I sit on the edge of the thick stone wall, swinging my legs back and forth. I watch as the orange in the sky is swallowed by the creeping night, wind whistling through the graveyard. Blades of grass flitter around along its current, disrupting the stillness of the night. I tap my fingertips against the cold stone, waiting. Mosquitoes buzz and bite my bare skin. I slap them away. Eventually, The Reaper appears from the darkness. He walks too lightly to be heard, until your time is up, that is. His thin black rags covering his skeletal body flow elegantly, and his eye sockets glow with a fierce somberness. He notices me, clutches his scythe, metal blade shining in the night, and makes his way over.

“Hey, Death,” I greet him.

The Reaper doesn’t speak. He can’t. Instead, he looks at me warmly. His bones clatter as he raises his sycthe and points past me, into the graveyard. The ghosts are about to wake, and he wants to be there when they do. I twist around and hop off the wall. The grass brushes against my legs as I run into the center of the graveyard. By now, the moon is fully visible in the sky, casting a faint light across the earth. Most of the tombstones in the graveyard are worn down, crumbling and assaulted with cracks. Dirt is sprinkled all around them, along with some wilting flowers. I accidentally step on a lone petal, crushing it. The Reaper floats up beside me and we watch as the dead wake.

In movies, normally the ground will tremble and the undead will burst from their tombs. Here, wisps of white dance around the sky, taunting eachother. Their appearance flickers and shifts in the dark, until, eventually, see-through figures form. Some ghosts break off with their friends into a corner of the graveyard, but most swarm around The Reaper, who raises his sycthe in greeting. I wave next to him. A girl my age approches me, and smiles. We run off, picking up remaining flowers, avoiding young boys chasing one another and adults flying around, enjoying freedom.

No one seems to notice I’m the only one technically alive. It doesn’t matter much, anyway. They’re too busy reveling in their free reign. The Reaper is too occupied leading souls past oblivion lately, so they can only truely leave their graves once a month. Some ghosts are playing cards, others are stuck by The Reaper’s side. The night slips away quickly, and soon the morning light breaks through the blanket of darkness. I sigh. I have to leave, return home. I say goodbye to the girl, and walk back to The Reaper. He turns, and motions toward the graveyard’s rusty gate. His eyes blaze, eager to start his new shift. I follow the dirt path to the gate as the sun grasps the world. I shove the gate open and stumble away. Getting ready for the long wait until I can come again.