The Writetober Project

Rick, a grave keeper, knew the woods well. His father, and his father before him, had tended the cemetery nestled deep within the embrace of the forest. The trees, ancient and gnarled, bore witness to the silent city of the dead.   Rick had heard tales of the woods from his grandmother. Tales of spirits who lingered as ghosts, bound to the earth by their unfinished business. She warned him to avoid the old oak at the forest’s edge, for it was said to be haunted by the ghost of a young woman who had drowned in the nearby pond. Rick had always dismissed these stories as childhood fables, but as he grew older, he found himself wondering if there was more to the woods than met the eye. One stormy night, as Rick made his way home from the cemetery, the wind howled through the trees, carrying with it a mournful wail. He stopped, his heart pounding in his chest. The sound seemed to come from the direction of the old oak. With a mixture of fear and curiosity, Rick walked on, his footsteps crun