Necropolis

The rain fell softly upon the canopy of the trees, and ran in rivulets down the branches and trunks, as if being careful not to disturb what lay beneath.

Weathered bones lay scattered among the weeds and brush that had sprouted among the cobbled pathways of an ancient necropolis. One mausoleum remained standing, its door wedged open while two travelers kept dry and enjoyed the cool air inside.

"An interesting choice of refuge from the walking dead", said Sir Frank. "Why leave the safety of Kingsport to live in a grave yard?"

The former innkeeper smiled a broad smile. "The dead were bubbling up from the sewers underneath the tavern! I figured it would only be fair for me to invade their place." He leaned heavily upon the door jamb and vomited a geyser of foamy stout porter, belched loudly, and then screamed "Everyone is welcome at the Hearth of Britannia!" into the trees. Then he laughed an insane sort of laugh.

Sir Frank leaned back against the wall and waited for nightfall.

 

Hrmm, Necropolis eh? Sounds like a nice place for a necromancer.....muhahhahah. In all reality, Nice short story Frank!

 

And just like that the rain and wind abruptly died leaving silence.

Nervous laughter between the two men did not relieve the growing unease.

The room smelled ancient like so many rags molded and long forgotten. A distant scratching drew closer..

A sudden feeling of dread befell the travelers as they realized they were not alone...