By Stoney M. Setzer
“I can’t tell you how happy I am to have somebody finally take the caretaker position,” Mayor Geoff Collins said. “Can’t have the cemetery becoming an eyesore.”
“I’ve always been good at landscaping,” Brady replied. Good enough, anyway. “And the apartment in back of the office is part of the compensation package, right?”
“Yes, if you choose to take it.”
The squatty cinder block structure was… Well, it had four walls and a roof. “Beats being homeless.”
“I’m sure being… displaced is very challenging,” Collins replied. “Especially for a man who has served our country. You can move in as soon as tomorrow, and we can put you up in a hotel tonight.”
Displaced. He can’t bring himself to say homeless or even unhoused. His gaze panned out over the Tennessee landscape, finally settling on the slides and swing sets just beyond the iron fence. Only in Sardis County would they put a playground next to a cemetery. “Okay, I’ll accept.”
“Glad to hear it.” Collins beamed. “We’ve had trouble filling this position because—”
“Because so many superstitious people can’t handle living next door to a cemetery!” A bedraggled pickup truck had pulled to a stop at the curb, and an old man leaned out the window. “You better think twice before you—”
“Hank Owens! Give that silly talk a rest!” Collins barked, waving his hand dismissively. “Quit interfering with community business! We’re trying to help a displaced veteran here!” The mayor actually puffed his chest at that.
“Veteran?” Hank asked.
“Army,” Brady replied.
The old man regarded him a minute before shrugging. “Suit yourself, Mr. Mayor,” he said as he pulled off.
Shaking his head, Collins turned his attention back to Brady. “He’s crazy. Isn’t that the silliest thing you ever heard? A house is a house, right?”
“Right.” Especially when you haven’t had one for a while.
“And don’t worry if you see lights on the ground at night,” Collins added, speaking a little faster than before. “They’re solar-power vigil lights, that’s all. Like candles without the flame. Families put them out to honor the dead and show that they’re not forgotten. No big deal.”
***
The next night, Brady stared out through the screen door, searching for the lights Collins had mentioned. There they were, looking almost like lights along an airport runway. He smiled to himself, letting his gaze pan across the cemetery.
Atop a distant knoll, a wispy form was moving near a vigil light. Brady was so startled that he almost dropped his Coke. It looked like a man, just wandering back and forth.
Brady gulped and looked around. If he swept his gaze across the cemetery without focusing anywhere for very long, everything appeared normal. He had to lock in on one spot for several seconds before any of the specters appeared—and they did, in several places, always right around the lights. They had the same general shape as humans but were somehow different, like comparing a beagle to a wolf.
The wraiths milled around the cemetery, walking up and down the paths. Some of them made their way toward the playground next door. All of them kept their distance from the cinder block building. Brady’s hands shook, but his time in service had taught him to face his fears. He pushed the screen door open, stepping outside.
“I wouldn’t recommend that, either,” a gravelly voice said. It was Hank, the old man from yesterday, the one with the beat-up truck. “Remember me?”
“Yeah,” Brady said. “You knew something, didn’t you? You were about to tell me something before the mayor cut you off.”
Hank chuckled. “Our illustrious mayor doesn’t want to believe that there are homeless people in Sardis County, so he calls them displaced. He doesn’t want to believe that anything supernatural goes on in his little kingdom, so he writes people like me off as being backward or superstitious. Only shows up at church to curry favor with the voters.” Gesturing toward the wraiths, he asked, “Do you think that’s make-believe?”
“So what are they, ghosts?” Brady asked, scarcely able to believe that he was having this conversation.
“No such thing,” Hank replied. “They’re from the Other Side. Ain’t never lived in our realm, but they want to. Desperately. They want to invade. What Collins doesn’t know is that the caretaker’s real job is to keep them from doing that.”
“How?” Only a year removed from over a decade of service, Brady felt like he used to just before combat, with fear and duty waging their own battle inside him.
“You’re an Army vet, ain’t ya? You’ll have to stay in this house and stand guard.”
“What? How?”
“Those lights are actually their boundary. As long as somebody’s here to keep them lit, they won’t leave the cemetery. And you can’t tell anybody. If you tell people, they’re gonna think you’re crazy… especially Mayor Collins. Do you think he’ll keep you on the payroll if he knows you believe in something like that?”
Brady gulped. “Probably not.”
“Definitely not. And you need the check and a roof over your head. So, are you staying?”
“I suppose I am,” Brady said, nodding solemnly. “I’ll do what I have to do.” Duty overcame fear once again.
“Good, good,” Hank said. “Well, I guess my job here is done.”
***
Back at his house, Hank’s daughter Val eyed him uncertainly. “Was that a good idea, Dad? Letting the new caretaker believe…”
“Don’t matter what else he believes, as long as he believes he can’t breathe a word of it,” Hank said. “He’s a veteran, remember. Knows what a fight is. I needed some way to immobilize him with fear so he won’t try to fight. That way, whenever the master launches the real invasion, ain’t nobody gotta worry about him.”
“Hopefully you’re right, Dad.” Val shook her snow globe, watching its inhabitant with amusement. “Because if you’re not…”
“I’ll take care of that,” Hank said with a smile.
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