• A young girl was perched invisibly on a normal sized tombstone, wearing an old tattered dress. She had no shoes and her bare ghostly feet hardly touched the ground, she was so small.

    Her name was Kyran. She died in 1820. Nobody knew what she died of, moreover, nobody really cared.

    She sat alone, staring sedatedly at the rows of graves. The day was almost peaceful. Red and orange leaves swirled down with the chilly chrisp air. Kyran felt nothing.

    She was waiting for someone.

    Kyran had been there since the first day of October, waiting for her chance ever since her death in 1820. She wasn't angry, but she wasn't happy.

    Limber was almost horrible. Horrible since nothing happened. At least, not very regularly.

    Perhaps today was the day. The black iron cementary doors opened slowly, with a chilling screeching sound. Two people entered, holding flashlights. Kyran hadn't noticed the sun gone.

    Her hopes perked in just the slightest manner. Was it her? Yes, it was. A small girl, looking around the age of 16, followed after a much taller figure.

    The flashlights clicked on, and beams of light swept the rows of cold grey stone. Kyran slowly got off her gravestone, watching closely.

    The two people made their way over to her gravestone, shivering in her presence. Kyran calmly climbed back onto the gravestone and sat, with her legs crisscrossed.

    The girl was nervous, but the older firgure, now the ghost realized as a boy, was laughing at her.

    "Don't be stupid Laura. Nothings gonna happen. It's an unmarked grave." The boy laughed huskily.

    The girl looked up at him adoringly and nodded.

    "Alright, I'll do it." She whispered. The boy jogged back to the ancient oak the had sheltered the cementary for so long.

    The girl dragged a small pocketknife out of her jacket pocket, and chanted slowly. Kyran watched her, saddened.

    This was unmistakably the girl. She seemed alright though. A bit stupid and naive, but that was natural. Kyran sent a harsh look at the boy, who was still laughing.

    He'd pay. They'd all pay. Kyran sat even stiller as the full moon cast eerie shadows across the trees. The girl finished the chant, twirled the knife three times and plunged it into the ground.

    A terrible scream filled the empty night. The girl, frantic, tried to remove the knife, having no luck.

    The boy quickly turned and ran out the open iron cast gates, not even bothering to look back.

    The girl was quaking as she howled swaying back and forth, not able to let go of the knife. Kyran held out a white ghostly hand, and pressed it to the girls forehead.

    She felt the spirit leave the body. Quickly, she slipped into the newfound body and removed the knive from the ground. The spirit of the young girl was now standing, in her own ghost like form, in front of the grave.

    Kyran smiled faintly at her. "I promise, I'll give you it back. Once I finish my business here." She whispered and stuck the knive back into her pocket. The poor frightened girl just sank into a miserable sobbing pool.

    It saddened Kyran, but she had work to do. Straightening up, getting the hang of her newly found flesh body she strode over to the gates and once out of the cementary, locked them with a key that was still in the key hole.

    You see, Kyran needed this body to finish her work on earth. For on that same night on 1820, she was murdered.