Author’s Note: Another throwaway item today. This was part of a ghost story I ditched. The man in question (the one doing the observing) is rather less alive than he imagines. His descent into madness begins.
They fluttered over the midnight graves like silver faeries. Larger than moths but no birds, the creatures shimmered in and out of existence like faulty film in a projector, here one moment gone the next. Vanishing from above one tombstone to reappear over another some distance away, I observed their goings on in absolute silence.
The creatures, fey folk or whatever they were, communicated in intangible gestures as though erasing one finger movement with the very next. Not a sound did they emit, a reality amplified by the night being paused. Not even the willow trees that dotted the graveyard swayed as was their wont, their tendrils limp and languid.
How long I remained I could not say, but it was too long. The whispered threats that started in one ear then fluttered to the next, denoted such. When they moved into my head, I knew the truth.