Golem

Tomorrow night is Halloween, and the traditional time for spectres and spooks to venture forth from their graves to indulge in a spot of haunting. Also, I thought it would be a good excuse to have a go at writing a ghostly tale. This writing was inspired by a visit to the old Jewish synagogue and cemetery at Krakow. I thought the cemetery was an eerie place and could imagine what it must feel like to be there on a cold winters night....

Dieter huddled into his greatcoat - another three hours in this god forsaken place. He blew on his fingers and stamped his feet, as flakes of snow drifted down to settle amongst the tombstones of the old Jewish cemetery. He hitched his rifle over his shoulder and lit a cigarette, grateful for the taste of the harsh smoke.

   To the side of the cemetery, the old synagogue stood brooding and silent; he finished his smoke and started his lonely circuit of the burial ground. Just beyond the town, up on the hill, he could see the dark outline of the castle. 'That's where I should be,' he thought miserably, 'drinking schnaps and playing cards in the barracks, not stuck here freezing, with only the dead for company!'

    As if in answer to his thoughts, the small windows of the synagogue were suddenly lit up with a dim flickering light. Dieters heart quickened, the building was locked and secured by orders of Major Schultz, nothing or nobody should be in there. The young soldier unslung his rifle and picked his way through the crumbling gravestones towards the synagogue.

  'Who is there?' his voice echoed mockingly around the cemetery

   The front door was still locked and barred, but a low chanting could be heard within. Dieter raised his rifle butt and thumped hard on the door, the dim light flickered out and the chanting ceased - all was dark and silent.

  'Dieter! Dieter!' an icy voice seemed to whisper in his ear.

   He spun around rifle levelled, 'Who is this - show yourselves!' But there was nothing - just him and the silent stones, he was alone - or was he?

   In the middle of the cemetery was an unmarked mound, and in its dank soil something stirred, wormlike fingers scratched their way to the surface, and like some scrabbling spider, a clay brown hand appeared clutching at the cold earth...