Maya pulled her car to a halt outside the cemetery. The mist-like rain appeared like a blanket of fog while the strong winds whipped across the tombs, carrying the small particles with it in an eerie motion that spoke of creatures moving in the mists. Maya's hands rarely shook, a trained response to being a surgeon, but they did now. The low lighting from her device showed her as a blinking dot, and somewhere within the mass of graves was another.
Her fingers wrapped around the bars of the intimidating wrought iron gates, thrusting them inward, as if hoping the silver chain she saw securing them was nothing more than decoration. She knew this wasn't the case; she had visited here a lot in the nighttime after her father's death.
The cemetery in Overton closed at sunset. No exceptions. She
