jacob didn't move. His eyes fixated on the lot. He observed how the fog existed on the lot itself and never drifted beyond the property lines.

Isaiah sauntered up to Jacob and placed his arm around his shoulder. "Somewhere in that fog...is an enormous stone with a split in it...serving as Theodore Doom's headstone to his final resting place. You have one hour. Prove the burial site exists or debunk the myth. If you return, you're Zeta Kappa."

"If I return?" Jacob chuckled on his words.

Isaiah nodded. "Five years ago, four film students from a local college were shooting a documentary. They walked out to see whether the myth was true or false. They never returned."

"Don't forget the two police officers," Brett said.

"The ones who went searching for the film students?"

"The same."

"Never on duty anymore," Isaiah said.

Brett smiled. "Hence the myth."

Jacob shot a dirty look Brett did not see.

"Oh, and one other thing," Isaiah said. "You gotta do it solo. And with very little light."

Brett handed Jacob a taper candle.

Vic reached out with a classic blue Bic pocket lighter and lit the wick. He ensured the wick lit and returned the lighter to his pocket.

The boys crossed their arms and waited.

Jacob slipped off his Letterman jacket one arm at a time and tossed it on the ground. "If this brotherhood will accept me, I'm ready to start."

Isaiah nodded. "Good."

Jacob tightened his grip on the candle. He waited. His breathing intensified. Queasiness twisted his stomach. He took several long deep breaths, trying to slow his heart-rate and settle his stomach. He walked through the brick archway. The other three boys observed Jacob's feet shuffling him across the lot and closer to the fog.

Brett leaned towards Isaiah and ensured Jacob couldn't hear. "How did you learn about this place?"

"Ryan Sorensen."

"Who?"

"Dude who lives in the dorm room across the hall. A couple of weeks ago, his mail mistakenly ended up in my room. In it was a magazine, Michigan's most haunted places. Doom's Lot was number one."

"It has a spooky aura. I'll admit that. Having second thoughts about the wisdom of this idea now."

"Trust me dog. This one is safe."

Brett snickered. "They thought getting Jesse Cobb lost and making him find his way back to school was safe."

Isaiah reminded Brett that Jesse Cobb was inebriated.

"Yeah but-"

"Chill dog! He'll roam around an empty lot searching for a big rock while his mind wanders. Trust me, his mind will play tricks on him."

"It worked," Vic said. "I've never seen Jacob appear so withdrawn."

"More uncertain," Isaiah said.

"How so?" Brett asked.

"For Jacob, being part of Zeta Kappa is crucial, but it holds great importance for his father, too. Jacob told me that for his entire life, his father pressured him to join an elite brotherhood. Now that it's happening, a self-doubt storm has disrupted Jacob's smooth sailing."

"That's kinda odd," Brett said. "My father's pressure was for me to one day take over his accounting firm."

"Hey man, frat life means something different to everyone. The leadership skills I've learned at Zeta Kappa helped me become a team captain this year."

Brett chuckled. "No, running fast with a football did."

Isaiah shot Brett a look. "No, that paid for college."

"Maybe he's uncertain whether he can pass initiation," Vic said.

"What if the aura gets to him and he freaks out?" Brett asked. "You never know how you are gonna react. We stand to lose a great deal if things take a turn for the worse."

"Zeta Kappa is that prestigious fraternity his father bred him for," Isaiah said. "Jacob's cool, but I'm not gonna just hand this to him."

#

Jacob inched towards the fog with small steps. Goosebumps caused the hairs on his arm and hand to stand up as he shielded the wavering flame from the cool breeze.

Jacob's eyelids fluttered. He pressed his lower lip between his teeth and rolled his tongue around his mouth, trying to shed the absence of saliva.

Jacob reached the brink of the fog. He hesitated and took another deep breath. His heart pounded against the inside of his chest. He reached out and stuck his hand into the fog, feeling an instant cooling on the tips of his fingers.

#

Isaiah, Brett and Vic watched with the same wide eyes and slack mouths as Jacob vanished into the fog.

