2

"The dead may be departed,

but they are never

far from the living."

The lone oak tree's branches swayed in the autumn wind as I arrived at the small graveyard on the hill. Crunching through the carpet of dried leaves, I made my way to the simple granite headstone marked with his name. Kneeling down, I gently brushed away the leaves that had gathered, revealing the strange inscription etched below.

I set down the lantern I had brought, its flickering flame casting wavering shadows across the letters. Squinting in the dim light, I could just make out the odd words and symbols, the same ones that filled the ancient leather-bound tomes he always poured over in his study. He had always been fascinated by the arcane and supernatural, ever since we were children. It was one of the many quirks I adored about him, like when he proposed with a ring nestled in a carved pumpkin.

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I pulled one of those heavy books from my bag, ancient pages crackling as I flipped through it urgently, pricking my finger on the rough edge of a page. A drop of blood stained the yellowed paper as I found the passage bearing the same mystic inscription. The translation was faded and difficult to read, but I grasped enough of the ancient ritual.

Glancing around the silent graveyard, I began to recite the strange chant, my voice wavering at first. As the alien words grew louder, the wind picked up, dead leaves swirling up around me, whipping my braid about my shoulders.

The wind rose to a deafening howl, pierced by a shrill ringing that grew louder as I repeated the final verse. A pulsating energy coursed through my body until, with the last word, the winds died abruptly.

Gasping, I opened my eyes. There before me floated the translucent form of my beloved, still clad in his favorite tailored suit, a wisp of his perpetually disheveled hair falling across his forehead. My spell had worked - my husband had returned.