Damon the Demon had overslept. The neon clock on his crypt wall said 10pm. He sighed. Grabbing a handknitted poncho from the coat stand (capes were so last millennium), he raced up the narrow, twisting stone staircase, until he entered the only part of his home which was above ground: the mausoleum.
He stepped outside and inhaled the cold, crisp autumn air. In the clear night sky above, the moon was waxing towards full. It was his favourite time of year.
Damon worked the graveyard shift at the graveyard. At least living on site ensured there was no commute and no traffic to get stuck in. Oh, how he hated traffic! Damon had counted his lucky stars the day this job fell into his lap way back in 1878. And he had an attendance record to be proud of, having worked every night since…My, had he seen some strange things!
He looked about, surveying what he liked to call his domain of the dead. Gravestones of all shapes, sizes and colours, stretched away into the distance in every direction. Only the presence of trees, some alone, some growing in little copses, some towering into the sky, some small, twisted and gnarled, broke up the landscape, injecting the only bit of life this world of the dead could now experience.
That was of course, if you neglected to count the undead and other creatures of the night that periodically made an appearance and disturbed Damon’s sense of peace. Oh, and don’t forget the squirrels. There were a lot of squirrels.
Now that Damon was fully awake, he was alert and felt ready for anything the night might bring him.
Which was good because just at that moment, a scream tore through the silence of the cemetery.
To be continued…
Written for: 13 Days of Samhain vol ii: Day 1 – Graveyard Shift