Speaking Out

03

It was a cold night. 

The sky bare of stars and only the moon in sight. 

I stood alone, my feet planted on wet, trimmed grass. 

Looking down on a tombstone with no clue as to whose it was.

 I could hear the leaves rustling but I couldn't feel the breeze. 

Something wasn't right, my stomach slowly churned in unease. 

I looked behind me and was frozen in place.

 I saw a pumpkin-headed figure with a scar across its face. 

It lifted a scythe and aimed for my head.

 The next thing I knew, I was back in my bed.