Midnight Burial

Four figures labored at the top of a hill, barely illuminated by the cold autumn moonlight. Dirt was thrown onto a mound, landing with muted thumps that spoke of death. The only other sound to be heard was the grim scraping of shovels across earth and rocks. Two men stood in the hole they were digging, the edge of which already reached above their heads. Ben threw the last shovelful of dirt over his shoulder and the two silently climbed out of the pit. The others began dragging a wrapped up blanket over to the hole. Ben broke the eerie silence. “Hurry up,” he said, reading the time from his pocket watch. “We don’t have long.”

“She’s my wife, Ben. I’d like to give her what little funeral I can,” said William.

“And she’s my sister,” Ben replied, anger creeping into his almost whispering voice. “Trust me, I wish I could give Margaret’s burial all the ceremony of a queen’s, but Samhain will begin in just a few hours. You know what the book says, Bill. I’d much rather bury her quickly and have her stay in the ground than…” His voice faltered with terror as he reached the end of his sentence. “...than the alternative.”

Nodding in agreement, the others dragged their load to the edge of the grave. Again, Ben spoke, barely audible over the thick silence of a cursed night. “Ann. Take off the blanket. She’s supposed to be buried with her face bared, with nothing but the cloak.” Ann pulled back the woolen blanket, revealing a cold, pale face that would have looked cheerful and inviting were there still blood pumping in her veins. She had been beautiful in life, and was beautiful still even in death, though now the sight of her brought them a chill rather than a smile. Ann then carefully took Margaret out of her usual dress and draped her marble-like body in the Cloak of Eleven, a thin, purple cloak embroidered all over with strange constellations foreign to this world. Ben painted the protective sign they had all memorized on her forehead and the four of them lowered her slowly into the ground by ropes slung underneath her. Somewhere an animal howled, startling them, and they each drew knives from their coats, but they regathered their nerves and continued.

The other men filled in Margaret’s grave while Ben took out a worn, battered copy of Ismoel’s Book. It was one of those cursed tomes which he wished they had never found, wished had never set them on the dark path which led to Margaret’s death, but which now seemed necessary to keep them all from doom. A few pages fell out from the withered cover, but he quickly put them back, lest some other poor soul have the misfortune to discover these evil texts. According to the ceremony in the book, he carved a large seven pointed star into the earth over her grave with his knife. Then, the others joined him in chanting as he encircled the star in weird writing. The chanting was a low pulsating moan, in a language none of them fully understood, a language probably none had understood for over six hundred years. A language none had dared to understand for six hundred years. The spell was wholly weird and unnatural, and they doubted it had been written by any human, any thing that hailed from this world. The words were barely pronounceable, even then only with the assistance of the strange power they held. They were not made to be spoken with human mouths and human vocal cords. They felt strange and poisonous as they crawled out of the mouths of the four. As the chant went on, horrible spectres whirled about the hill, deformed figures with their parts terribly rearranged, arms ending in feet and eyes protruding from backs. Some had three legs, others a collection of grotesque heads. The wretched things flew wildly in the air, releasing a high scream that tore at the brain. Finally, after what seemed like an hour of tortuous song, all fell silent and Ben whispered, “It’s done.” They each then said their own Christian prayers over the grave, as much for their own comfort as to protect the departed, and they all trod sullenly back down the hill. Apart from the carvings the grave was left completely unmarked. Only the four of them ever knew what had transpired there that night, and even they tried the rest of their lives to forget it.