There was a single beat of silence, adrenaline brewing in my blood as my eyes remained pinned on the gravestone, waiting for the shadow.
Another beat.
Another.
Then he stepped out. And my heart dropped.
It was a…ghost. Well, a man with a grotesque ghostly face, hollow-eyed, bone-white in the dim glow of the moonlight.
He tilted his head to the side, studying me, waiting for me to make the next move.
The first drop of rain landed on my left cheek.
Then he lunged at me.
I ran.
Then another drop of rain.
I heard him behind me, the loud staccato of heavy boots against gravel and damp soil.
Then a thousand drops of rain at a time.
My shoes skidded over scattered graves, damp soil, broken branches, adrenaline charging in my veins, my heart pounding in my chest as I ran.
The sky ripped open in anger, unleashing a downpour so violent, so raging, it drowned the world in sounds. The rain hammered against stone, against earth, and my trembling skin. The scent of wet soil and rot thickened, suffocating.
And the harder I ran, the closer he seemed to get. I would take a step, and he would take a thousand leaps right after me.
The harder the rain poured, the slicker the earth beneath my feet, and the more unsteady my ground as I continued to lose my balance and stumble, grabbing onto cracked headstones to hold myself up before I continued again.
Water pooled in the erosion between graves, scooping into my shoes, soaking my white socks that have now taken a dirty shade of brown.
My uniform clung to my body, nearly becoming one with my skin. Water gathered in my lids, some escaping into my mouth as I panted.
I could barely see, barely breathe as wind howled through the graveyard, wailing through jagged iron gates, plastering my fiery hair on my face.
But I couldn’t stop. Not even for a minute. He was behind me. He was so close I could feel his breath on the nape of my neck. I could feel the bony, cold fingers brushing against my wrist.
But I continued to run even when my lungs began to constrict and my chest burned. I ran even when the rain stung my eyes and the sharp water choked me. I ran harder, even when the world became a blur of shadows and headstones.
Then all of a sudden, I could no longer run as my limbs started to go limp. I veered around a tomb that looked newer than most, nameless, except the date of the person’s death. I squatted, my body pressing against the cold concrete, my breath ragged, heart pounding, calves aching.
It seemed I had lost him. No, I prayed I had lost him, blended with the shadow, became one with the night.
For a minute or more, I rested my head against the stone, my eyes closed as I tried to catch my breath. Then suddenly, I sensed it, a shadow hovering over me, a barely audible crunch of boot against sodden soil, and a finger brushing my wrist.
A scream tore out of my throat as the cold fingers tightened around my wrist, yanking me to my feet.
“Please, please, please.” Eyes still sealed shut, I refused to see the dead holding onto me, pressing me against a wet and cold body, clasping a hand over my mouth to silence me.
Then I felt it, cold lips brushing against the lobe of my ear. “Now that was a good run, wasn’t it?”
The voice was distorted over the heavy downpour, though eerily familiar, sending shivers of fear down my spine.
“Open your eyes,” the ghost urged, cold fingers brushing against my chin as he forced my eyes to meet his. “Look at me.”
I shook my head, my body trembling, my heart hammering against my chest.
