Just Like The Others

A faint breeze unfurls through the cemetery, and you shiver, feeling cold fingers barely brush the back of your neck. But nobody's there. You continue walking, determined to complete the challenge. A twig cracks behind you, and you tell yourself not to move a muscle. Footsteps. You wish you weren’t there. Nothing can hurt you if you aren’t there. The footsteps fade. You start walking again. As you weave through tombstones, someone -or something: exhales on your ear. You knew you felt it that time. This isn't your imagination. You grip the stone in your hand tighter and carry on. You keep your eyes open, scared to even blink. The shadows behind you stretch and grow, but you don't look back. You can't. You're terrified of what will happen if you do. You pretend not to see them around you, the bodies rising out of the earth, souls reanimating every night to relive their torment, caught by the very thing following you. You refuse to become one of them. Slowly, a shadowy hand reaches out and grasps your shoulder, digging into your skin. You keep walking, because if you ignore it, maybe, just maybe, you won't end up like the others.

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