Hello everyone!
I'm back with a new work for you all to give you something to pass the time with until the new episodes resume. AND I should warn you this fanfic is by no means a joke! It's a real deal! It's a classic HORROR story. My first try at writing horror in fact. so proceed at your own risk!

I should also probably tell you that don't have a beta and all the mistakes are mine.

Chapter 1: Awaking

A dark swarm of crows were flying in the twilight. Their solid blackness were obscuring the crimson, dim and weak beams of the dying sun, spreading a grim, sickening feeling into the heart of any poor soul who would be unfortunate enough to lay eyes upon the sight.

Mon-El dragged his feet across the cold, frozen and uneven ground of the abandoned and god forsaken graveyard that was holding the almost dispersed remains of forgotten loved ones. No one was being buried here for a long time. The latest years engraved on the stones dated back to 150 years ago. At least the ones which were still readable. Nature and time were determined to wipe away any trace of this haunted place.

Mon-El knew each and every tombstone, all the broken and askew monuments and all the damaged if not completely faded engravings.

He knew this place since he was a little boy. Everyone told him to keep away from it, that it was possessed and cursed. Kids told horror stories of poltergeists and elders had this superstitious, illogical fear of this grounds. There was a myth telling how 186 years ago, an innocent girl had been killed in cold blood and buried there, and now her unrest spirit wandered around and would haunt any who shall pass there aware or unaware to seek vengeance for her brutal and unjustified ending.

Mon-El never believed them. As a dare, he used to always come here and show how irrational and stupid everyone else were. And later as a teenager, every time his parents were giving him a hard time, he would escape here. To his surprise he found this place peaceful and the silence comforted his disturbed thoughts.

Even now as a 28 years old man, he still felt an attraction. There was something about this place that kept pulling him back.

He had come back to visit home after years being away despite his reluctance, in a frosty cold February. With a heavy heart and troubled mind, he had diverted his path home and had chosen the longer way just so he could pass here one more time before arriving at the house and facing his over critical parents. It was always hard with them. Thus he needed this small relaxation beforehand.

The only sound filling the surroundings was the distant screech of the crows overhead. He exhaled and watched his breath floating upwards in shape of a pale cloud as a shiver ran through him. He tugged at his scarf to wrap it tighter around his neck and looked for a particular grave. Even in the low light, his eyes found it effortlessly.

Mon-El walked towards it. The scripting on it was impossible to read beneath a layer of selfish ivy that had chosen the surface to spread its long tendrils. He bent down and tore them aside. He didn't need to do that to read it though. He knew the name written there by heart.

Kara Danvers

Beloved Daughter and Sister

1811 – 1829

"Hey Kara."

He smiled to himself as he greeted the girl behind all the ghost stories in Crimsonwood. Of course it felt a bit ridiculous now after seven years, nevertheless it felt familiar. While everyone scolded him to no end for coming here and the priest even refused to talk to him at some point, Mon-El never saw anything supernatural here. There was no moving being here except him and the crows.

He touched the fractured letters on the grey limestone, his fingers following them to a small marred and faceless sculpture, chiseled on the right corner of the tombstone which had curved edges similar to wings. Undoubtedly it once belonged to a beautiful angel with a bowed head. Kara's guardian angel. What an irony that she would need a guardian angel in her death, while they couldn't protect her when she was alive. Mon-El found it so irritating that people believed in such things. There were no angels watching over innocent. And definitely no ghosts. There were only people.

Mon-El's eyes then laid on a white feather right next to the tombstone and sighed in disbelief.

The soft sound of flapping broke his concentration and he thought to himself that it would be impossible to hear that sound again after seven years.

The white raven was sitting on a big, previously ornate, granite Cross near him, observing him with bright maroon marble eyes just like it always did.

"It's you."

It croaked in a friendly tone, letting Mon-El know that it still remembered him. Mon-El looked with wonder how the moonlight reflected against the pale feathers as if a halo was surrounding this rare creature. In his mind this raven was the keeper of this unwanted place. He never named it. No name felt fitting. Mon-El didn't even know if it were a she or a he. He never saw it with other crows either. Maybe it was an outcast among them. That was probably why he identified with it, because he always felt like an outsider himself. The raven didn't wait much longer and was gone in a blink of an eye.

He raised to his feet and brushed at the dirt covering his knees. It was time to go now. He remembered he would talk nonsense to Kara for hours all the time, but for some reason he didn't feel like talking anymore. Maybe he had finally grown out of it.

He put his hand lightly on the stone one more time.

"It was nice seeing you again Kara. Sleep well."

He walked slowly away, deep in his thoughts.

"…don't go…"

Mon-El turned around immediately, expecting to see someone. Seeing no presence, he concluded that maybe he'd made a mistake, therefore continued walking.

"...Please…"

He squinted around, searching for any movement to locate the whisper as he kept walking. No one ever came here, but could be someone here in trouble?

"Hello?"

His voice had no echo in that unruly space as if something unknown in the air had absorbed it. Hearing no answer, he decided to leave. Maybe the whisper was just a result of his tiredness after a long trip coupled with the wind rustling the dead leaves.

"…Mon-El…"

The hushed feminine murmur was much closer this time. Another shiver that had nothing to do with the coldness, rattled Mon-El's torso. He could swore that he felt something brush against his numb face. He blinked a few times with shortened breaths and quickened his steps.

He didn't slow down until he made it to his childhood home.

That night and the following morning were not exactly enjoyable. He kept the discussions to casual subjects with his parents and avoided their pointed questions about his job as a photographer, future and when would he have a family.

Mon-El head out of house after breakfast to stroll around the town, greet old faces and take photos with his work camera. He wondered if it would look different in the pictures from his eyes. Would it seem less dull?

