The Gravedigger's October
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| @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.
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This Prosery, prompted by DVerse Poets Pub, contains a line from Alice Priscilla Lyle Oswald's poem, Body.
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A deliciously creepy Prosery piece, Chris! I love the description of the graveyard, with ‘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’ – mouths and appetite, indeed; and the sounds in the second paragraph.
ReplyDeleteGreat title, atmosphere and tight writing. The scene has reality, one can feel it. From Stærlingsson
ReplyDeleteYou had me with the first line! Ooooh....putting your ear to the earth....a bit frightening indeed. Story for the halloween season!
ReplyDeleteOh, scary
ReplyDeleteMuch love