The Graveyard

Canton sneaks out, at night, creeps out of the too-high bedroom window and scurries down the too-slippery trunk of the tree outside. Tall, old, the branches end and hover six feet above the ground at the lowest point, which is fine. Not much of a drop, overall, enough to land in a crouch and then freeze, silently, making sure that nobody has heard the noise.

The house is silent, though, Canton’s in the clear. And so, then, on to the walkway, the rough and uneven bricks, the crisp and damp grass outside of the designated walking area. Canton doesn’t walk on the grass.

The street is still dark, the air not quite misty but definitely not clear either. Tiny clouds of fog hover around the streetlamps, dampening the air, keeping the moisture and the warmth close to the earth. Walking down the street at night isn’t unsafe, exactly, but it’s safer if you remain unseen, so Canton sticks to the shadows, walks on the dark side of the road.

Down the street, sixty metres from the point where the walkway meets the sidewalk meets the street, the old and well-worn gate stands closed and unlocked. Not rusty, because people care about the dead, so this place is sacred and always, always beautiful.

The graveyard.

Canton slows down, opens the gate and smiles because it makes no noise. This is okay. The gate is unlocked so that anybody, anytime, can visit their dead. Ghosts don’t have conversations at noon, not with their loved ones. Now, after midnight, when the mist and the wind swirl lovingly around the headstones, now is when the ghosts come out to whisper secrets to those trapped in the world of the living.

Walking down the well-manicured pathway, Canton looks up at the moon, shining peacefully over this small community. Sleep, eternal sleep, hovering underneath every headstone.

Wandering the path, winding between headstones, touching a few of the older ones, damn with dew, Canton doesn’t hum, doesn’t make noise, doesn’t bother disturbing the pervasive calm.

Finally, finally, finding the one headstone that matters, Canton lies down on the damp grass, lets the cool dew seep into pyjamas and touch skin. Lying there, in the graveyard, alone and yet surrounded; Canton sleeps.