It

 

            The man cowered behind a statue of a weeping Virgin Mary which was crying tears of blood for all the lost souls in the murky graveyard. Something was after him, he didn’t know what it was, and he didn’t want to. All he knew was that it was a bloodthirsty and malignant creature. The man examined his surroundings looking for an escape route, and any sight of the creature. All he saw was tomb after tomb, and a crypt outlined behind him in the dark surrounding. A full moon shone up above, yet he could not see the creature. It was as if shadows followed every one of its footsteps, even out in the moonlight. The man could just sense it watching him, teasing him, for its own amusement. He could feel those bloodshot eyes stabbing into him. “How’d I ever get myself into this situation? Has Lucifer been watching? Am I to be taken for my sins?” he questioned himself. The man grabbed his cross, praying, so tight it was practically embedded in his perspiring palm. “Lord Almighty, please save me from this damnation”. Despite the cross around his neck, he never quite believed in God, but if the devil exists, then God surely does. He could sense the creature getting closer and closer, and he ran, deeper into the vast cemetery and unaware of where he was heading, as long as it was away from what pursued him. 

            “Damien Rose, 1711-1743, a martyr to schizophrenia, he now lies amongst those he claimed he saw, but never feared”. Those were the inscriptions on the tomb that the man noticed on the side of his eye, as he lay low hiding from the creature. The name sounded familiar, and the words following sent a chill up his spine. Shrugging it off, he set his mind on the current situation; there was no sight of the creature. He could see his own breath in the night air, reminding the man just how cold he really was, a feeling so overshadowed by his fear. However, the cold was the least of his problems. Through the creature’s playful hunt, the man could just feel its thirst for blood, for his blood. With a sickening pleasure, the creature continued to stalk the man, to torture him. It was like a slow death, the man knew it was coming as there was no escape, and yet there was a sense of anticipation, a want to end the suffering. “What better place to die than in a grave yard”, the man thought to himself. There was an eerie silence surrounding the man. The only noise he could hear was his own heavy panting, and the chirping critters in the surrounding cemetery. As he listened, he could hear a new noise, something breathing, and it was not his own panting. The man slowly turned to look behind him, the cross held tightly in his right hand, but it was not his saviour that was behind him, what he saw were two red eyes staring down into his own. The creatures body was garmented in dark clothing; a black silhouette in the dark night. The game was over. It was there.