A pale translucent moon shone like a coin in the pitch-black night sky. Trees stand tall at the side of the graveyard—their arms, convoluted and bony, thin out as they grow aimlessly around the trunk. Gnarled branches grow at angles, clawing out, attempting to escape. The stench of decay and death fills this cursed place. The descending night cast faint shadows of dancing ghouls and phantoms onto the foot of the graves. Fierce gusts of wind rip through the air, crying in grief, causing the leaves to flap furiously. A hoarse raven, perched atop the low stone wall in the distance, croaks fatally, announcing the arrival of darkness before being devoured by night.
“Grandfather!” I screamed as he fell, pupils pure white, like a huge puppet whose strings were cut, fell with a sickening thud. He lay sprawling on the ground, like a huge rag doll.
As I walk through the graveyard, I see an owl. Perched atop a low branch of a tree, its pair of piercing, beady yellow eyes dart from side to side observing the cemetery. The solitary owl hoots are quiet and quick. It emerges from the tree and settles onto a tombstone. Abandoning the grave, the mighty bird soars high up into the night sky, silhouetted by the dim street lights in the distance. Its gaze scrutinises the gravestones as he glides above. The tiny body of a rodent emerges from the shrubs. In horror, I see what it is going to do.
“Father! Mother!” I screech as their bodies convulse and fall, as lifeless as stuffed bears, eyes reflecting me, myself, the next one to die.
In a single swoop, the owl dived towards the animal, grasping it in its sharp talons and sinking them deep into its flesh. Its beak digs into his squirming meal devouring its meat, whole. I shudder in horror as the killing takes place. Walking toward a marble gravestone at the end of the graveyard, I read the letters:
MR SEET YOONG
DIED 2013
“THE MISSING AREN’T MISSING, THEY ARE JUST DEPARTED FOREVER”
The strange words register in my mind. Grandpa had been unknowingly killed by someone or something. I came to visit his grave to see and find clues about what may have happened. But I am not alone. Figures appear in the graveyard. I could be hallucinating, or simply dead already. Let it end, the excruciating pain. A wave of toys pours out from nowhere. Ragdolls, stuffed bears, and puppets are all present in the sickening wave of toys. A figure, dressed in a silvery-white cloak, strides forward. He examines the toys. Then, reaching with his bony fingers takes out a puppet, whose strings are cut, smiling gruesomely at me… A red robe drapes his entire body. Black beads are its eyes, ogling me. A staff held by the puppet twitches like it is amused, amused at me, at my pathetic state. I see the madness in that eyes, planets and darkness and universes swirling in them.
I shriek and stumble backward. The figure takes off his hood and the ebony pale skull shines out, searing more images in my mind. Blood starts pouring out of my wounds. It walks towards me. No. NO! I run and flee, but the graveyard is sealed. There is no way out. A scythe stabs down at me, crushing my heart. The wraith whispers, “The missing aren’t missing, they are departed. Forever” The last smile comes from the puppet, smiling like anything, delivering the last fatal blow. He is the manipulator, I am not. I…
The young girl walks into a toy shop, ablaze with light. Toys pour out, fluffy cute bears and rag dolls. She takes up a little small puppet and squeals in delight. “Daddy, I want this one!” An old newspaper shows a large caption: “Missing boy, police in disarray.” The puppet’s smile widened, and if anyone was noticing, reflected in its own eyes were three generations all hitching a frightened expression on their faces. Just as there are deities that discard, there are deities of salvation.
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