Through the woods and down the hollow, with the sun approaching evening's edge, Zachary, being surrounded by the disquiet of looming darkness hurriedly makes his way along the shortcut from town toward the cabin, hoping to settle in before the formation of twilight's roving shadows stretch across the forest, consuming all with their endless reach before leading into the complete onset of night.

"I was a fool for not paying more attention to the time," Zachary thought to himself as he stepped out of the woods and onto the dirt roadway at the bottom of the hill. 

"I need to hurry, it'll be dark soon."

Adjusting the feedsack full of bartered staples slung across his shoulder, he precedes with an almost feverish pace, wishing he hadn't lingered in town at the general store, listening to heart pounding tales related by the town's loafers, who have nothing better to do than sit around all day spinning yarns. 

Silently he cursed his own foolishness for allowing his idleness to betray him. Here he was, several miles from home, trudging against the fall of impending darkness, and he had no one to blame but himself.     

Zachary's heart started to pound as he recalled the details from some of the unnerving accounts related by the storytellers; details about bedeviling spirits following along the road, whispering in hissing voices, calling the traveler's name, and specters rising up from the ground as white foggy mists with scowling eyes of pitch, sinisterly reaching out to brush a person with their icy fingers while rushing forward with their hideous blackened mouths gaped open as if trying to scream.

Some stories centered on the unbeknownst traveler or foolhardy naysayer that literally ran for their life while being chased by horrors that lunged forth from their hiding place along the road. Some even died in their tracks from the fright thrust upon them by the abominations. Others completely disappeared after beginning their journey along the road at night.

Giving effort to push the frightful thoughts to the back of his mind, chills coursed through Zachary's body, not unlike the described touch from those said to haunt and torment the person daring to trek through the darkness alone.

Realizing the similarities of the coldness gripping him, like the touch of a menacing specter, he quickly peered around as if trying to stay any haunt's approach.

"Get a grip", he mumbled to himself. "I'm letting my imagination get the best of me. I need to quit this nonsense".

With succeeding thoughts, "all are just farfetched stories created to make light of fretful women, and scare misbehaved children". Every town has its share of haunted houses, hollows and cemeteries that amount to nothing anymore than silly, unsubstantiated ghost stories. Only a fool would believe such buffoonery", he tried to assure himself.

Looking toward the horizon, the sun was setting over the rise, and shadows beneath the trees were steadily growing darker with each passing moment. All were now beginning to resemble strange creatures, huddling close to the ground, intent on watching him with secretive eyes.

Consciously, he stilled his urge to shudder. 

Continuing on his way, his pace increased with every step, and fear ensued with every breath.

Zachary had recently moved to the area, settling into old man Pritchard's place, as referenced by local town's people. For years the cabin set vacant. No one had occupied it since the old man passed away.  It wasn't much to look at on the outside, appearing as no more than a makeshift building built of hewn logs and rough cut lumber scavenged from the scrap pile. On the inside, it only consisted of three small rooms, but in reality, it was all he needed; a place where he could lay his head down at night with a roof over his head. 

Journeying through the area about three weeks ago he happened upon the aging homestead, and without much ado made arrangements to purchase it from Pritchard's son, Johnston Pritchard.

Johnston, the proprietor of the town's general store seemed more than eager to transfer the property to a new owner. To him, it was just an out of the way useless plot of ground that required a payment of yearly taxes. He regarded it without any sentimental attachments to his father whatsoever; being that his father only built and used the place as an occasional getaway, because he enjoyed the solitude that it provided.

The purchase consisted of a handshake, and Zachary agreeing to work off the selling price by plowing grounds, cutting firewood, and doing a number of other jobs that Johnston occasionally needed a hired man for.

It wasn't long after moving into the cabin that Zachary began hearing tales about ghostly apparitions supposedly haunting the roadway, while also becoming aware that a pauper's cemetery lay just a short distance up ahead in a small desolate clearing.

Some suggested that the spirits were haunting the area because they were angry, and seeking revenge for their namesakes being buried and forgotten in unmarked graves without so much as a hymn or prayer to send them on their way. This evening though, the rumors had turned into complete stories of horror that befell people, not unlike himself, who dared to venture the road after dark. Not knowing whether the tales were true or not, they were still frightful enough to make anyone cringe, especially now as the last hint of the sun dropped below the horizon.

