Crickets chirped in the woods around Moon Creek. On the rutted road leading to Moon Point Cemetery, Tom shown his flashlight under the hood of his aging Dodge Ram 50, while Angie paced nervously, rubbing her arms for warmth.
“There’s nothing wrong under here,” Tom said, scratching his head.
Suddenly, branches snapped and the distinctive sound of grass being tossed about cut through the air. Tom and Angie knew they were not alone.
Angie’s eyes grew wide as she caught a glimpse of a stout figure lurking at the end of the road less than twenty yards away. It walked slowly toward them and wore a long, ragged dress that looked like a thrift store reject. Then, something in its hand flashed in the moonlight.