Aces and Eights, the Tale of the Dead Mans Hand.

He heard the sound of wood creaking as he approached the old Masonic Cemetery late one night. “The dead are uneasy”, he thought to himself jokingly and continued up the road. He felt a pull on his insides. Something, more so “someone” was enticing his desire to walk through that dark cemetery as he had done many times before as a young boy but even later as a teen. He felt as if an old friend down the street was calling his name motioning for him to come down there and say hello. But there was no one down the street, no one was calling his name, yet this same feeling hung around.

The iron rod gate had not been opened for quite some time, he could tell by the cobwebs and debris plastered to each upright, but the shrill ungreased scream of a squeak which came from the gates’ hinges was the tell tale sign. He was seemingly alone surrounded by hundreds maybe thousands of bodies buried beneath him. Buried all around him, marked and unmarked. Dead and undead.

The hand that reached out of the earth and grabbed him first he saw from ten feet away. The mere fact that an ancient decayed fist was protruding from the ground intrigued his core. The rotted bony remains of the hand was motionless. He could see the rest of the wrist and arm in the dirt as if a Human Bonzai Tree had been planted above the grave.

The Grave site was marked:

Marcel Macgregor

Seventeen Years Old

Died the Year 1879.

The tombstone was old, worn from decades of elemental abuse.

The dates spelt out so neatly in a font which emphasized such regality.

He wondered about her life. Where she had lived: Where she had died?

He stepped into the darkness following an unknown sensation that where he would be going life would be better. He would feel peace and tranquility, a connection with his surroundings, the world around him. For a short moment as he was half way in and halfway out a complete serenity took over his senses; physically and mentally he was nothing, but at the same time he was everything. It lasted just that though, a short moment, for the next would seem an endless eternity.

The night had evoked so many emotions already, that in his mind, he was in for the long haul. Ride out the storm and hope for a happy ending. But you see, his vision of a happy ending may differ from your own.