Isaiah opened the pickup's driver's side door and leaned inside. He turned off the headlights. "Pray the wind stays calm."

Blackness swallowed the lot. Clouds hid the moon, leaving a faint candle flicker in the distance, until it vanished.

Isaiah set his watch alarm for one hour and strolled to the rear of the pickup. He lowered the tailgate, pulled a small red cooler towards him, opened the lid and tossed a can of beer to Brett and to Vic.

Vic caught the beer with one hand and lit a cigarette with the other. He popped open his beer. "Ida walked out alone."

"You know I fabricated the stories," Isaiah said.

Brett didn't hide his unsettling feeling the fog gave him.

Isaiah chuckled. "It's from the cool lake behind the property."

Brett pointed out the size differential between the lake and the property. "Why isn't the fog anywhere else?"

"Just the angle we lookin at," Isaiah said.

Vic nudged Brett and gestured to Isaiah. "He'll run on a football field where eleven guys are trying to kill him, but I bet his black ass wouldn't walk onto that empty lot solo."

Brett laughed. So did Vic.

Isaiah slugged Vic in the arm. "I'll bury your ass out there, Chico."

Isaiah popped open his beer, sat on the rim of the tailgate, and took a swig. He paused and gazed into the darkness. He thought, I give him props; I don't know if my black ass could do it. I don't believe in the haunted myths and rumors, but the place is eerie, particularly at night and when by yourself.

#

Jacob's eyes scanned left to right and back. Feels as if I've been walking for miles, he thought. He stopped and stretched. His breathing had increased, and beads of sweat had formed below his hairline. How big is this lot?

Jacob sat Indian style. The candle flame cast a faint flickering light on the surrounding dirt and dead brown grass. He closed his eyes and smiled when a cool breeze dried the beads of sweat. In the distance, he heard the soft sound of waves hitting the shore.

Jacob stood up and inched forward. The flickering candle flame cut through the thick fog. Stiff leaves crunched and fragile twigs snapped under his feet. Shadows darted side to side in his peripheral vision.

He stopped. "Hello?"

A slew of cool air poured in and out of Jacob's lungs. His body stiffened. Here we go.

Jacob crept forward, his eyes exploring, his ears on high alert.

Silence now.

Nearby, candlelight glimmered on an object. Jacob moved closer for a better view. The candlelight irradiated a big rock with the top half split, and a shadowy figure standing behind it.

Jacob's hand shook. The surrounding fog swirled, thickened, and smothered the flickering flame.

#

Both Brett and Vic finished another beer just as Isaiah's watch alarm beeped.

"Time's up!" Isaiah called out to the open space while silencing the alarm. "Head back!"

The boys waited.

Stillness.

"Come on, man! The hour's done! Time to go!" Brett yelled.

Stillness.

Vic scratched his head. "He can't hear us yelling?"

Isaiah chuckled. "Relax Chico."

Isaiah grabbed three flashlights from the bed of his truck. Brett stared him down.

"At least yell back to acknowledge us!" Brett called out.

Silence alone continued to acknowledge.

"Fuck, I knew it! I knew this was gonna bite us in the ass!" Brett said.

Isaiah handed Vic a flashlight and slammed the other flashlight into Brett's chest. He held it until Brett took hold of it.

"Chill!" Isaiah said. "I'm sure he's fine. Either lost or fuckin' with us. We'll fetch him and return to the university."

Vic grabbed another beer and chugged it in four large gulps.

"I thought one of us was going," Vic said, beer gurgling in his throat.

"Now we're all going," Isaiah said. "Quit being a little bitch and move."

Brett lit up a cigarette.

Vic did as well. He took a big inhale. His chest tightened. He reminded himself that Isaiah fabricated those stories to create fear, a scare tactic if you will. Vic flung his empty beer can and followed Isaiah and Brett through the brick arch.

The boys marched across the lot, each one shining their flashlights in different directions. Neither of them made a sound. Each of them putting on a brave face, hiding their fear deep down in the pits of their stomachs.

