"Wells and the Golden Graveyard"
Wells wasn’t scared. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself as the mist rolled across the Golden Valley Cemetery. The air shimmered faintly, as if someone had sprinkled metallic dust over the fog. It should’ve been beautiful—if not for the bizarre whispering echoing between the gravestones.
“Probably just the wind,” he muttered. The full moon above glinted off his gold compression tights like a spotlight. He’d been dared by Alton 77 to retrieve a lost Golden Army flag from the old crypt.
It sounded simple. It never is.
The first hint of trouble came when the ground beneath his boots trembled—softly at first, then like a drumbeat. Wells froze. A faint golden glow began seeping between the cracks in the soil.
Then, one by one, skeletal hands burst through the earth.
Golden bones. Not dull or rusted, shiny, polished, sparkling under the moonlight.
“Okay,” Wells whispered, taking a step back. “So that’s new.”
A skull tilted toward him, its empty sockets glowing faint amber. Then another. And another. Soon, a whole chorus of golden skeletons rose, their joints clicking like windchimes made of treasure.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Wells exhaled— And the skeletons shrieked, lunging toward him in a glittering swarm.
“NOPE!” he yelled, bolting down the path. His sneakers pounded against gravel, his reflection flashing in every golden ribcage chasing him. The skeletons clattered like an out-of-tune orchestra, limbs flailing in gleeful chaos.
He vaulted over a tombstone (sorry, Mr. Goldsmith) and sprinted toward the crypt. The flag—still there, fluttering eerily on the gate. Wells snatched it, spun, and faced the horde.
The skeletons slowed, tilting their skulls in unison. Then, as if obeying some ancient call, they raised their bony arms… and saluted.
Wells blinked. “Wait, you’re… Golden Army?”
The lead skeleton nodded solemnly, jaw creaking open to speak—but only a puff of gold dust escaped. Then, just as suddenly as they’d risen, the soldiers sank back into the earth, the glow fading.
Silence.
Wells stood there panting, dust-covered, heart racing. He looked down at the flag and laughed softly. “Guess even the afterlife bleeds gold.”
He slung the flag over his shoulder, walking off into the mist, the faint sound of rattling bones echoing behind him like applause.
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