The Graveyard People

About 11 years ago, I used to live in a small house that neighbored a cemetery. I was only twelve at the time, so this arrangement was slightly unnerving. Particularly so when I began to stay up late during the summer when school was out.

If I looked into that graveyard at around three in the morning I could see shadows moving. For a long time I didn't know what they were or what they wanted, but I eventually took to calling them the graveyard people.

The graveyard people had a little ritual they would do. They would always go to a grave (this was a different grave every night), grab something, and then run back into the mausoleum that sat in the center of the cemetery.

For a few months I would stay up just to watch them. After all, they stayed only in the cemetery, and never seemed to notice me watching through the blinds. I had always been careful to darken my room when watching them, so that I didn't leave my silhouette showing in the window.

However, in early August of that year I had a nightmare. I can't remember what it was now, but it made me utterly afraid to have a light off that night. Despite this, I wanted a last look at the graveyard people before school forced me to sleep well before they awoke for their strange ritual.

So I pressed my luck. I slipped my head up to the window. A scream caught in my throat. One of the graveyard people was at my window, staring at me with its grey, hound like face. It stared, perfectly still, with a half eaten and half rotted limb in one hand.

I was frozen as it snorted hot breath onto the window, making a fog on the glass. Then it took a long finger and wrote on the glass. "You Should Be Sleeping". For years afterward I refused to stay up late, and if I did, I at least pretended to sleep. I have moved several times in the years since, always for different reasons. Nothing supernatural mind.

My moves have brought me full circle. I am in college now, and live across from a cemetery once more. And occasionally, If I'm up late enough and dare look out my window, I can make out the shadows of the graveyard people. I wonder if they ever look back, to see if I am watching.