Their march faltered as the fog got closer. They focused wide-eyed. Misty clouds fleeted from their open mouths.

"Jacob?" Isaiah called out. "Where ya at, man? It's over."

An eerie stillness enveloped the boys. Vic shivered and questioned whether anyone else felt the temperature drop.

"It's lake air dummy," Isaiah said, shining his flashlight into the distance.

Brett muttered the name Jesse Cobb repeatedly under his breath.

"Will you stop! Let's split up."

"Fuck that!" Vic flicked his cigarette butt at Isaiah. "I won't go by myself."

Isaiah stared Vic down as he walked up on him. "Don't be a bitch! You're Zeta Kappa, act like i-"

"SHHH! You hear that?" Brett said.

They listened before turning left. The gentle sound of crashing waves rippled through the night air.

Brett and Vic shared a bewildered look before directing it at Isaiah.

Isaiah shrugged his shoulders and led Brett and Vic in that direction. They came to a standstill and stood overlooking a cliff. Isiah pointed his flashlight downward. White-capped waves rolled in from Lake St. Clair and crashed into the pediment.

"Did you know about this?" Brett asked Isaiah.

"No clue."

"If you weren't aware of it, neither was Jacob! Now we know why he isn't answering! He fell off this fucking cliff!"

Isaiah clenched his teeth. "Get a grip-"

"Fuck you and your grip! Frat boys like us guided Jesse Cobb far away and told him to find his way home alone. No one knew, hidden in the dark, was an ice-covered reservoir. He fell through the ice and DIED! Remember?"

Vic joined Isaiah and Brett, and the three shined their flashlights down the cliff's face to the pediment. The beams emitted water, sand and rock.

"They indicted those boys at Silver Oaks College for felony involuntary manslaughter, misdemeanor hazing and reckless homicide!"

"Relax, I see nothing below," Vic said.

"We have much to lose, man! Jacob's pre-med. He excels in academics and athletics. Vic, your bachelor's degree in architecture is gonna get you your own architectural firm in LA."

"Don't lose your cool, man." Isaiah warned.

"Isaiah, you're a senior fucking classman and Zeta Kappa fraternity president. You're a well-respected black man who has a real shot at playing pro ball in the NFL. I've got a job locked up after graduation, at Sullivan & Associates, one of the largest CPA firms in the state of Michigan."

Isaiah stomped in Brett's direction. He shifted the flashlight to his left, clenching his right hand into a fist. His face scowled.

Brett straightened up his chest and braced himself.

Vic stepped between them. "This ain't the way, brothers! Until we find a body, no one is dead. Jacob's missing! We gotta find him and we ain't gonna find him while fighting!"

Isaiah and Brett stared each other down. Finally, Isaiah let the tension release from his body. Brett did the same.

"He's right," Isaiah said, peeking over the cliff's edge. "Keep looking. I'll look around the lot."

Brett and Vic positioned themselves at the edge and used the flashlight beams to continue searching the water and rock at the bottom.

#

Isaiah started back, sweeping the flashlight beam from side to side. Fifteen steps ahead, the beam illuminated an object along the ground a few feet away. Isaiah stepped closer and saw a large, light gray basalt rock with a hint of tan speckled throughout, and a split halfway down the middle. A part of the moon crept out from the cloud cover. Its shimmer cast a blueish tint off its fine-grained mineral texture.

Isaiah spent the next few seconds questioning the reality. His hands trembled. Curiosity killed the panic.

Isaiah stepped closer, knelt on one knee, and rubbed his hand along the rock's surface. "I'll be damned."

Isaiah moved to a squat, wrapped his arms around the rock, and tried dead-lifting it off the ground. He grunted with every try, three to be exact, but could not move it. This shit's real.

With a firmer grip on the flashlight, Isaiah searched for signs of Jacob in the proximity.

#

Brett and Vic continued searching the base rock at the bottom of the cliff.

"I see nothing Brett."

