Bloody Scary Living Graveyard:

The villagers feared to pass by this cemetery. No one passing by this cemetery returned. Deep into the forest there was a small isolated village where so horrific was a standing graveyard that even the bravest souls feared pronouncing its name. Known only by its dreaded, terrible name: the Cursed Cemetery of the Forgotten, it was a location of such evil energy that no one ever considered it worth discussing. This graveyard sat at the edge of a village- severed from town by an even darker forest so impenetrable and ominous that with every step closer to the graveyard, it would seem to thicken and grow more ominous. Its reputation had been wrapped in dark lore and passed on from generation to generation. The villagers believed that the cemetery was cursed; the place was said to be the one where spirits couldn't move on with their afterlives in peace, tortured forever and ever. The other version of the stories told how the cemetery was built on some old, unholy ground, where spirits, wronged in life, wandered there endlessly searching for revenge on the living. Always the village elders would caution the young and foolish not to wander close to the cemetery after dark. "The dead do not sleep there," they would say, their voices trembling with fear. "And those who disturb them will pay with their lives." These warnings were, however, heeded by the villagers, for stories of the cemetery were indeed true and actual events that had stamped permanent marks on the village. There was once a few young men not believing in old curses became bold and challenged the legend of the curse. Nothing more than stiff prelude filled their heads with claims of superstitious lies. A group of them then dared themselves to come into the cemetery on a dark night and upon approaching the grave, had no weapons with them except for some lanterns and courage. They never came back. They searched for them in the village for days, but there is never any trace. The families were broken and the village fell into mourning because it lost those young men and women who fell to that dark power of the cemetery. From then onwards, they kept away completely from the cemetery and considered it as a forbidden zone.

The curse of the cemetery was not over yet; years passed by, and more appeared who were brave enough to pass by the cemetery, with the same fate. A traveler looking for a shortcut through the woods entered the path that passed near the cemetery and was never seen again. Ignorant of the cemetery's dark reputation, a merchant travelling toward the village lay down near its gates. The next day, the cart was there with his goods untouched, but he was gone.

It was as if with every year, the cemetery exerted its influence further. People had told stories of how on nights when the fog curled thick and heavy, lights could be seen flickering within the gravestones, as if the spirits of the dead were holding some ghostly vigil. The wind would carry eerie whispers through the trees, voices calling out to the living, inviting them closer to the gates of the cemetery.

This was a living and really throbbing village, but it grew more shut-in and fearful. People built their homes further from the cemetery, and the paths leading there grew overgrown and unused. Nobody dare to go near it, not even during the day, when one could see everything clearly. A blemish had been put on the land, and everybody wished to forget it but couldn't escape.

The stories of the cemetery spread to neighboring villages and soon no one outside dared to approach the cursed place either. Travelers took long winding routes to avoid even the edge of the forest that surrounded the

The cemetery was right there; it was going by with great caution in hopes of appeasing whatever dark spirits resided in the edge of the woods, which those who were forced to pass by nearby by some unfortunate circumstance would do.

But still, the villagers never managed to find a proper way of keeping away from the graveyard. When mysteries and evil things start happening in the village, then the villagers will take it to each other that it's because of the graveyard: restless spirits attain beyond their own graveyard and destroy the living.

So one harsh winter, the dearth of food and the fear closing the whole village like a clutch, a desperate man thought taking the law into his own hands. He was a widower left with nothing; his children had been taken by that mysterious illness which ravaged the village one dark night. This made him believe that he needed to confront the curse directly if he wanted to stop it. He was attired in heavy clothes on the coldest moonlit night, was equipped with a shovel and a lantern, and was bound to stroll alone in the cemetery. The villagers however observed as he departed, too afraid to interfere yet not willing to follow him. He quaked as he passed through the entrance to the cemetery, but he continued walking on in his search for truth.

He walked into the graveyard, the light of his lantern sinewy on the ground and casting shadows on the cracked tombstones. The air was almost heavy with the stench of rot and death, almost oppressive to breathe in. The further he went inside the graveyard, he felt like eyes were upon him, yet no one came into view. The only sound was coming from his boots crunching in the frozen ground. Finally he reached the center of the cemetery. There stood a monstrous, old tree with branches climbing to the sky like an arthritic thumb. Under the tree lay a grave, which was placed on a weathered headstone whose inscription had worn away. He felt an attraction toward it, as if some subtle force propelled him to it.

He began digging. His shovel crashing into the dirt was heard throughout the graveyard. The wind started to howl as the temperature was dropping even lower. It was hard ground, but he dug all night, his necessities driving him to uncover what lay beneath. What felt like hours went by when his shovel finally struck something. He brushed the dirt aside and had the wooden coffin, old and rotting, on top. He fumbled with shaking hands, forcing open the coffin lid. A skeleton was inside, bones blackened and twisted. But as he gazed upon it, this skeleton stirred into life. A bony hand reached out, snatching his wrist; vacant sockets of the eyes seemed to be emitting a malevolent light.

The man screamed in horror and his cries were lost in the screaming of the wind. Spirits of dead rose from their graves to surround him, their wretched forms lighted by pale moon. They whispered to him, voices full of malice and He told him all the horrors they faced alive, all the torments of death. The man ran but was held fast by the spirits. He was dragged into the open grave. His screams echoed through the night. Earth closed over him, and silence fell again on the cemetery. The next dawn, villagers found the man's lantern by the entrance gates of the cemetery. No body ever surfaced, but the lantern had gone out. It was one of the curses' victims, and they mourned him silently, in the fear that someone might say out what happened to him.

From among the graves round about him there rose the dead, their ghastly forms bathed in the pale moonlight. And they talked to him; their voices bubbled with malice and woe, telling him of horrors they had had to stand in life, of tortures they were to have in death. The man screamed at horror and his voice was lost in the howling of the wind. They seized him, thrust him in, and there he screamed through all the night as earth closed over his head. The graveyard was still. Before dawn, at the graveyard gate, the villagers found the man's lantern, burned out. His body was never found. Therefore, the villagers knew that yet another was taken by the curse; they dreaded it so much and cried for him in secrecy, fearing to speak of what happens.