Always Alive

“It’s always alive.  It’s always watching you,” Amber whispered dramatically.  Her Jeep headlights were already off and the surrounding candles were burning steadily.  I pulled the blanket over my head and couldn’t believe I had let myself get roped into hearing Amber’s ghost stories again.  I despised scary stories and wouldn’t sleep for days after hearing them.  No way could I ever even think about watching horror movies.  I had watched part of a Gremlin movie when I was younger and had nightmares for years. 

Now I had let Amber talk me into hearing her tell us all ghost stories while sitting in a cemetery.  We had gotten to the cemetery while it was still light and set up a few blankets so we could comfortable.  Or at least as comfortable as you could get while hearing ghost stories in a cemetery at night.  With each new story Amber would tell, I was mentally preparing that it would be the last one.  How could anyone know so many stories?  After a while, each blow of the wind became the breath of dead bodies and the crackling leaves became bones breaking.  I needed to be able to zone out and not hear any of Amber’s stories, but it became harder as the night went on.  Every voice, every noise, every movement around us became sinister.  Around midnight, Amber finally finished her last story and I breathed a sigh of relief.    That was until the scream shattered the silence of the cemetery. 


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