You push against the ancient iron gate that the groundskeeper must have forgotten to lock, and cringe as the unmistakable creak of rusted metal fills your ears. As you step inside, the wetness of the dew-hinted grass splashes against the heels of your feet, making you regret choosing sandals for the occasion.

Someone had offered you a ride home from the party, but you declined, stating that it was a warm late-spring night, with a full moon providing ample light for a walk. Thinking back, you swear to yourself at what a stupid decision that had been. You must have had more to drink than you realized.

A slow midnight breeze flows across the air as you enter, and though the forecast hadn’t called for any rain, a somewhat fishy, somewhat metallic scent accompanies it, making you wonder if it’s going to start pouring before you make it-

Was that a twig snapping?

You jerk your head every direction, unsure of where the sound came from, but no sign of life or motion presents itself. “Hello?” you call out against your better judgment. No answer. Of course there’s no answer, why would there be? You’re just letting your imagination run wild. That’s what you tell yourself.

As the headstones come into view, you stop to glance at them. Some of them are little more than crumbling hunks of rock, with illegible text that used to show the name of someone long gone. Some have birth dates and death dates that are mere weeks or months apart. There are a few that look freshly dug, with a brand new pile of soil and a shining stone before it. You don’t know why, but these creep you out the most.

You continue your walk through the yard, trying to distract yourself from the growing pit in your stomach. You try to remember the difference between graveyard and cemetery . You know that one is connected to a church, but you can’t recall which one. You look around, but there doesn’t seem to be a church anywhere around.

A cold shiver runs up your spine. You try to hold the thought back, but it still manages to enter the forefront of your mind. That old superstition about when you shiver, it means someone is walking across where your grave will sit. You look down. There isn’t a headstone directly before you, but there’s enough room that one could easily be dug…

You finally near the edge of the cemetery as a black cloud slowly begins to extend its reach toward the moon, darkening your pathway and stretching out the shadows around you. You stop short and catch your breath. Directly ahead, standing by the exit, a figure looms, dark and tall, seemingly staring right at you. It’s a tree , you tell yourself, not believing the lie. Looking back, multiple shadows surround the headstones, looking like robed mourners honoring the dead. A distant bell chimes twelve times. Midnight.

You take a deep breath, let it out slowly, and start to walk toward the figure, praying to any deity that may be listening that you make it out of this cemetery alive.