'take a prewritten paragraph and finish it yourself.' So that's what I did...

The church clock strikes eight, so the villagers who are awake know without checking that it is six. A cock crows. A body lies across the doorstep of the church, a line of crumb-carrying ants marches across the fedora covering its face. There is a serene, momentary quiet after the strikes cease. A figure glides past the church wall, before the silence is cracked by a baby crying.
The sound sends an involuntary pulse through the body, knocking the fedora slightly to one side. The ants stop to think and listen, then return to their manoeuvres across the mountainous range. The figure halts its float along the cold, moist brick, a white gloved hand soaking up the spongy green moss digging its way to the breaking foundations. Its foot lands just shy of the bodies partially revealed face. It stoops to push the hat to the ground, splaying the ants across the body, searching for footholds in the beaten, creasing skin. The body pulses again.
‘If you’re going to be dead you’ll have to learn not to move.’ Said the figure, its gloved hand stretching out for the hat, sleeve lifting for a moments flash of red puckered skin. Its voice streamed to the body’s ear, bubbling over and through the wind that picked up to carry it away.
The body jolted, just the tiniest of flinches, and its eyelids pulled at the lashes, white irises pushing the pupils away from the sudden light. The body looked up at the figure hanging over it. Its thick, black hood confronted him and he could see within its folds. ‘God you’re ugly.’ said the cracked male voice.
The figure smiled with curling teeth. ‘God? How strange.’ It straightened up and glanced around at the mysterious lumps of stone jutting out from the fractured ground, dead flowers rotting under long lost words. ‘Why did you come here? You know these buildings are all closed, you can’t meet death here.’
The body, a man again, pushed himself stiffly up and smiled at the figure. ‘Why do you think I only got to the doorstep?’ He stood and reached out to his hat still clinging to the figures whitened hand. Shaking it and presenting it to his head, he rolled his clicking shoulders back, and placed his hands on his jacket lapel. He stood next to the figure and took a moment to look out over the graveyard. He could still remember what it was.
Sounds were raising around them, villagers were stirring, beginning, unknowing of what enclosed them now, unseeing of the ruin and rot that ate at their nights. In the distance the baby cried out again. The man shut his eyes, his mutilated eyes to the mutilating sound of the freshly made life. ‘How long shall we play this game? I haven’t breathed in years, haven’t I amused you enough?’
The figure turned to him, its face once again visible through its heavy black hood. The man couldn’t turn to look, even now feeling the heat radiating from the thing’s burning skin. The figure smiled again. ‘Until you give me the baby, my friend, I will play with you until I have him.’
The man’s shoulders sunk down again.