In the Churchyard At Night

The clock is striking twelve; A breeze begins to blow. I hear a heavy tread: Someone I used to know? A hand upon my arm; I dare not turn around (Remind myself that graves Are dug in holy ground). The fingers bite my flesh; A stench envelops me. I ask, ‘Who’s there?’ and turn, But no one’s there, I see. I hear a cackling laugh. The clouds conceal the moon As voices whisper then: ‘You’ll join us here and soon.’ I sense I’m in a crowd. It starts to pour with rain. I gasp and clasp my chest: My heart can’t stand the strain… For Kelly’s Ghost Story contest