I don't own anything. Gaston Leroux does!
I found myself in a strange wood, that of which I have only sounded in the hearts of far and foreign lands. Its straight-backed trees reached like pale fingers to the blank sky, and the air was grey and took on an atmosphere of absolute and unnatural silence. Not even the whistle of zephyrs penetrated my dim glen. I walked with faltering steps, but had a queer, sick feeling that I was not wandering aimless. I proceeded with the air of someone who knows they must eventually accomplish their final destination, but is not eager to reach it.
Gradually perceiving a sound that confounded the abhorrent silence, I at last came across a clearing ringed by a tall, thin regiment of trees. The lamentations of night birds could be heard, thrown from ahead. I walked through the ranks of grim, circling, forest watchmen, and fixed upon a dark point. It was the large, polished expanse of a neat-looking object. Despite the affliction of predatory dread that had seized hold of my gut, I ventured further into the clearing to that smooth box. As I approached I observed that it was a casket, long and thin and, as for a moment I seemed to fancy, trembling. The wailing of birds seemed to wax around me, and with it, the very climate of the glen. The temperature rose and rose with the piercing requiem, and it seemed horridly strange to me that no birds were in sight. Perspiration poured incessantly from my brow and dripped from my temples until, unable to bear the heat and the bird's screams, I tore the lid from the coffin's deathly lip. I at once fell back, revolted, and reversed in a display of the most complete and utter horror.
A human corpse had lain in the cool and shadowy box, with limbs worm-eaten and emaciated by time, and a death mask black as night lay upon its visage. In such terror was I gripped that I did not replace the lid and simply described a scrambling retreat from the loathsome container. My fingers curled into the earth and I felt grains of sand bury themselves on the undersides of my nails.
The clearing was not within a forest, but a scorching desert, and the birdcalls flew from the hooked mouths of circling carrion birds! The trees were not trees, but mirrors that scraped the heavens and reflected hell, the sands, themselves, the casket, the corpse! The thing had risen and gripped the pale casket lip with bloodless, clawed fingers. It lurched forth from the tomb as if the underworld itself was belching forth its cursed denizens. With inexpressible alarm, I perceived that the onyx death mask, subject to the merciless desert heat, was melting from the corpse's head.
"My Daroga! Why do you shrink from me? Are we not old friends? Am I not a most pleasant and agreeable chap?" The revenant leaned forward, tattered cloth hanging from its wasted frame, mask dripping from its face.
"Ahh, I frighten you, do I? Come now, Daroga! You great booby, there is really nothing to fear!"
Then it was standing before me, hands spread like pale spiders, head dripping like wax and all I could think was how I wished never to see what lay under that dark and twisting mask. The carrion birds were descending now, claws tearing at its cerements and rotted flesh, beaked mouths open in song. Its dead hands took mine, and it looked into my face saying "Come, Daroga! Do you really fear me so?"
I woke up, arms reeling against sweat soaked blankets, a scream choking my throat. I sat for a long moment, panting in the darkness. Passing a trembling hand over my face, I waited until I could feel my heart cease its frenzied palpitations. Outside my door I was aware of Darius' soft, padding steps as he paused outside my door. No doubt he had heard me crying out in the night and had come to my assistance, the good fellow, but I made not another sound. After a few silent moments, I heard his retreating tread. Slowly, grunting slightly, I leaned back in my bed. Two stars, like twin candles, seemed to be branded into the backs of my eyelids. It was a blessedly cool and silent night, but I lay staring at my ceiling for long moments without sleep. It has been too long.
Whoop! I don't have much to say about this one, other than I can't seem to bring myself to write anything of respectable length, I love the Persian deeply, and I have an affinity for the macabre ¯\_(ツ)_/¯