Down on the Bayou
Tree branches claw across the window pane, lights flicker as the storm intensifies, and the wind wails like a banshee in the night. The hour of fear is once again upon us.
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In a rain-soaked graveyard, a small group of men stands aournd a coffin bound with heavy chains.
"We are here to mourn the passing of Alphonse DuBois," intones the village priest. "Let us pray that his rest is eternal, and that he never returns."
As the pallbearers lift the coffin, something scrapes on the wood from inside. Quickly and without emotion, the attendants slide the casket into a crypt. Then they seal the door and flee.
Behind them, unheard, a dull thudding begins, growing louder with the onset of twilight. There can be no peace for those who linger in the earthly realm after death. And there can be no sanctuary Down on the Bayou.
