Somebody at the lab put something in the water and the churchyard has gone electric.
The wolf sees it first. Trails coming off its own claws, the moon breathing in and out like a lung, every headstone humming a different note. It sits down. It has never once sat down.
The dead are having a considerably better time. They've stopped shambling and started swaying, all of them, in time, and the colours coming up off the wet grass are not colours that occur in a graveyard or anywhere else.
"Are you seeing this," says the wolf, to nobody, in a voice it does not have.
The dead are seeing it. The dead have been seeing it for hours.
Nobody eats anybody. Best night any of them ever had.
