Further down the dirt path the trees began to thin out into a single line, evenly spaced. Between each tree Gregory made out a broad field of tomb stones. He whistled between his teeth; he had always pitied those people who lived next to grave yards.
Craning my neck I watched curiously as the cultists continued their chanting. They were kneeling on an inverted pentagram.
An introductory post from R. J. Davies featuring five questions which no one ever ask her! Say hi to R. J. everyone!
In the middle of a field he spotted an abandoned barn. Its silver-grey wood shone in the waning light of the sun; from his vantage it looked sturdy. It was still standing.
What am I, but your fate?