A road sign looms into view through the swirling fog, Turn of the Century Cemetery Ahead. A little further on another sign, hand-painted on old weathered fencing material, says to turn left, onto an older gravel road.
Trees seem to block out any brief glimpses of moonlight, the branches closing overhead. In the rear-view mirror all that can be seen is red rear lights blurring into the thickening fog and drizzly mist. The darkness envelopes like a thief's cloak.
There's a clearing ahead, a crumbling gray and green stone wall approaching through blurred headlights. Heavy iron gates loom, rusty and twisted and weathered, leading to bondage, domination, and submission...