Prompt #25: Graveyard
Our quarry had escaped us in the fog, and we reluctantly turned back toward our inn, dodging headstones and watching for open graves.
I did not realise until it was too late that my friend had unaccountably been swallowed by the mists. I was alone. Understandably uneasy, I peered round and called out softly for him, but only the gloom answered silently.
Then, quite suddenly, I felt an icy hand brush against the back of my neck and clamp down hard, accompanied by a weird, unearthly moan.
Thank heaven my rather un-masculine scream was drowned out by Holmes's hysterical laughter.