The Night Guards

Nobody wanted to work the night shift at Green Valley Cemetery. People in the neighborhood knew the place well enough to avoid it after sunset, and even during the day there was something about the cemetery that made visitors lower their voices when they walked through the gates. It wasn't necessarily frightening. It was simply quiet in a way that made you notice every little sound. The wind moving through the trees sounded louder than it should. Footsteps seemed to travel farther. A bird taking off from a branch could make a person turn around and wonder who was following them. So when a job advertisement appeared for a night security guard, most people ignored it. The advertisement promised a quiet environment, easy work, and no experience required. Samuel believed every word of it.

At thirty-eight, Samuel had reached the point in his life where excitement no longer impressed him. He had spent years working jobs that left him exhausted before he even got home. He had worked in a supermarket where customers could spend twenty minutes arguing over the price of a loaf of bread. He had worked on construction sites where the machinery was so loud that his ears rang long after his shift ended. He had even worked in a restaurant where cooks shouted across the kitchen, waiters shouted at cooks, customers shouted at waiters, and somehow everyone expected Samuel to remain calm in the middle of it all. What Samuel wanted now was something simple. He wanted a chair. He wanted coffee. He wanted a quiet place where nobody would ask him to work faster, talk louder, or solve somebody else's problem. When he saw the cemetery job, he imagined himself sitting comfortably in a small security booth, watching the gate, occasionally walking around the grounds, and spending most of his shift enjoying the silence. It sounded perfect.

On his first evening, Samuel arrived five minutes early. He was wearing his new security uniform, although the trousers were slightly too long and the shirt felt too large around his shoulders. In one hand he carried a flashlight, and in the other was the lunchbox his sister had packed for him. He stood outside the cemetery gates for a moment and looked inside. The last sunlight was disappearing behind the trees, leaving the cemetery covered in long shadows. The graves stretched into the distance, some old and weathered, others recently maintained. Near the center stood a small chapel with a faded roof and narrow windows. Samuel took a slow breath and told himself there was nothing strange about the place. It was just a cemetery. People came here every day. Dead people didn't suddenly become dangerous simply because the sun went down. He was still convincing himself of this when a crow burst out of a tree directly above him. Samuel jumped so hard that he nearly dropped his lunchbox. The crow disappeared into the darkness, and Samuel looked around to make sure nobody had seen him. "Very funny," he muttered. He had been confident when he arrived. That confidence lasted approximately forty-seven minutes.

His supervisor, Mr. Lamane, arrived shortly afterward and showed Samuel around. The security booth was small but comfortable enough, with an old desk, two chairs, a kettle, a radio, and a monitor connected to several cameras. Mr. Lamane explained the routine. Samuel would check the gates, watch the cameras, patrol the grounds, and make sure nobody entered after visiting hours. It sounded exactly like the kind of work Samuel had imagined. Then Mr. Lamane mentioned that Samuel would be working with Joseph, a senior guard who had been at Green Valley Cemetery for twenty years. Samuel felt relieved immediately. At least he wouldn't be alone. Just before leaving, Mr. Lamane paused beside the gate and looked into the cemetery. His expression changed slightly. He seemed to be thinking about whether he should say something. Finally, he turned toward Samuel and lowered his voice. "There's one rule you need to remember." Samuel waited. "If you hear someone calling your name from inside the cemetery, don't answer." Samuel laughed because he assumed it was a joke. Mr. Lamane didn't laugh. Samuel's smile slowly disappeared. "You mean if someone is looking for me?" he asked. Mr. Lamane shook his head. "No. I mean don't answer." He glanced toward the graves and then said quietly, "Sometimes the dead get lonely." Before Samuel could ask what that meant, Mr. Lamane walked away.

Joseph arrived about ten minutes later. He was sixty-two years old and had the relaxed appearance of a man who had stopped being surprised by anything years ago. He carried a thermos of coffee and an old flashlight that looked as though it had survived several wars. After introducing himself, Samuel asked how long he had worked at the cemetery. Joseph told him twenty years. Samuel smiled. "Then you must know everything about this place." Joseph gave him a strange look. "Enough." Samuel remembered the supervisor's warning and hesitated before asking the question that had been bothering him. "Are there actually ghosts here?" Joseph unscrewed the lid of his thermos, took a drink, and calmly answered, "Of course." Samuel waited for him to laugh. He didn't. "You mean real ghosts?" Samuel asked. Joseph nodded. "Real ghosts." He took another drink. "They don't pay rent, they don't respect security rules, and they complain about everything." Samuel looked at him for a moment, trying to decide whether Joseph was serious. He was. "Ghosts complain?" Samuel asked. "All the time," Joseph replied. Samuel looked toward the cemetery. His perfect quiet job was beginning to sound less perfect.

