At night, the cemetery was filled with high, longing sounds not from this world. They were made by a pale young man, who sat on a bench beneath a great oak, playing a crimson violin.
At three o'clock, the last note vanished and with it the man. It became oddly quiet. The silence was almost creepy. Nothing moved. Everything was still. The ghosts had went back to their coffins.
Every night the young man appeared and played his crimson violin. He kept the souls of the dead under controll. He always left at three. He could not stay longer in this world. He had other duties to fulfill.
The bench were he sat never showed any sighns of him. The only thing he left was a cold chill and sometimes a red flower petal on a grave. The people did not notice anything.
On a cold autumn night, four drunk men came across the cemetery. They sang loudly and did not hear the sound of the crimson violin or the man playing it. They moved on. Once they passed the oak tree, they saw the man, calmly playing his violin. They laughed and pointed at him. One of them picked up a stone. He threw it at him. It hit the violin.
A string ruptured and slashed through the air. The man had stopped playing. He looked at his violin. Another melody started. A chorus of neverending howls and screams, swelling loudly ant fainting again, emerged from the mist. The drunk men shivered. Then they turned and walked quickly away. The howling grew louder, the men covered their ears. Hands emerged from the ground, gripping, longing for flesh. One of the men fell. He was engulfed by hands, bony, rotting old hands. Skulls followed. The teeth, horribly sharp teeth, ready for ripping and biting, were covered with saliva, dripping onto the floor. The man screamed. The ghost were now fuly visible. They knew they had prey. A few went to chase the other men, but most of them stayed with their meal. The screams grew louder, then the man made a gurgling sound and was still.
Screams and yelling was audible. Two men had been caught and were now at the mercy of the ghost and souls. An emotion they did no longer possess.
A sweet melody filled the cemetery. Some notes were missing, but they did not alter the beauty of the song. The ghosts backed off. Some of them rolled their skulls madly on their shoulders, but they oblieged. They went back to sleep. A crimson flower petal fell onto a grave. The clock rang three times.
The following morning, three dead men were found between the rows of graves. The police investigated, but the case was never solved.
This is the reason why cemeteries are closed in the night. The souls and ghosts of the long dead are longing for blood. Only the spirit of the graveyard can bring them back to sleep. Never go across a cemetery ar night.
~ to a young artist with great talent