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No, you’re being daft. Of course, the tomb lid hasn’t moved! What a macabre thing to say as we walk past the graveyard’s black wrought iron gates, so near the witching hour. You’ve been watching too many horror films, pal.
Perhaps the grave was vandalised by a passerby. A lager-charged hooligan wreaking havoc on their way home from the pub, staggering between the weatherbeaten obelisks and mausoleums. Probably the same person who spray-painted that rude word on the bus shelter down the road. Although they must have been very strong; it would take unearthly power to rip the tomb’s casing ajar.
Actually, we’ve had terrible weather recently, haven’t we? It’s possible that the granite slab was dislodged by roaring gales, the brute force of a winter storm. On this quiet, country lane, the street lamps are dull and flickering, so maybe our tired eyes are playing tricks on us in the dim light. Headstones stand motionless, sombre guardians of the lifeless. They don’t move, you idiot.
There is an unpleasant smell around here, though. Rotten meat, mouldering matter. It’s probably just the drains or something, right?
From inside the burial chamber, it’s not like some decayed cadaver pushed the stone slab up from the inside. Bursting forth from its churchyard incarceration. As for that strange noise from the cemetery, I’m sure it is nothing to worry about.
For a second there, I thought I saw a ragged, jerking shape, crawling between the tombstones towards us. A glimpse of a tattered shroud blackened with grave water.
Forget it, it was probably just that trick of the light that fooled you earlier.
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"A Trick of The Light" first appeared in DarkWinter Literary Magazine.
Katie McCall writes uncanny, gothic fiction and her short stories have been published in Short Beasts, Flash Fiction North, Supernatural Tales, Ghostlight, with more due to be published this summer. Follow her on Instagram for further spooky musings @katiemccall_author
