Darkness
by 80sarcades
Welcome back, and enjoy!
Chapter 2: The Graveyard
To Newkirk's amusement, the blue light almost seemed to ripple like water when he walked through it. For a moment, he watched the 'waves' flow outward from his shoe before disappearing at the path's edge in a crackling hiss .
The cemetery gate - in reality, the back entrance - was actually part of a worn picket fence. Hinges, long since rusted over, squeaked loudly in the silent air as the door opened, causing the Englishman to cringe.
Nothing like waking the dead, he inwardly grinned. Wouldn't want the living to show up either! With care, he latched the noisy door back into place before turning to look at his surroundings.
It's just a cemetery, he thought wryly, trying to keep his spirits up. What did you expect? Still, he couldn't deny the hesitant feeling that suddenly washed over his soul; for an instant, he had the undeniable urge to run. With effort, he quashed the stray emotion even as a nervous laugh escaped his lips.
Get off it! the rational part of his mind admonished. All they are is a collection of stones! We'll walk through and that will be that! He scanned the quiet area again, his tension easing slightly.
I wish LeBeau were here.
The thought of his best friend immediately cheered the Englishman up. Usually, the feisty Frenchman was the first one to volunteer for missions. Tonight, however, he was in bed; a head cold had robbed him of his usual high energy.
I wonder if Carter ever fed him that chicken soup he was making, he wondered, his lips quirking slightly in amusement. And you think the Krauts serve bad food...
With a chuckle, he started forward on his journey through the cemetery. As he did so, the lighted pathway behind him - unseen by his eyes - spluttered once more before fading into the darkness.
Mindful of superstition, Peter Newkirk took care not to step on any of the graves as he made his way through the cemetery. He cast a curious eye on some of the stone markers; idly, he wondered about the people that lay beneath them.
Were they good or bad? Rich, or poor? He shrugged, not knowing the answer.
In the end, I guess it didn't make any difference, he decided. They all went the same way. Guess I will, too. A cocky smile then tugged at his thin lips. Course, I can wait for a long time for that. Say, 1987 or so. Forty-something years from now seems long enough...
A faint light, shining through the tombstones, suddenly caught his attention.
What is that? Curious, he walked closer.
A hazy blue light - similar to the one on the cemetery path- outlined one of the headstones in a shimmering glow. Newkirk cocked his head in surprise.
Why just that one stone? he wondered, confused by the solitary sight. You would think that more of them would be lit up. Or at least the grass, somehow. Unlike its brethren, the name on the tombstone was easy to read in the subtle light:
Erika Baum
16 Mai 1902
23 Juli 1937
I wonder who she was?
He looked at the small stone angel - its hands cupped to its face as if in sorrow - standing on top of the monument. The Englishman eyed the surrounding markers; as best as he could tell none of them had any kind of adornments. Just this one.
I guess someone really loved her. Either that, or she liked angels.
As he turned to leave, he saw something in the corner of his eye. Startled, he whirled his head back towards the blue phenomenon. Except for the tombstone, nothing was there.
I could have sworn...
He frowned, unsure if his mind was playing tricks on him again.
For a moment, I thought I saw a woman leaning against the headstone. A brunette, wearing a fancy dress. She was looking right at me...
Newkirk's thoughts trailed off into nothingness as his eyes noticed something both odd and frightening. The angel, once weeping, now had its hands clasped in front of its chest as if in prayer; the face, now outlined in blue, looked up at him.
Straight at him.
A shiver of fear coursed down the Englishman's spine as he intently studied the figure.
It was crying, a small part of his mind absently mumured. It was crying...
He blinked several times, all the while keeping his gaze on the statuette. It has to be my imagination! he told himself, trying to believe the words. Stone statues can't move; it's impossible! Just a trick of the light. That's all.
Resolutely, despite his feeling of dread, he managed to turn away from the strange spectacle. The white moonlight cast a sullen pall over the silent cemetery; with a bit of luck he would be out of there within minutes.
It could be worse, he reflexively decided before a bitter grin twisted his lips. Then again, I'm not sure if I want to know how much worse it can get-
A light feminine laughter suddenly broke the stillness of the graveyard before fading away into the night. Newkirk jerked, his body spinning around even as his frantic eyes searched the now-silent area.
He saw no one.
But I heard a woman laugh, he thought, trying to control his growing fear. And I'd bet two quid that it was the same one as before. His eyes then widened in horror when they touched a now-familiar headstone.
The angel statuette was missing.
A/N: Next - Chapter 3: Trouble Arising
The Weeping Angels (from the TV series Doctor Who) are, in my humble opinion, the creepiest 'bad guys' in fiction. Ostensibly, they are nothing more than stone statues of innocent Angels. Take your eyes off of them, however, and they turn into assassins…
As always, thanks for reading!
