Churchyard

It is October, and the sun is already low in the sky. A light drizzle of rain has dampened your hair and your clothes, so they stick to your skin. You shiver and wipe the water from your eyes. Ahead of you, on the right-hand side, is the village church. Cutting through the graveyard will get you home more quickly, and you have taken the shortcut many times before. Though that was during daylight. Thunder cracks and roars overhead. The rain falls harder, pelting your skin. You decide to take shelter in the church until the storm passes. 

The gate is padlocked, but the wrought iron fence is short and easy to climb over. Once you are on the other side, goosebumps pinch your body. Your heart beats faster and you feel as though someone is watching. Like you are trespassing.

You hurry up the gravel pathway that leads to the church. In less than a minute, you reach the seven foot tall oak doors, but no matter how much you push, the doors refuse to open. You hear the sounds of your efforts echo in the stone room just beyond. The noise is dull and empty. You give up and take the dirt track that heads around the church wall instead. It leads down through the graveyard to your shortcut: a gate that awaits on the far side of the boundary fence.

Yew trees grow amongst the graves on either side of the path. Their branches stretch out towards each other, protecting the headstones and parts of the pathway from the rain. As you walk out from a sheltered part of the path, you realise the rain has stopped. You look up at the sky and see the clouds have dispersed. Only the stars and the moon remain.

The moon is bright and casts a pale light across the entire church grounds and beyond. You can see the field behind the farside fence and the hedgerow that you will need to cut through. After that, it’s a short walk down two streets to your home. You smile and think about the warm bath and hot drink you will make for yourself once you are there.

Movement in the bottom right-hand corner of the graveyard catches your eye. You turn to look, but you see nothing obvious. Your throat goes dry and your eyes hurt from staring. Your heart still hammers in your chest and your hands shake. Calming yourself, you question whether your eyes were playing tricks on you. But, you see the movement again - in then of your line of sight. Perhaps, whatever, or whoever, it is just wants to check to see if you are still there. What if it is someone else on their way home as afraid of you as you are of them?

All you know is that you don't want to remain standing there in the open any longer. You consider turning around and returning to the longer route home ... but what if whatever is there with you attacks once your back is turned? What if it follows you home? You grab your phone from your right-hand pocket without looking away from the spot where the movement occurred. You look down for thirty seconds to unlock your phone and dial the number of the person waiting for you at home. As the ring tone starts, you turn your gaze back to the place it was before. The figure you've been seeing is now standing up. Although you cannot tell if it is facing in your direction, you are relieved to see it at least as a human form. You wonder if you have perhaps seen too many horror movies.

The call connects and the familiar voice you are hoping for sounds through the phone. You tell them what has happened and ask them to come and meet you. In a few minutes, you hear the crunch of footsteps on the gravel further up the path behind you. The figure has not moved at all during your wait. You turn around and run to the person you called. As you walk to their car by the front of the church, you turn to look at the figure, just in case, but it never follows. You vow to never take that shortcut again.