Two tall figures, draped in black hooded medieval cloaks, appeared from the mist. Their hoods covered everything but dry, cracked lips and pale, alabaster chins. From behind, they approached Brett and Vic.

"What if the waves pulled him out to sea?"

"It's a lake Brett, not an ocean."

Pale white hands covered the faces of the two boys in unison, causing the same stifled feeling. They got dragged back and disappeared into the fog.

#

Isaiah stood up. His eyes surveyed the lot. He gasped for air, not just from lifting the rock, but from the bubbling worry.

And from the desolation.

Isaiah struggled to breathe. His throat constricted as if something had wrapped itself around his neck and squeezed. "Quit fucking around, assholes."

An eerie silence descended over him.

Isaiah watched wide-eyed as the fog coiled, thickened and crept toward him. Your mind's fuckin' with you.

Isaiah back-pedaled. He stumbled and nearly toppled over when the heel of his foot bumped into another large basalt rock. Upon turning, he glanced at the name IAN chiseled into the rock. Next to it sat another sizable rock with DEREK chiseled into it.

Isaiah swallowed hard. The grip around his neck tightened. He called out for Brett and Vic. Eerie silence responded. By now, the fog had surrounded him.

"Fuck this!" He fled, glancing left and right with directional uncertainty.

Isaiah came across another rock with SEAN chiseled into it. With no hesitation, he leaped over the rock. Anticipating the landing, he braced himself, but the earth arrived seconds after he had expected. He took a spill and landed face down on the ground. A gasp escaped from him. Cold slimy mud painted the front of his body and most of his clothes. He wiped his hands on his sweatshirt and afterward wiped his face with his hands and when he found his bearings, realized he was in a deep hole.

Isaiah scurried to get out when a foot pressed hard on his hand, pushing it several inches into the earth.

Isaiah's eyes bulged. Once he realized the pain in his hand was worse than he had expected, he started muttering. Isaiah could feel the broken bones moving. He looked up...and saw Jacob, flanked by two mysterious figures.

Isaiah met Jacob's gaze. "What the fuck, man?"

"Initiation has begun," Jacob said in a monotone.

The pair of mysterious figures advanced towards the hole and pulled Isaiah out. They stood him up and held him in place. Isaiah's legs wobbled; his gaze was as foggy as the lot. His eyes blinked, and he clutched his hand, trying to ease the pain. A few seconds passed before Isaiah oriented himself. He shoved the hooded figures and stood up on his own.

At that moment, he noticed two more holes. Isaiah leaned over and saw Brett lying motionless in one hole, and Vic lying motionless in the other. One hole remained empty. Isaiah noticed large rocks at the top of each hole, his eyes raised.

"That one's yours," Jacob said, gesturing to the empty hole.

Isaiah's jaw clenched when he tried to speak. He stared at Jacob again. Jacob's deadened hollow stare never blinked. Isaiah's jaw popped, and his voice came out from hiding.

"You know I'm not going out without a fight!" Isaiah said.

The duo in cloaks approached Isaiah.

Isaiah took a boxing stance, ignoring the pain in his hand.

The pair of hooded figures advanced closer.

With his good hand, Isaiah hauled off and decked one square in the mouth. The hooded stranger went down hard. The second mysterious figure pressed a twelve-inch butcher knife against Isaiah's throat before he could throw another punch. Isaiah froze and winced. Droplets of blood trickled along Isaiah's neck.

"I thought you'd take my place as president when I graduated," Isaiah said. "That's why I chose you."

Jacob circled Isaiah with a mechanical stroll. "My father had my fraternity chosen for me the second I was born. You chose me because I chose you."

Isaiah took several deep breaths, fighting hard to suppress the fear and panic growing within him. Now, the hidden character Isaiah punched stood and faced him.

Jacob snickered. "Was mail mistakenly delivered to your dorm room? I knew what was in that magazine. One of my minions researched past initiations by your fraternity. We knew you'd bring me here."

"You ain't that damn clever."

