A cold wind whistled through the gravestones in the city graveyard. The owner of the graveyard made his nightly rounds. He hugged his coat tighter into his body but the man was still bitten by the chilling breeze. So far it had been an uneventful night. All the groundskeeper had to do was chase away some wild animals. Then he saw the man in the graveyard. The man was standing with his back to the groundskeeper. The groundskeeper thought he heard a slight chuckle carried by the wind. He put it down to the wind itself.
"Excuse me." The groundskeeper shouted. The man in the graveyard turned round. The man's eyes were sunken into his face and he had the ghostly appearance of an old man who was close to death. A big black coat hid the the man's figure but the shape made by the coat was painfully thin.
"Yes?" The man croaked. Barely a whisper on the night wind.
"You're not supposed to be here." The groundskeeper stepped closer
"I'm just visiting some old acquaintances."
"Well, I'm sorry sir but visiting hours are between 8am and 5pm."
"My mistake. I'll return then." The man walked past the groundskeeper slowly and the groundskeeper thought he seen the man's figure shimmer. "It's funny, that I put most of these people in here." The grounskeeper turned, wondering what the old man was talking about, but when he turned the old man had gone.
***
The next day and the grounskeeper had been plagued by the words spoken by the man in the graveyard, but the groundskeeper put it down to sleep deprivation and that he just imagined the man altogether. So the groundskeeper repeated his rounds again and he seen the man standing over a different grave.
"What did you mean last night?" The groundskeeper asked. The man just stayed there staring at the grave with his head down. The groundskeeper wasn't actually sure if he had spoken the words. "What did you mean last night?" The groundskeeper repeated, louder this time.
"I heard you, but everybody that knows me, knows I take my time." The man replied without turning. Then, after several moments passed, the man turned. "What else could I mean by the fact that I put most of these people in here?" The groundskeeper, know afraid for his life, took a step back.
"Are you a murderer?" The groundskeeper asked, his voice thick with fear. The man chuckled.
"You could say that." The man laughed, his stare resting upon the groundskeeper. The groundskeeper felt a sudden chull run through his body. "The last thing my victims feel is a cold hand on their shoulder." The man started laughing uncontrollably now. The groundskeeper turned and ran as fast as his legs could carry him. Away from the cemetery. Away from the man in the graveyard
***
The following day, the groundskeeper was sat in his house, reading the daily news, when a sudden chill fled through his house, enveloping the man. The man got up and checked the front door. It was closed. He then checked all the windows to see if they were shut, which they were. Nothing could describe the mysterious wind. Then, a cold breeze caressed his right shoulder. The groundskeeper returned to the graveyard to get some answers from the man, but when he saw the grave that the man was staring at this time, he collapsed, for the grave the groundskeeper and the man was looking at was the groundskeeper's own grave.
