The Damned

The wind whispered through the remaining leaves of the lone oak tree atop the cemetery hill. The light from the full moon gave the tree an unholy aura; its shadow becoming the silent guardian of the graves as it draped itself over the tombstones. There was little room left on these hallowed grounds, the granite markers dotting the landscape, preserving the memories of those whose bodies had become a void, empty of life and soul. …

…just as the countless many that have blessed this sacred hill since the beginning of time. Slowly he stood and stoically turned to leave. He paused for only a moment to contemplate on what he had done, before he began to walk away with a quick pace. He reached behind himself and from under his coast he produced his scythe, and became one with the fog, beginning his search for the next to be damned.