Matthew Kramer

When Accidental Art Is Better Than Your Actual Art (202 Pics)

The cemetery wall shone a bit more brightly in the moonlight, then, except for a hushed silhouette of figures in long coats and top hats, with the odd cane sticking out. Five men and two ladies conversed- nay, conspired-in that silent language known only to the dead. The shadow was more vivid for not being a shadow but rather moss. And then it was gone. The man advanced and swung at me with a brazen swagger. He cut the air, but the only casualty was his solid footing. When he fell, the mossy stones of the walking path absorbed him as if they were not stone at all, and he was gone. I turned and ran.

When Accidental Art Is Better Than Your Actual Art (202 Pics)

I feigned to look at the man as he spoke, and he spoke with the malicious arrogance of a captor reveling in his triumph. My eyes, though, were focused on the brick and crumbling plaster of the cemetery wall behind him. They had come. The wall before had been nothing to strain my powers of credulity; just plaster stained with two centuries of moss. Like the tail-end of a hallucination, however, a figure emerged from the green-black discoloration, taking from the darkness of the mossy wall to give itself form. I glanced away and back again. Another form had appeared. My pursuer and I settled to exchange words, and by then I reckoned it was over. A spark played through his glassy eyes, and a knife shone under his coat as he bore down on me.