Feast

Neither boy saw the doorway. Indeed, they ran right past it, flashlights wavering, chasing their dog.

No, it was Joe, the cemetery caretaker, who noticed the doorway in the ground at the base of the old willow tree. He watched the two boys scamper away, then approached the oak structure. Yep, a door. It looked like a barn door that had been built into the earth, huge, at least eight feet high and four wide, hinges set into stone, a rusty handle adorning one side. The ancient willow tree hulked over it like a shaggy old monster.

Joe approached the door with apprehension. A thin ray of light jutted through two of the slats and landed right on his eye. Something was happening there. He thought he heard faint music and voices.

No, he thought. Best to ignore it. Move on. Find something else to do. The old Hamilton plot, for example, needed tending; and, after all, it was late and Mrs. Joe would be worried if he wasn't home soon. Perhaps, if the door had just appeared out of nowhere this evening, then surely it would be gone in the morning, right?

Joe coughed.

Right.

He gripped the rusty handle and lifted, opening the door.

"Hooray!" cried a booming voice as Joe felt a sudden sharp pain in his side. "And now the feast can begin!"