As the townsfolk laughed and danced and drank, something was happening up on the hill of the cemetery.
Things were waking.
Soil shifted. Coffins creaked. Tombs groaned. Crypt doors squeaked.
Moans filled the quietness.
The crows cawed and fluttered their wings and ruffled their feathers – almost in anticipation of what was to come. But the birds kept their distance. They had learned their lesson.
As the clocks tick-tocked their way towards midnight, the things long-dead rose from their slumber. Their time was drawing near; the point when the veil between worlds was the thinnest.
The witching hour fast approached.
This is part seven of a larger story for Halloween. All sections are in the form of a 99-word story. Check back tomorrow for part eight!