A Shock in the Dark
by S.K. Naus
“Welcome to the Halloween Horror show!” A teen draped in a black cape and matching top hat climbed onto a large headstone situated in the Blackcroft Cemetery and spread his arms wide, beckoning the young people towards him.
“Tonight, I will raise the dead for you.”
A slew of chuckles filtered through the group.
“That’ll be the first exciting thing you’ve ever done in your life, Graydon!” jeered a voice followed by a chorus of laughter.
It was a perfect Halloween night; the sky was pitch black, no stars visible only an ungainly white moon peering down. From time to time, the soft flutter of bat wings could be heard in the air or the dry rustle of twigs as an unseen critter skittered past.
Some of the teens wore masks while others were clad in full costume.
“Come on, let’s get on with the show.” Someone yelled impatiently.
Graydon’s face split into an eerie grin.
“Watch and learn, you losers.” Cackling like a mad man, he jumped from the gray marker and grabbed two handfuls of dirt from the grave before tossing them into the air in front of him.
“That’s not how you make a mud pie, dude.” The comment from the peanut gallery brought a round of chuckles.
Suddenly the young host was on the ground throwing dirt in a crazed and angry manner. In disbelief, the others watched the sand settling into a shape and that shape was human.
A young woman’s scream tore through the stunned silence when the shape moved.
“Let’s get out of here!” Shouted someone fearfully.
Graydon let out a sharp whistle and instantly the figure froze in place.
“What’s going on?” Wailed one of the crowd.
“I’ll show you what’s going on.” Mocked Graydon, his eyes wild. He pointed at the speaker waved his hands and in an instant, the person crumbled into a pile of dirt. Terror swept through the crowd of teens who began to swarm towards the cemetery gates.
Like a whirling dervish, Graydon sprang from grave to grave creating more shapes out of cemetery dirt and with each figure he made, another unfortunate teen dissolved into a heap of dirt. He was so fast that no one escaped. His evil laughter echoed through the now silent cemetery as he stood before his army of cemetery soldiers.
The revolution of the undead had begun; no one was safe.
Richard Edwards has a BFA in Creative Writing and Journalism from Bowling Green State University and an M.S. in Education from the University of Akron. Managing editor of Drunk Duck, poetry editor for Prairie Margins, reporter for Miscellany, Akron Journal, Lorain Journal, and The BG News. He has also worked as a professional writer and editor in the medical publishing industry for several years. For the last 15 years Richard has also taught literature and writing at the secondary and post-secondary levels. He works much of the time with at-risk students.