The Calling of the Dead
TDW# 153 — The Setting
The gates creaked as they swung back and forth due to the wind, looking like they were on the verge of falling out. Cracked black paint fell soundlessly with each swing, leaving rusted iron behind. The gates glinted in the fiercely dazzling moonlight. The bright light should have been opposing the horrifying effect the cemetery portrayed, but somehow it just helped in making everything creepier.
Dried, blackened leaves were rustling in the wind. The dead vines on tombstones swayed, momentarily revealing the names of the dead. At such a state of abandonment, the names should have become cracked and unreadable long ago. However, they had been carved in so deeply that the harsh lines of the alphabet still stood out like slashes of a dagger.
No crickets dared chirp here, nor any rats scuttled by. It was as if they all realised that this was the place of the dead and they were scared of them too.
Flowers graced not a single grave; after all, this was at the very outskirts of town. No one dared venture here but the bravest and the ones who had carved those names on the tombstones.
My grandfather lay amongst the masses. With no other family left, I was forced every year to shudder my way through this cemetery.
Forced to feel the chilling light of the moon on my skin, to hear the crunch of dried leaves beneath my feet, the sting of the biting wind and the worst of all?
The dead.
They seemed to radiate an aura of hopelessness and loneliness. Their graves called out as if they were spirits begging to barter their way out of hell.
I hunched my shoulders and made my way to my grandfather’s grave.
The leaves crackled like usual, the moon glared as always, and the wind whipped as if nothing had changed.
Get Anushaa<3’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
But something had changed.
This cemetery — it had had a visitor, apart from me.
This grave had had a visitor who was not me. I jerked to a halt as soon as I saw the ethereal red rose. Stark against the dark background, it shone like a beacon. It seemed as if it were inviting the haunted spirits to bask in its glory, and yet I shrank from its majesty.
For no matter how beautiful it was, I was unable to ignore that the fragile peace, if that’s what it could be called, was shattered.
By an unknown stranger who had trod these weary lands and had called for the dead to join his forces.
Who had broken the one rule of this place.
The prompt:
A story by Michelle Liew that managed to capture one of the worst horrors experienced by mankind in a terrifying incident.
A beautiful poem by Canute Limarider who has figured out a way to put the inexplicable emotions surrounding change into words.
And the next installment in the story!
