The Momma Clan

The night was darker than usual, the thick fog rolling over the damp earth of the forgotten cemetery. It clung to the air like a suffocating veil, the moon hiding behind a canopy of swollen clouds. Nora pulled her coat tighter around her, her breath fogging up the cold October air. She wasn’t supposed to be here—no one was. The cemetery had been closed for years, a place of whispered legends and superstitions. The gates were rusted shut, but that didn’t stop the brave—or the foolish—from entering.

She had heard the stories, of course, like everyone in the small town. They spoke of figures seen in the mist, shadows that moved on their own, and voices that called your name from the other side of the graves. But Nora was a skeptic, grounded in logic and reason. It wasn’t ghosts or ghouls that scared her; it was the unknown. And tonight, she was here to prove that nothing lay beyond those gravestones but old bones and worn-out stones.

The cemetery loomed before her, the iron gate half-buried in ivy and moss. She hesitated only for a moment before pushing it open, the screech of metal cutting through the oppressive silence like a scream. The sound echoed through the mist, and for a brief second, she thought she heard something answer—a low whisper carried on the wind. She shook it off as nerves, and stepped inside.

The fog curled around the tombstones like fingers, creeping higher with every step she took. The air was heavy, every sound muffled as if the fog itself was swallowing the world. The path beneath her feet had long since been reclaimed by nature, broken branches and dead leaves crunching underfoot. A crow cawed somewhere in the distance, its cry echoing far too long, unnaturally so.

As she ventured deeper, a strange sensation crawled up her spine. The air felt colder here, the mist thicker. She could barely see her hand in front of her face, but she kept going. The dare had been simple: make it to the old mausoleum at the center of the cemetery and come back with proof. That was all. She had her phone, her flashlight—nothing to be afraid of.

But the deeper she went, the more she felt it—the wrongness. It wasn’t just the cold. The air had a weight to it, something pressing down on her, watching her. She stopped, suddenly aware of the silence. The wind had died, the rustle of leaves and distant caw of the crow now gone. There was only her breath, and something else. 

Crunch.

She froze. That wasn’t her. The sound came from behind her, the unmistakable crunch of footsteps in the dead leaves. Her heart raced, but she didn’t dare turn around. The air felt too still, the darkness too alive. She could feel eyes on her, burning into the back of her skull. 

Crunch.

Another step, closer this time. Whoever—or whatever—it was, they were behind her, watching, waiting. Her flashlight flickered. She swallowed, her throat dry, every instinct screaming for her to run. But her legs wouldn’t move. 

Then, in the silence, a voice. It was soft, barely more than a whisper, but it was there—so close it felt like it was right beside her ear.

“Nora…”

Her blood turned to ice. She hadn’t told anyone she was coming here. No one knew, except…

“Nora…” The voice came again, more insistent now, more familiar. 

Her mother. She hadn’t heard that voice in years, not since she had passed away. Nora clenched her hands, her heart hammering against her ribcage. It wasn’t possible. 

“Come with me, Nora…”

She whipped around, her flashlight beam slicing through the mist. Empty. There was no one there. But she could still feel it—the presence, lingering just out of sight, hiding in the shadows.

Without thinking, she bolted. Her feet pounded against the earth, the fog twisting and swirling around her like ghosts reaching out to drag her back. The cemetery seemed to shift, the tombstones looming closer, the path vanishing under her feet. Her breath came in ragged gasps as the cold closed in, tighter and tighter, the air thickening, suffocating.

The mausoleum. She could see it now, a hulking shadow through the fog, its stone doors slightly ajar. Safety. She reached it, throwing herself against the cold stone wall, panting, her back pressed to the rough surface. The whispers followed her, growing louder, more insistent, but she didn’t dare listen. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to calm the rising terror in her chest.

But then the door behind her creaked. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, it swung open with a groan that made her skin crawl. 

She turned, the beam of her flashlight flickering as she raised it to the darkness within. There, just inside the door, she saw her. Her mother, standing in the shadows, her face half-obscured but unmistakable. 

“Nora…” Her voice was soft, pleading. “Come home.”

Nora’s hand trembled, the flashlight shaking as her mind screamed at her to run, to get out. But her feet wouldn’t move. The figure stepped closer, out of the shadows, her face clearer now. But something was wrong. Her skin was too pale, her eyes too dark, and her mouth—too wide, too stretched into an unnatural grin.

Before Nora could react, the figure lunged, and the darkness swallowed her whole.

The next morning, the fog cleared, and the cemetery returned to its usual silence. But Nora was never seen again, her footsteps the only thing left behind, leading to the mausoleum where the door now stood shut, sealed once more.

 -Akash Mondal