I heard a rustle I heard things but no one else seemed to notice while they were all distracted by campfire games I wondered off. As the sounds got louder I knew I was getting closer.

I was shocked when I came to a stop the sound stopped I saw a grave made of stone covered in roses it was lovely and dusty.

I wiped my hand on the dust and read the name aloud Wilma Joselyn Boyd born 1962 lived to 1989.

Their was some other writing smudged made of ash it read in German I have been fluent since 6 and being 17 that should be a breeze.

The stone read Erhebe sie von den Toten, erhebe sie wieder, ihre verlorene Seele, bringe zurück zum Körperlift aus der Vergangenheit zurück in die Gegenwart, erhebe sie, erhebe sie(Raise her from the dead, raise her again, her lost soul, bring back to the body lift from the past back to the present, raise her, raise her) bery queer this i read except when I began to realise what i had just read I think it was to late that’s when the thing inside appeared.

A skull for a head no skin dots for eyes wearing a tattered thin white nightgown.

She whispered something in German I believe but I couldn’t hear.

She moved closer and closer and closer then reached into my chest my instinct was to grab her arm but my hand went through and she grabbed my heart I could see it pumping I didn’t know what happened and how i was watching it all felt so real.

Thankfully I awake but I had just fainted from the strong smell of dead weeds when I awoke I covered my mouth everything looked the same the coffin the roses and the dust I wiped it off to my dismay the words were engraved and then I fainted and she was there I could see her I was scared I was clutching my heart when I dashed for the camp which was nowhere in sight I had to stop to catch my breathe I leaned on a tree but and closed my eyes then opened she was there.

She said in loose oddly spoken English that she spoke to me while I was unconscious showed me what she could do what she would do if I didn’t help she had a deal she said “if you follow the trail where the rotted leaves grow where you will not no where you will go to the flames or to the gold you waltz or you may hang to a place where a lost soul lies a girl named my own”.