A Grave Mistake
“Samhain approaches,” said Wizard Rissole, “We must help the villagers praise the dead. I’ll leave the ceremony to you, Whizzbang.”
As usual, his apprentice Whizzbang wasn’t paying attention. He read the texts. Was this really what Rissole meant?
At midnight on Samhain, Whizzbang muttered incantations before the fire.
Moans, groans and shuffling feet disturbed the night. The pungent odour of decay pervaded the air as the long-dead population of the village stumbled from their graves, biting at the living.
Rissole fought through the crowd. “Whizzbang, you dolt! You were supposed to help the villagers praise the dead, not raise them!”