The Gravedigger's October
@Hallett The Gravedigger’s October By October, the cemetery grows hungry. I know the signs: the black veins of frost spreading through the grass, yew trees whispering with their mouths full of dead leaves, the smell of wet earth rising through iron gates like something remembering its appetite. Halloween brings children in costumes, shrieking and capering among stones. Little devils with rubber horns. Witches with painted smiles. They frighten one another beautifully, though none has the imagination to understand what watches them from beneath. Last night, I heard the old hill breathing. Then a soft, persistent scraping, like fingernails searching for purchase on the underside of the world. I put my ear to soil and knew the dead were settling in under their mud roof and something was shuffling overhead. I know for a fact it wasn't me. Tonight, I shall lock the gates. I shall not go home. ----- ©2026 Christopher Reilley This Prosery, prompted by DVerse Poets Pub , contains a...
