Terror Tot: The Shroud

A bite sized horror tale

     It is said rhat there’s a shroud in Turin that bares the likeness of the crucified Christ. To those who believe it is a holy relic of their lord and savior, unbelievers decry it as mere forgery to fool the ignorants amongst us. As to that I cannot say for I am neither a scholar or holy man to have ever be granted access to such things.

     There are other shrouds from all corners of our world but only one I can speak with any sort of authority. Slowly this shroud has driven me to madness since I first laid eyes upon it. As a nights watchman I walked the hallowed grounds of St. Andrews cathedral graveyard. It was a dark night like any other with a blanket of fog so thick it made the torch all but useless if ya wanted to see a meter past your bloody nose.

      I had thought I had heard a sound like dried leaves rusting along the ground by a soft wind. Perhaps it was the sound of ripping fabric that had been left on the line and out in the elements far too long. a sheet that had long since rotted to a threadbare ghost of its former self. Whatever made the noise was far too close for comfort as sound traveled for naught in the nights fog as thick as pea soup.

     Other sounds that should not be, visited my senses on many of my late night traipses through the stone jungle of the dead. Slight breezes that carried infernal whispers impossible to understand at first yet now the message is quite clear. The occasional caw of the startled crow, now full blown murders have taken to the air announcing the beginning of the witching hour with discordant tunes of hellish songbirds.

     Day time visitors speak of invisible watchers and hair standing on end caused by these unseen wicked specter's. If only they knew what is hidden inside the granite walls of the ancient crypt that I had discovered two decades past. A soiled shroud still showing some twisted being despite the centuries of confinement in the mouldering tome.

      Tis my secret and my curse, of which I can no longer speak without riddle. If only there was another to take away my misfortune…