Chapter 4

The church bells continued to chime, marking each hour. When the final bell rang, I was already halfway across the graveyard, sprinting towards the exit. It suddenly hit me how dangerous it was for a young woman to be alone in such an isolated place.

I grabbed my phone and began speaking loudly into it, pretending, "Hey Mom, I'm almost at the gate. I can see you!"

There was no one on the other end of the line, but I hoped that anyone watching would see me talking and leave me alone.

The gates finally came into view, and a wave of relief washed over me. Just a little further, and I'd be free.

I quickened my pace, eager to get home and put this terrible night behind me. As I approached the path leading straight to the gate, wisps of white mist began to creep through the railings.

At first, the mist was translucent enough that I could still make out the gates and the streetlights beyond. But with each step, the mist thickened and grew denser, pouring out between the railings and enveloping the gate and path in a solid wall of white. "Oh, shoot," I muttered as the mist swallowed me whole.

Visibility was now practically zero.

Great, I had no choice but to feel my way out of this mess.

I started shuffling cautiously toward the cemetery gates. Things were going relatively smoothly until my toe collided with the base of a tombstone. A sharp pain shot through my foot, and I gasped.

"Crud, crud, crud, crud, mother-loving crud!" I hissed.

Hopping on one foot, I reached for the nearest headstone and leaned against it.

God, I hoped my toe wasn't broken. A broken foot would be the ultimate icing on this disastrous cake.

Rubbing my sore toe, I lifted my head and my stomach dropped. A dark silhouette was approaching through the mist, its form slowly becoming clearer as it drew closer. The temperature around me plummeted, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

The shadowy figure was getting nearer.

Please, God, let this be just some drunk taking a shortcut home...

I squinted, trying to see through the thick white fog.

"Madam, are you okay?" A calm, polite voice of an elderly man emerged from the mist. Though I couldn't see him clearly, I guessed he was either the church minister or the groundskeeper.

"Hello, sir. I'm sorry to bother you, but I can't find my way out of here," I replied.

"Ah," the man said, moving closer. "These night fogs can be quite confusing. Here, take my arm, and I'll guide you."

"Thank you," I said, taking his arm and quickly adding, "My friend is waiting for me at the gate."

I still couldn't shake the feeling that this man might be a creep.

We began making our way through the fog, and I couldn't help but notice how cold and damp his arm felt. His jacket sleeve seemed like it had been soaked in rain for hours.

Despite my lingering suspicions, I clung to his arm as we navigated through the dense mist. The eerie chill and the strange dampness of his clothes made me uneasy, but I focused on reaching the exit and escaping this unsettling place.

As we moved forward, I kept glancing around, hoping the cemetery gates were just ahead. My heart raced with a mix of relief and anxiety, eager to reunite with my friend and leave this nightmare behind.

"Are you the caretaker here?" I asked.

"In a way, yes. I've been watching over this place for the past three hundred years," he replied.

"Three hundred years, huh?" I responded, skeptical.

"Yes, although I spend most of my time sleeping underground."

"Sleeping underground... Well, I think I can find my way out from here," I said, forcing a smile and trying to sound calm.

"Oh no, my dear. The ceremony is about to begin, and you are the guest of honor," he said.

I immediately let go of his arm and started backing away from him. "Sorry, but I have other plans. Maybe we could do this another time."

"No!" he cried, grabbing my wrist. "You must come with me."

"I'm sorry, but I can't," I replied firmly.

"It's too late to turn back now," he insisted.

"Okay, you're really starting to scare me, so I’m going to leave," I said, my voice shaking.

"You can't," he sighed. "The curse is upon you, my dear. There’s no escaping it now."

For the first time, I looked down at his hand gripping my wrist. "Hey, what's wrong with your arm? Your skin—it's gray."

"It's dead," he stated flatly.

I believed he was teasing me, but noticing something shift beneath his skin sent chills down my spine. I gasped and stumbled back.

"What's wrong with you? What's happening to your skin?"

A break in the fog revealed the horrifying truth about him; he was a corpse.

In a state of surreal shock, it hit me that the urban legend was real. Shaking my head, I pleaded, "This is a mistake—I didn't know, I thought it was just—"

"A myth? A fairy tale?" He interjected.

"Yes," I replied, hoping he'd see my plight and let me go.

"Regrettably, my dear, by standing there in that dress awaiting our Lord, you've fulfilled your vows." He responded somberly.

"Are you the Prince of Darkness?"

"No, I am Bishop Darkmoon. It will be my duty to officiate your wedding tonight."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Come along, Madame. Your groom awaits," he said, seizing my arm and pulling me up the aisle.

The bishop forcefully led me down the aisle, my protests turning into cries for help. Determined not to succumb passively to my fate, I resolved to fight this undead being and his 'Lordship' until my final breath. There was no way I would quietly accept my demise.