Even the birds that sang during the day avoided this place. There was an entity here, one that someone just couldn't put his finger on. It gave one that creepy feeling, making the hairs stand up on the back of one's neck, and the heart to pump just a little bit faster.
Corey didn't care. He had at least twelve beers in him and he was ten feet tall, invincible. He'd go in there and show those chickens. He even bet with Mark that he'd spend the night in the mausoleum that was off in the farthest corner of the old graveyard. He had fifty bucks riding on this, along with bragging rights, and a little thing like a ghost wasn't going to make him run away.
They dropped him off at the front gate and he soon clambered over the rusty wrought-iron fence. He turned around to face his friends, and something hit him in the forehead.
“What the hell...?” he said. He glanced at the package that had hit him, and bent down to retrieve his pack of smokes. He'd need them in here. A bag was thrust at him through the bars.
“For our unsung hero,” said Brooke, laughing. “A little more liquid courage to keep you up all night.”
“Gee, thanks,” he said, grabbing the sack and putting his smokes in his pocket. “Now for all you non-believers, let the great one begin his mystical journey into the underworld!” He started laughing.
“Okay, pick me up in the morning. I'll be waiting right here!” he shouted to them, watching them leave. Soon he was alone among the headstones, and switched the flashlight on that Amber had handed to him.
He weaved his way between headstones and slowly made his way to the far corner of the cemetery. He soon found his target, the old mausoleum that stood like a silent sentinel watching over everything here. He reached the door and saw that Mark had indeed cut the chain locking the door. He pulled out what was left of it through the handles and opened the door. It gave off a high-pitched shriek on its rusted hinges and he was momentarily taken aback by the creepy noise.
He entered, and walked down the steps. One, two, three...six in all. Here was another door, a wooden one, and he gently pushed it. It opened noiselessly, unlike the one above. He walked in and set his package on the floor, noticing that there were two caskets in here. One was newer than the other and he could still read the nameplate. THOMAS WILLIAM SR. The other was a woman's name, obviously his wife's.
“So,” he said out loud, “I get to spend the night with the Williamses.” Corey reached into the bag and withdrew a can of beer. He popped the top and took a long swallow, burping as he gurgled the alcohol down. He then lit a smoke, and headed back up into the night air so he didn't choke himself out with the fumes. He looked around, and although it was June, the night air still had a chill in it so he pulled his jacket tighter around him. Sure its just the chill air - or are you scared?
He quickly pushed that thought aside. Corey had some real money riding on this bet, and he'd be damned if he was going to chicken out.
He finished smoking and flicked the butt over the fence before going back down into the crypt to finish off his beer, sitting on his behind up against the wall staring at the two coffins. It was going to be a long night, he thought, and reached for another can. He drank half of that one before the alcohol took effect and he passed out.
He woke up freezing. He looked around and saw nothing but headstones and mist, a chill foggy mist like in the horror movies. He pulled his jacket tighter, his breath coming out in a vapor. What's going on? He wasn't in the crypt anymore.
He wandered around the graveyard, finally coming up to the gated entrance. He could hear his friends' voices, but couldn't see them. They were calling his name and laughing that he didn't stay the night.
"I'm right here!" he tried to scream, but nothing would come out of his mouth. "I'm here!"
He finally spotted them through a hole in the mist getting back in the car. He hollered for them, but they didn't seem to hear him. What was going on? They drove off, and he tried to jump over the fence but found that he couldn't. Something kept tugging at the back of his jacket when he tried to get over it. He got down, turned around and saw all the empty, cold faces staring at him. One of them looked him straight in the eye and said, “Welcome to our world!”
BIO: Clifton lives in Michigan and has wanted to write stories all of his life. He is happily engaged to a wonderful woman and raising his 10 year old son. He enjoys writing, astronomy, NASCAR, football and the outdoors in general.