SPRINKLE SKELETON GHOST

Wind howled down the narrow street like the hounds of hell. Nipping at the ankles of anyone unwise enough to stand in the onslaught without thick leggings and a coat. Rain drove down onto the asphalt like bullets. Cars pulled over to avoid crashing into lamp posts at the intersection. Animals ran for cover. Dogs howled. Cats arched their backs. Birds flew away. Doors slammed and locked. Mist sprinkled the alleys like a fist full of sand scattered to the wind, creeping like gnarled fingers. Stretching. Grasping. Mischievous. Lights dimmed. The chaos stilled closer to the manicured graveyard. Bones rattled in the eerie silence. Leaves crinkled. Tombstones creaked and groaned. The flourish of ambience rose to a tempo. Night creatures retired, quaking with apprehension. Apparitions appeared from the shadows. In varying states of terror. Necks snapped. Arms scratched, and luminescent ectoplasm congealed like blood. Ankles shackled with ancient chains. Jangling soundlessly. Eyes gouged out or dangling from their sockets. Cheeks gaunt. Maggots bulging from greying skin. The skeletons kept time, drumming on skulls, femurs and rib-cages as the party began. By daybreak the graveyard was desolate. Bouquets scattered about like confetti. The softly turned earth compacted by fleshless footsteps. The wrought iron bars fending the living world off the lawn.