The Graveyard of Johann Von Wertenberg

Every few seconds whichever way I walked I would spot another small bud of memorial stone blossoming through the frosted earth. It must have been sunken slightly into the ground itself as all I could see of the grave markers themselves were the merest tip of worn and crumbled granite above the snow. The door, once a sturdy iron grate, had long since rusted off its hinges leaving only a gaping black aperture that seemed to lead deeper for the dimensions of the mausoleum will allow. Over the top, barely readable but still most definitely there was the name of Johann von Wertenberg.

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