*

Rows of tombstones stood erect in silence to the left and right, in front and behind, like a sea of the dead. Some had degenerated with the weathering of centuries, some were smooth marble with new black writing and laid with floral tributes. Most though, were overgrown and unkempt, for now, even their mourners had joined them under the clay soil. And up in front of her, a new grave had been dug to await its new occupant.

Gathered around the newly dug grave were people — family members and loved ones. Everyone's heads were down either crying or simply silent. Maybe it was a way for them to show respect for the dead or they were too afraid to look at what was coming. The coffin was pulled from the hearse by four strong men, all wearing suits. The silence dwelled as they walked among the gathered and made their way towards the grave.

The coffin wobbled as they carried it to the front and gently placed it down. The polished wood illuminated in the afternoon sun that streamed through the cemetery trees. It was expertly crafted not to bring comfort to the departed but to soothe the living who wished that their beloved would be buried in style. The coffin built with love to be the final resting place for whoever was dead. A glance at it and you could tell that the deceased had been so adored in their lifetime.

Anaya walked past them trying her best to ignore the height of raw emotions swirling in her mind. She felt for them. It was not easy to see your beloved bound to the ground that will be coloured forever in vibrant tones one day. For someone who has been around so many deaths since her childhood, she knew how they felt. It's unbelievable how things can turn upside down so quickly. You see your beloved every day and they're all of a sudden gone, and when they go, part of you goes with them too.

When in grieving, there is no past or future, just living by the moment. Every day is measured from the moment of waking into a new reality — a reality that your loved one is no more — until your body can do no more until sleep comes to rest your weary mind. Then you wake up again the next day and it is a cycle all over again. A cycle that never ends.

Slowly, the coffin was lowered into the grave as the priest led them in prayer.

"Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord,

and let perpetual light shine upon her.

May the soul of the faithful departed,

through the mercy of God, rest in peace.

Amen."

The gathered repeated the "Amen" amidst tears and sobs as the priest made his way to the grave with an aspergillum, a silver ball on a stick, in hand. He sprinkled holy water on the carefully lowered coffin.

He wore a robe that was something like a long-sleeved black dress with black buttons from the neck down to almost the hemline, where the shiny toes of black boots covered red sand could only be seen poking out. But somehow it was still manly, and the black of the robe was clear and clean in comparison to the white of the white-collar. A wide black tasseled sash was tied around his waist, and a gold cross, as big as the spade in the hands of the gravedigger, hung from his neck.

Anaya always liked being in the cemetery. It was quiet, peaceful. The dead lay still in gravestones which, silenced by the promise that they will not be forgotten, but the promise is always broken.

She liked to visit the old, ruined tombstones that people had never visited or cared for in a long time, and she would leave on each headstone a forget-me-not — a flower she believed was appropriate for the forgotten gravestones.

She liked the way time seemed to stand still at the cemetery, the wind unmoving, the birds always quiet as if they know. And for some odd reasons, she liked watching tears trailing down the faces of grief-stricken widows, children, family, to hear them cry out and scream begging for a longer time with their deceased loved ones.

She didn't like that they were sad — she only liked watching the raw emotion, it was beautiful. And for a second they made her believe that the dead won't be forgotten ... but to be forgotten is inevitable.

They always forget. Hardly, three to four months and then just a memory.

She walked straight to the gravestones that needed care that afternoon and after she was done giving out the flowers, she sat beside the last grave and got lost in her thoughts as she basked in the solemn silence of the Cemetery. The earlier burial was done. No one was at the Cemetery except her.

Time passed quickly — faster than she had imagined, but she seemed to have forgotten herself and time. She felt everything had come to a standstill and she was left alone with just her thoughts and emotions. She felt everything in the world had vanished and that she was in her own world where nothing really mattered — at least that was what she felt until her perfect world was disarranged.

Night had fallen quickly. It was as if a pitch-black curtain had been draped over the sky. The blackness was perfect, a sort of visual silence that gave revered awe. She smiled when her attention was drawn to the shimmering stars that illuminated the moonless, jet black sky as if to remind her that even in darkness there was still light.

Before she could fully appreciate the beauty of the night sky and the hope the stars brought for her, a cool breeze swept the alienated graveyard. An Owl flew silently overhead and perched on a tree in front of her. Its ear-like tufts were reminiscent of a teddy bear, yet it stared at her with yellow eyes befitting a witch's cat. Its feathers were a mottled grey-brown, as it almost blended into the gloom of nightfall. It let out a series of low hoots, three, possibly four, before opening its large, rounded wings to fly away. The only sound one could hear as it took flight was the rhythmic beating of the air, and as soon as it rose high, it was carried on with the breeze, too quiet.