"Peter Lehman," Jacob said. "He heard a tale of an old white woman. She appeared in a forested part of Belle Isle and waved her hand, inviting people into the woods. One person had followed her into the woods. No one has seen that person since. Peter's initiation was to be the second one to follow her."

"How the fuck you kn---"

"And what about Joey Reeves? Someone forced him to spend a night by himself in a cemetery rumored to be haunted by unrested souls."

"Peter and Joey were men! They passed their initiations! They weren't crazy!"

Jacob smirked. "Not crazy...created."

A third cloaked figure appeared from the mist, holding a shovel. It moved towards Brett's grave. Another cloaked figure emerged, holding a shovel, and moved towards Vic's grave. The shovel bearing figures looked at Jacob, who nodded. The hooded silhouettes began burying Brett and Vic.

Isaiah watched with a slew of emotions pouring in and out of his head. He became enraged when he noticed Brett and Vic were breathing.

Fuck it! Isaiah attempted to prevent the burial, but before he could move, someone pressed the knife blade harder against his skin, creating a thicker blood line. Another cloaked figure moved closer to Isaiah and held his head so Isaiah could watch the burial.

Isaiah's mind raced. Despite having filled in both holes, he thought he had time to save his friends. The odds were against him, but he understood the urgency of acting.

In the blink of an eye, Isaiah caught the knife wielding cloaked figure square in the nose with his elbow. The cloaked figure dropped to the earth. The knife fell several inches away.

Isaiah charged Jacob and tackled him. They wrestled. Isaiah's fist connected with Jacob's face. Jacob smiled and Isaiah screamed at the reminder of his broken hand. Isaiah landed one more blow, an elbow this time, and tried to make his way to the knife. The quartet of cloaked individuals overpowered Isaiah and subdued him against the ground.

Jacob rose to his feet and wiped the blood from his bottom lip. He strolled over to where the knife had fallen and grabbed it.

Isaiah was panting, but not ready to surrender. He summoned the strength he had left to break loose, but it became clear in no time that he was no match for the group of mysterious cloaked figures. They forced Isaiah to his knees, and he surrendered.

Jacob faced Isaiah, standing a few feet from him. Isaiah refused to look back. Jacob remained in that position for twenty seconds. Jacob turned to his left and watched a fifth cloaked figure step through the fog. This cloak stood out, satin black with blood red trim. The body language of the other cloaked figures showed nothing but silent respect.

The leader.

Silence fell over the lot as the leader approached Jacob and stood before him.

"Initiate!" the cloaked leader ordered. The familiar deep robotic voice had been in Jacob's head since birth.

Jacob turned towards Isaiah and gazed at him.

Isaiah prayed eye contact made a difference.

It didn't.

Jacob stepped up to Isaiah and used the butcher's knife to slit his throat. Jacob never flinched or twitched at the warm red shower.

The cloaked figures released their hold on Isaiah and watched his lifeless body drop to the earth. They rolled him into the hole and filled it.

Three more cloaked figures came into view and joined the others. For the next several minutes, they used hammers and chisels to carve the names Isaiah, Brett and Vic into each respective rock.

Afterwards, seven of the hooded figures formed a circle around Jacob and began chanting what sounded more gibberish than actual words.

The fog thickened.

The concealed leader stepped up to Jacob. Jacob took a knee. With a black cloak, the leader covered Jacob's body and raised the hood over Jacob's head. The hood hid his catatonic face, but he wasn't as pale as the others.

The seven mysterious figures shifted and formed a horizontal line next to Jacob, each taking a knee.

The leader faced the group. They bowed to him. The leader looked over his lot. His pale white chin littered with pockmarks, and his lips were dry and cracked, with a cleft.

The fog behind and around them thinned, swirled and disappeared. Cloud cover opened to unveil a starry sky and a full moon. The moonlight beamed down, revealing the entire lot, and hundreds of other figures, draped in the same black hooded cloaks, on one knee, scattered among hundreds of large rocks, with first names chiseled into them.

The End