Nothing had changed from the last time he had been in this small town. Just people looking older. He wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not. The priest gave him a glare on the street like he always did and Mrs. Jefferson the butcher's wife asked him if he had a lady in his life to which Mo-El gave him a dry, forced laugh. Most of his classmates had left the town in search of a better life just like him. Crimsonwood was like a black hole. Nothing ever happened here.

His feet brought him near the cemetery again after a few hours. It was day time this time, however the thick grey clouds and the fog didn't let the sun brighten up the scenery that much. This light was terrible for photography, yet he picked up his camera and started taking pictures. What would it hurt when he had lots of space on his SD card? Besides this place was his very first play ground to practice photography when he developed the interest at 14. He had pictured every corner of this place with his first Polaroid camera. It would be nice to redo it with such a high resolution lens.

The fog wasn't anything unusual in Crimsonwood. Mon-El had been here in the thick of fog before and even he had to admit that it felt very creepy standing amongst the odd shapes of broken graves in the middle of swirling thin cold clouds. It could easily fool you and make you believe that you had seen something supernatural.

Mon-El walked through the entrance. There were no more gates guarding it. Only thing left of the iron gates where the rusty destroyed hinges hidden in the dried wild bushes.

He followed the path he would always went along, through a ravaged path by the wild plants, with his camera ready at hand to take photos from everything that seemed interesting.

He remembered each name on graves as he passed by them without needing to look.

J'onn J'onzz (1749 – 1820)

Winslow Schott

James Olsen (1801 – 1885)

Luthor Family

Clark Kent

Barry Allen

Eliza Danvers and Jeremiah Danvers

Alexandra Danvers (1809 – 1871)

Mon-El stopped and looked at the last ones. Kara's sister and parents, he'd figured from the dates. They had lived much longer than Kara, but in pain he supposed. He wondered for the thousand time if they had any descendants in the town or some other city now. Did they know what had happened to their young ancestor? He had researched their names in the records in the town's only library, but found nothing beside the announcement of the vicious death of a local girl named Kara Danvers and then there was nothing on what had happened to her family afterwards. Maybe they left Crimsonwood. Mon-El had no siblings, but he imagined if something like that ever happened to him, he wouldn't stand living in a place that reminded him so much of his lost one every day.

He sighed and resumed walking again to find Kara's grave nearby. On the other side he also saw his own old family shrine that his ancestors used to be buried. He had seen the names many times. William Gand, Rosalyn Gand, Michael Gand and surprisingly Mon-El Gand. Yes he was named after his great great great great grandfather. A war Hero who had died in 1865 in the civil war.

Mon-El stopped short when he saw something big and black on Kara's tomb. His heart started pounding fast.

And in a moment he realized what it was. A black furry cat. He had never seen the cat here before. The adrenaline in his veins subsided and he finally thought about taking a photo. This would be a cool creepy picture. The cat looked at Mon-El suspiciously with his emerald glowing eyes and actually made him nervous. Whose cat was this?

He took a photo and the cat started swinging his tail in show of irritation and growled lowly at the clicking sound from the camera.

"…Mon….El…"

He almost dropped the camera in his fright. It was the same whisper from the night before and he spun around so fast that almost gave himself a whiplash.

"Who's there?"

Mon-El shout into the whiteness around him, trying to fight his own rising terror. Was it him or suddenly the fog seemed far denser than a while ago? Why was it making him feel claustrophobic? He turned around and the cat was gone. Only a weak outline from Kara's grave was visible now.

Mon-El swallowed with difficulty as his mouth felt very dry and decided to force his body to move and walk back the same way he had walked in.

With a hand reaching outwards like a blind person and panting, he proceeded hastily.

A pale silhouette appeared in front of him out of nowhere and made Mon-El tripping backwards. He hit the ground with his back hard.

"… don't you remember...?"

He was paralyzed as he stared into the endless mist, not believing his eyes.

Looming over him was a woman in white, with long silver hair that was floating freely around her like she was under water and her body looked so unimaginably pale and feeble, as if she was dissolving into steam at the breams.

Mon-El stopped breathing as he watched her ashen hands reached out and stroked against his cheeks lovingly and he gasped when he felt her cold touch. Though he was sure that he had lost his mind, his eyes met her mournful ones that were two blindingly shimmering sapphires filled with agony, paradoxical to her dead, colorless existence. Her parched purple lips were trembling continuously. Was she crying?

His heart clenched with such an immense and inexplicable sorrow that it felt ready to burst at any moment and tuned the scream locked in his throat into a pained moan instead. Mon-El felt tears escaping his own eyes uncontrollably and closed them despite the urge to keep them open and upon the impossible sight in front of him.

Mon-El wasn't sure if he passed out or not, but the croaking sound brought him back to reality. He opened his eyes with difficulty and saw nothing but the clouded sky.

It was the white Raven again. Mon-El saw it sitting on one of the ruined sculptures nearby and moved his limbs slowly to sit upright and stayed like that for a long minute in total confusion before noticing that the fog was gone. Looking around anxiously, he saw nothing like what he saw just before he'd closed his eyes. He reached to feel his face where the fingers had touched. They were wet and as cold as they were in that cold air. He wiped his face on his sleeve and scrambled to stand up and groaned when he felt a searing pain in his ankle. He'd sprained it when he'd fallen down.

Mon-El couldn't shake away the image from his mind. But there was no way. Maybe he'd hit his head and hallucinated the whole thing.

He found his camera a bit scratched where it had hit the ground and cursed under his breath as he picked it up with shaking hands and checked it quickly for further damage and released a sigh of relief when he found out that it still worked correctly. This hadn't been the best idea to come here at all. Mon-El shoved the camera in its case in his bag and fled the cemetery.

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