Growing up in a very superstitious African home, Anaya knew that seeing that owl meant nothing good was going to happen that night — and she felt it. In her culture, owls were viewed as harbingers of bad luck, ill health, or death. It was believed that if one saw an owl or heard its hoot, someone was going to die.

The thought of this made her sick. There was discomfort in her chest, sending a shiver down her spine then it sets in deeper. She felt the urge to run, escape, hide. The constricted feelings grew as if she was being strangled by the air around her but before she could make any move, a vast blanket of white, out of nowhere, covered her.

It swallowed every tombstone, every tree, everything at the cemetery. It crept around Anaya, before finally coming to rest at the foot of a freshly covered grave. She stood in the still silence of the cemetery, her only comfort being that of the tree she had held tightly to.

In the grip of silent panic, wondering where the fog had come from, the owl flew back passing over her head again, but this time, it was advancing ferociously towards her.

Anaya screamed as she tried to fight it off her head. She succeeded. It flew again into the darkness. Once again, fear found her. It spoke to her in its cackling voice. A shiver ran through her body like an electric current. Her first instinct was to run. And she meant to do it this time.

She bolted down the graveyard path like an Olympic champion at the starting gun. She increased her pace to an all-out sprint as the fog followed her. Her breathing quickened while she forced herself through the thick whiteness. It was hard to see through the fog but when she turned around, she could see the silhouette of something so stubbornly chase after her.

She closed her eyes as she sprang forward, her heart pounding in her throat as she gasped for air.

In no time, she had made her way to the outside of the cemetery. The familiar sight of the town — the town she had grown up in — was made hazy by the fog. It was as if someone had taken a white paint and had begun to paint the urban landscape that usually greeted her on the way outside anytime she visited the cemetery.

The town was awfully silent. No one was seen on the streets and no sound was heard. With no difficulty, she located her car. She knew exactly where she had parked it. With her hands which were shaking uncontrollably, she managed to open the car. She took a deep breath when she finally sat in it. Her mind was a scattered mess. Nothing made sense to her.

"Anaya? Anaya are you okay?" A voice called out from the back seat. The voice was unexpected. It was low with a trace of huskiness and a whisper of power.

Without thinking, she stepped on the gas pedal and the car moved at an abrupt speed.

"Stop the car! Anaya, stop the car." The voice from the back seat implored. She would have adhered to the demands of the voice if only she could see where it came from or who it belonged to. All she heard was a voice with no face or body and to her, that was scarier than being chased by a fog or a shadow in a fog. Her adrenaline rose higher and higher.

She wanted to stop the car but she couldn't. It was as if her leg had instinctively been glued to the gas pedal and her hands, to the steering wheel. She drove faster — the fastest she had ever driven. Almost 150 km/h.

Out of nowhere, a figure appeared in the middle of the road in the darkness beyond the headlights. Anaya felt a scream burst out of her chapped lips.

It was the type of scream that could have your blood running cold, the type that could penetrate the brain or inflame a certain primaeval pathway.

She stepped on the brake pedal with the same force she had gassed the car earlier causing the car to flip. It rolled over so many times as the lights swirled like some sort of visible cosmic energy with a deafening noise of the metal being bashed over the asphalt.

Her body jerked onto the dashboard, her head clashed with the window glass then finally, the car settled, its tires up in the sky. Steam flowed from behind and a hissing sound could be heard.

Anaya groaned as she opened her eyes slowly tilting her head in pain to where the seat belt lock was. She struggled to free herself from the seat belt but all her attempts failed. With every lurch, she was rewarded with more pain. The seat belt had tugged against her skin and the airbag was already deflating.

The sound of heavy limbs dragging over the asphalt came from the darkness. Then the shadow of a figure marched on her in the dark darkness of the road, its outline barely discernible.

Whatever it was, it was big.

Or at least that was what Anaya thought until it got closer to her.

Its skin was wrinkled like a dried date and thick like leather. It was bipedal with long knobbly arms and a small head with an elongated maw like a wolf, except it wasn't a wolf. From its long teeth, serrated like a steak knife, a growling snarl escaped.

Anaya tried to free herself from the seat belt and escape from whatever it was but she couldn't. After several more failed attempts, she stopped but was hit with a rather confusing scene.

The creature had stopped advancing. It just stood tall staring straight through her. It was as if it was searching for something in her, or perhaps, taking its time before devouring her.

But there was something comforting in its gaze.

As Anaya looked into its soulless eyes, she realized that the creature was a darker, monstrous version of herself.

Her vision became blurry. It became fuzzy; then she couldn't see anything. Her heartbeats pounded loudly through its cage ringing in her ears, as her lips tried to utter something.

Suddenly, everything was dark.

*~*

.

Aspergillum*

/ˌaspəˈdʒɪləm/
noun

An implement for sprinkling holy water.

*~*

Chapter edited by
KanishmaRay
RubaiaMQ

Word Count: 2,149