Chapter Four: "The Shadows of Saint-Clement"
The morning of the trip dawned bright and clear, a stark contrast to the darkness that awaited us. As I, Spencer, recount the events, I can still feel the chill of the morning mist that clung to our skin like a foreboding omen.
The bus ride was filled with the usual banter, but Sophie and I shared knowing glances, our secret adding a layer of excitement to the mundane journey. We arrived at Saint-Clement's as the sun reached its zenith, casting long shadows across the gravestones.
Teacher: "Remember, students, stay together. This place deserves our respect."
Spencer: (whispering to Sophie) "Don't worry, we'll be back before they even notice we're gone."
As the group dispersed among the weathered tombstones, Sophie and I found our opportunity. We slipped away, our hearts racing with anticipation. The promise of our private escapade was moments away from fruition.
But as we ventured further, the air grew colder, the sky darker. The graveyard seemed to close in around us, and the once comforting silence became oppressive.
Sophie: "Spence, this place… it feels wrong."
Spencer: "It's just the atmosphere. Come on, we're almost there."
We found our secluded spot, a forgotten corner of the graveyard, where the grass grew tall and the stones bore no names. It was there that we gave in to our desires, oblivious to the eyes that watched from the shadows.
Time slipped away from us, and when we finally emerged, the sun had begun its descent. The bus was gone, and with it, our link to the world we knew.
Sophie: "They left us! How could they leave us?!"
Spencer: "It's okay, Soph. We'll find a way back. Let's just… let's just stay calm."
But calm was a luxury we could no longer afford. As darkness enveloped the graveyard, the ground beneath us stirred, and the first of the undead clawed its way to the surface.
Our screams went unheard, our plight unseen. We were alone, surrounded by the rising dead, our lives hanging by a thread.
And then, silence. A silence that was soon broken by the whispers of the past, calling us to join the dance of the damned.