Night Shift

Enjoy this light-hearted spooky season micro fiction, Night Shift.

Pulling my aging car up to the small garage that doubles as the office for the graveyard, the sun long since buried under the horizon. The moon peeking over the mountains.

"That's just perfect."

I knew the sign was going to be set to the red warning before I turned the car off.

Red Warnings were always rough nights. Tonight, Ricky, the day shift guy left a note on the sign.

-Good Luck, you're gonna need it

-R

Snatching the bit of paper off the door, I listened for anything unusual.

A fox cried in the distance as a gentle breeze stirred the leaves on the trees. At least it was still warm.

I barely got my lunch in the fridge wedged between a long forgotten headstone and the lawnmower. The scent of fresh cut grass added a strange feeling to the anxiety.

Nothing so far, I checked the ledger and work sheet. Nothing new, just a couple reports of noises from the crypts.

"For the last time--" said a voice outside the door. Dropping my head, I rubbed my face. Things were starting early tonight.

"Can't you wait until I get settled?" I yelled towards the door.

"Sorry Jimmy!" A woman's voice answered.

"Sir Jim, a word?"

"I just got here, what do you need?""Sorry sir, it's William and Edgar."

I looked up to see who it was, The accent should have given it away.

"Let me guess, they're arguing about who wrote the scariest story again?"

"That's right. Their arguing is riling everyone up in the field."

"Thanks Albert, I'll go talk to them...again."

I grabbed the mag light and headed to the flattest part of the graveyard, covered in large intricate headstones and monuments.

I could hear the shouting long before I came upon the crowd that gathered.

"Alright break it up!" I yelled over the ruckus as I walked through the crowd of onlookers.

"Sir Jim."

"William, Edgar, what have I told you two? If you can't play nice, then you have to go elsewhere."

"Good sir, we were just debating the fundamentals of various literary mechanics when it got a touch heated. We meant no harm."

"Edgar, will you please just go spend the night with Lovecraft or Rice?"

"Bah, I am unable to debate with them so heatedly."

"Fine. Go find Dickinson or maybe see if Hemingway has accepted your apology yet, but please stop yelling."

This was a great start to the night. I blame Ricky. I walked the perimeter of the fields, the movie stars looked like they were rehearsing a play or something. I left them to it. they were a lot quieter than the writers. William and Edgar have been arguing long since before I started here.

Leaving them behind, I made my way to the lower meadow. It was deserted. Next up was my favorite part. The Vaults. A good five minute walk and the tones of what was shaping up to be an epic grove session reached me.

Powerful guitars, pounding drums, and hauntingly beautiful chorus of voices all belting 'all along the watchtower' as Jimi led.

I perched on one of the benches and watched. It wouldn't be long until the others headed this way.

A group of young ones, the child stars who passed too young, gathered and chased each other through the vaults and stones.

The spell was broken when Diogenes came tearing through the crowd with a plucked chicken being chased by Plato, Aristotle and none other than Friedrich Nietzsche.

The clamor short lived as the flash band stared a new song with Beethoven screaming something. The arguments had chilled out for now and I carried along with my rounds.

Leaving them to the enjoyment they got once a month when the moon was full, I went back to the shop to get my lunch.