To dig or not to dig, that was the question. The answer was of course to dig up the immortal bards’ grave. Unbelievable that we were about to unearth the poets bones, on Hallowe’en night.

Lifting the tombstone, it crumbled in our shaking hands.
“Be careful Barnardoâ€?, I said quietly.

“Lucio, don’t get all worked up, man, there is no curse, he was a playwright, he had no powers of witchcraft,â€? Barnardo said.

“Well this place give me the creeps,â€? I shivered.

We located the coffin, pryed open the lid and inside lay the literary giant, his bones dressed in what looked like a dry rotted costume of a skeletal Romeo.

Barnardo snatched the head from the neck of the long dead corpse.

“Alas poor Willy, I knew him well,â€? laughed Barnardo, the sound echoing off the dark walls of the church basement.

“Is.. Is that a dagger I see before me?,â€? I said, staring face to face with a floating bloody dagger.

The dagger plunged into Barndaros’ chest, he dropped the skull and fell into the open grave.