A Cry from the Crypt

A light drizzle hung in the air, every surface was damp and dark. The wet branches of the trees swayed lazily as the leaves grew heavier and pulled themselves closer to the moss-covered gravestones.
Through the gently swirling grey, the silver water of the river lapped silently onto the rounded black rocks on the shore at the foot of the graveyard. It was a scene devoid of life or colour.
But, if someone had passing, and if they had not been hurrying through this bleak, unsettling venue then they might have heard a sound coming from the vents half buried along the bottom of the wall on the old church. And if their hurry hadn’t been urged into haste, and they’d stopped to take a step closer and peer into those vents they may just have see a flickering light and sounds of movement.. or was it voices?
Deep within the dark of the crypt, under centuries of history, an ancient anger was awakening, a beast would be reborn this day. Hurry on passerby, kiss your children and hold your dearest closer.

Jimmy is welding with damp rods and he isn’t happy. Not one bit.

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