 Simon, a detective for the New Haven city department, jiggled the lock on the cemetery gate. It made no sense to him why the cemetery would be closed that day and wondered if Lilith saw the lock and went home. Eyeing the street, he soon noticed her car and concluded she must have climbed over the gate. She was young enough.
“So are you,” Simon whispered to himself, looking the gate up and down. “Don’t put yourself in the old age home just yet. Hop to it!”  “Quite simply, the tree is cursed,” the priest said.
“I was rather hoping you had more to say than the obvious, father,” the woodsman sighed. “Of course it is cursed. The twisted branches, the strange, bloodlike pools and of course, the dozen bodies littered around it like fallen leaves. How do we rid ourselves of this tree?”  Wilhelm finished off the ritual with a sigh. Tension washed away as quickly as it came. When performing the ritual, there were strict actions to be done and phrases that needed to be said. It was more a ceremony performed for the ancient ones than a recipe being followed.
Considering that Wilhelm still lived, without a scratch, he had performed the ritual well. |
WRITER
Matthew Dewey
Archives
November 2021
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