Forgotten

It’s dark, really dark, and it’s chilly.  It’s not just any kind of chill either, but the kind that goes through to your bones and makes your teeth rattle.  Realizing that something wasn’t right I open my eyes and am met with the pale light of the moon filtering through the leaves in the trees above. I’m sitting down and leaning against a stone column. I stand up and look to see that I had fallen asleep outside the town cemetery. Walking along a gravel path I push my way through rod iron gates; 10ft tall, worn by Father Time and rusted by the elements of cruel Mother Nature.  Along the gravel path I walk, on into the cemetery.  On either side people lay, sound asleep yet restless; their final resting places. Stone figures, marble creatures mark their graves.  Shielded from the light of the moon they’re cast in shadow; all except one.  One grave stands out amongst them all, stranded atop a grassy knoll.  Marked by the angel of death, the grim reaper, with his scythe, the staff of bone and his skeletal hands set before a raised tomb.  I make my way to the tomb, helplessly pulled, like lead to a magnet.

The tomb, illuminated by candles, is set as a makeshift altar.  With their flames of blue casting an eerie glow, the candles create a circle.  Kneeling just outside the circle, I look up at the sky, visible only through the break in the forest.  The full moon shining, drowning out the soft blush from the stars, crystallized tear drops in the dark sea of night. Earth-the smell of dirt, a cold, dark, moldy cellar, the grass collecting evening dew- the Earth and all it’s power; the power of the beautiful Mother Nature.  Power, magic, whatever you fancy calling it, only at its fullest during the cycle of the full moon; a night like tonight, a night where the dark stir and wait to be called upon to rise and walk again.

Connecting the ring of candles and completing a pentagram within is a line of ash, ash from the wood of a cherry, by the faint aroma.  Atop the tomb lay a knife with a deadly serrated edge.  Next to the knife laid a bowl, silver in color, but reflecting the light from the candles.  Shadows and colors dance before me as a fog comes creeping in.  I sit there staring for a while, staring at beautiful scenes, wisps of fleeting thoughts and images, when I notice that I am not alone.  Cloaked figures appear at each point of the ashen star on the ground, paying no mind to me.  I bite my tongue to smother my surprise; the metallic taste of blood lingers on my tongue.  All is deathly silent until they start vibrating-chanting, words foreign to my mind, yet familiar to my heart, my soul.

Runes appeared before me, hovering in the air, circling the tomb, not lucid, but solid, for I hold my hand out only to draw it back, dripping with blood, the scarlet liquid of life.  The figures’ chanting no longer unison, becomes a white noise background as I watched the tomb with terror-glazed eyes.  For the first time I am scared.  Above the tomb a fissure, a crack between this world and the realm of the dead, opens.  I can see through to the other side, a world with flames and utter and complete darkness.  The darkness spreads tentacles, like arms reaching out, freezing the dew on the grass, the breath in front of my face; the darkness seeps into this world.  I sit motionless, until I see it coming closer, ever so much closer to the spot from which I observe.  Fear grips me, but only for a moment, for as it touches my face, all though and feeling vanished.

In that instant I open my eyes.  Sweat coats my neck and back. My heart is racing a mile a minute.  I collect my scattered senses and scan the area before me.  The sun is high in the sky, shining for all to see.  I’m sitting still, leaning against the stone column, now bring a wave of cool relief through my back.  The gates to the cemetery are right beside me, just as they had been before.  A few meters down is the bus stop, full it had been before I slept it now laid empty.  I stand and shutter, shaking remnants of my dream.  No, it wasn’t a dream, it was an outright nightmare, a haunting nightmare form long ago, one I thought I had forgotten.  I walk to the bench by the lone bus sign.  I sit and lean against the post and close my eyes, letting my mind drift and memories take hold once more.