Tale of Terror 2

I saw the car wreck in a daydream. I heard the beating of wings, felt the cold shadow. The Angel of Death comes. Not the figure bereft of flesh, scythe in hand, but as a raven-haired, thirty-something man. He walks through the crisp autumn night, under the glow of golden street lamps, past white gates flanked by red and yellow mums. This is the night. The night we hallow the dead. The night before All Souls. Tonight, I close the road, rope off an oak tree and stand nightwatch as the Angel of ...