I am the Dead

            I swear, from the bottom of my horror-stricken heart, that what I am telling you now is all I can remember to every hideous detail. You can jail me in your most miasmal asylum, but doing so will not change a thing. I have not concealed or distorted a single fact, though the cloud of shock still leaves my memory a bit vague.

            The reason we were even in that damned cemetery was because of Harry and his creepy new obsession.

            A few months ago, he had found an ominous package lying in his mailbox. The package was wrapped in brittle brown paper and contained no mailing information except for small fine print on one side of the wrapping that read, “India.” I would have never opened such an obvious request for trouble, but I guess Harry’s curiosity got the better of him.

            The package contained a single book full of strange and forbidden subjects in languages I could not comprehend. Harry couldn’t understand the archaic encryptions of that fiendish book at the time either, but he slowly became more and more immersed in the book. Soon, his attendance at school became non-existent.

            Though I still saw him nearly every day, my best friend seemed to become disembodied. To tell you the truth, I was even beginning to fear Harry, which was probably my only reason for agreeing to go with him to that sepulchral place.

            Sneaking out was the easy part. With all our bulky gear, we looked like Ghostbusters. Trudging through the hazy thicket of fog, we approached the cemetery in tremulous silence. The necropolis emanated danger, but Harry pressed on. The sky opened lightly to reveal a crescent moon with its waning light casting malevolent silhouettes at the foot of crumbling graves, urns, and cenotaphs.

            We grabbed our shovels and scraped away the weeds and soil from the festering mortuary. Our labors revealed granite slabs, which we pried apart with great difficulty. The removal of the slabs brought us to a dismal aperture rank with a repulsive odor. The distinct smell was vile, but we continued, our flashlights revealing crooked steps colored with the detestable ichor of inner earth. We were at the entrance.

Reviews

[Saichiro Wolftotem]

I'd love to see more of this, but I think if you're going to take the 'storyteller' voice perhaps a bit less on the lengthy wording. Lengthy wording is nice for most things, but it doesn't sound natural in this application.