Overhead, a waning moon and a pattern of stars began to glimmer in the darkness as he continued on his way toward home.

The sounds of the night echoed through the hollow. Frogs singing amid the chirps of a million crickets lent an eerie feel to the air with their high pitched drone. Joining the chatter was the flow of water in the roadside creek, rippling and sloshing, mimicking noises similar to approaching footsteps, and low uttered voices in a secretive conversation.

As the darkness continued to close in around him, Zachary realized he was afraid, and the cabin was still about a mile up the road, and between him and it was the pauper's cemetery.        

Plaguing uneasiness was overtaking him. The urge to toss away the feedsack full of bartered foodstuff and run was overwhelming, but he knew that would be a foolish mistake. Running headlong into the night he would surely trip in one of the many ruts in the roadway, causing him to stumble and fall, perhaps breaking an arm or a leg.

"It's best to try and stay calm while cautiously navigating the way home", Zachary thought.

"Soon I'll be home, make myself some supper, and have a good night's rest, and in the morning I'll have a good laugh about all this tomfoolery."

Still! Even with his own self-assurance, the fear enveloped him, rising into his chest, causing him to momentarily gasp for air.

Taking care, Zachary eased his way through the darkness, listening intently for a rustle or breaking of twigs, indicating something might be stalking him. His eyes darted back and forth, pausing to glare into the stillness of night, trying to discern any movement in his forward path and the adjacent area.

Continuing onward, he seemed to be laboring somewhat to catch his breath, and small waves of weakness were causing him to become unsteady on his feet. Even the surge of fear that had whelmed to his chest earlier was becoming a nagging discomfort. His heart was pounding like it was ready to explode. He assumed his nerves were taking their toll.

Nearing just up ahead was the pauper's cemetery. The place he dreaded passing. Stories he had heard in town were now resurfacing, and revisiting each of their ghoulish details, making his mind race with fear. The thoughts of hideous spirits rushing from the darkness and grasping him with their cold dead fingers sent shivers coursing through his body. With those thoughts, his heart started thrashing even harder in his chest.

Then he saw it. A glowing orb of light was coming toward him from the cemetery, and through the distance, he could hear voices.

Zachary's mind began to scream with terror, urging him to run, but he couldn't. He was frozen in fear.

His breath became heavier, and a searing pain rushed through his chest while the light came closer, and closer, until it was just yards away.

Then he heard voices calling out! "Zachary! Zachary! Is that you"?

With the pain continuing to pound in his chest, his eyes rolled toward the heavens.

Zachary fell in a heap upon the ground, and the last breath heaved from his chest.

Moving faster, the light was now upon him and two voices rang out in unison. "Zachary! Are you okay"?

Jumping off the old rickety wagon, and grabbing the lantern, Gil, and Mark, the town's gravediggers, having just finished burying another unfortunate soul, were on their way back to town when they saw a shadowy figure standing in the road. Both figured it was more than likely Zachary, the area's newest resident, because he just lived a piece further up the road.

Now it was obvious that their assumption was right, holding the lantern close, they stood over the huddled mass lying dead at their feet.  

"What do you supposed happened?" inquired Mark.

"Who knows?" Gil answered. "I reckon when it's time for a man to meet his maker it doesn't matter where he's at".

"I guess we had better load him up into the wagon and get him back to town", Mark said.

Both men set about the task and headed back to town.

The next day, Mark and Gil returned to the clearing to bury the body of Zachary. With no money or known family, his body would be laid to rest with the other unfortunates.

Eventually, the last shovelful of dirt was tossed upon the newest pauper's grave, without a hymn or a prayer.

The sun was just beginning to set over the hill's rise, and the two grave diggers headed back toward town, and the night ushered in.

Surfacing from beneath the ground a white mist hovered with eyes of pitch. A gaping mouth formed of blackness, hideously screamed, Zachary realizing, he was now part of the horror that he had feared.  He was a forgotten soul abandoned and forgotten in an unmarked pauper's grave, and he was angry at the world. 

"Revenge would fall upon all who traveled alone by night".

As Zachary looked around, the other specters from the pauper's graves began to rise.

C.E.Vance

The End