For the first few hours, however, nothing happened. Samuel began to think perhaps the old men were simply trying to frighten the new employee. He sat behind the desk, drank coffee, checked the cameras, and occasionally looked through the window. Joseph sat nearby reading a newspaper. The cemetery remained still. Around ten o'clock, Samuel started feeling comfortable. By eleven, he had even taken off his jacket and placed his lunchbox on the desk. He was beginning to imagine himself staying in the job for years. Then the clock reached 11:47 p.m.

Samuel heard footsteps.

At first they were so faint that he wasn't sure he had heard them at all. He looked toward the window and listened. There they were again.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Someone was walking among the graves.

Samuel stood up.

"Joseph?"

Joseph lowered his newspaper.

"What?"

"Do you hear that?"

Joseph listened.

The footsteps continued.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Samuel reached for his flashlight. "I'll go check."

Joseph immediately shook his head.

"No."

Samuel looked at him.

"Why?"

"Because you were told not to answer."

"I'm not answering anyone."

"You already did."

Samuel frowned.

"I only said who's there."

Joseph stared at him.

Samuel's stomach dropped.

The footsteps suddenly stopped.

Neither man moved.

Then, from somewhere deep inside the cemetery, a woman's voice floated through the darkness.

"Samuel..."

Every hair on Samuel's arms stood up.

He looked at Joseph.

The voice came again.

"Samuel..."

Joseph slowly put down his newspaper.

"Here we go again."

Samuel whispered, "Who is that?"

"Don't worry about it."

"She knows my name."

"Yes."

"How?"

Joseph shrugged.

"They know everyone's names."

"How?"

"They're dead. They have plenty of time to learn things."

Samuel stared through the window. He could see nothing except rows of graves and the shadows of trees.

The woman's voice came again.

"Samuel..."

He almost answered.

Joseph grabbed his arm.

"Don't."

Samuel swallowed.

"What happens if I answer?"

Joseph sighed.

"The last guard who answered spent two hours helping a ghost look for a handbag."

Samuel blinked.

"Why would a ghost need a handbag?"

"She said she lost it."

"Did you find it?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

Joseph looked completely serious.

"Inside her grave."

Samuel stared at him.

"You can't be serious."

"She had been dead for forty years."

Samuel sat down slowly.

"I don't think I'm going to survive this job."

Joseph picked up his newspaper again.

"You'll survive."

The woman's voice disappeared.

For several minutes, the cemetery became silent again.

Then someone laughed.

Samuel nearly fell out of his chair.

Joseph didn't even look up.

"That was George."

"Who's George?"

"You'll meet him."

"I don't want to."

"You don't get to choose."

By midnight, Samuel discovered that Joseph hadn't been exaggerating. Green Valley Cemetery was full of ghosts, and apparently death had done very little to improve their personalities.

Mr. Peterson was the first one Samuel met. He was an elderly man who wandered around carrying a newspaper under one arm. He appeared almost solid from a distance, but when Samuel looked closely he could see the faint outline of the graves through him. Mr. Peterson stopped outside the security booth, looked toward the sky, and sighed.

"Terrible weather."

Samuel looked upward.

The sky was perfectly clear.

There wasn't even a cloud.

"It's actually a beautiful night," Samuel said.

Mr. Peterson frowned.

"That's what people always say."

Then he walked away.

Samuel watched him disappear.

"What was wrong with the weather?"

Joseph shrugged.

"He's been complaining about it for fifteen years."

Before Samuel could ask another question, Mrs. Williams appeared. She was wearing an old-fashioned dress and carrying several flowers that Samuel immediately recognized from nearby graves.

Joseph sighed.

"Mrs. Williams."

She stopped.

"What?"

"Those flowers don't belong to you."

She looked at the flowers.

"They do now."

"They were on someone's grave."

"I know."

"Put them back."

Mrs. Williams looked offended.

"I've been dead for fifty-three years."

Joseph waited.

"And?"

"And I deserve flowers."

Samuel couldn't help smiling.

Mrs. Williams noticed.

"You think this is funny?"

Samuel quickly stopped smiling.

"No, ma'am."

She stared at him suspiciously before floating away with the flowers.

Joseph watched her go.

"She'll be back tomorrow."

"Why?"

"More flowers."

Samuel shook his head.

"This place is unbelievable."

Joseph smiled.

"You haven't seen anything yet."

He was right.

The next disturbance came from the eastern side of the cemetery. A loud crash echoed through the darkness, followed by several angry voices. Joseph grabbed his flashlight and started walking.

Samuel followed.

They expected to find an intruder.

Instead, they found three ghosts arguing over a plastic chair.

"That's my chair!"

"You stole it!"

"I found it!"

"It was beside my grave!"

"Then your grave doesn't need it!"

Samuel stood there in complete disbelief.

Finally, one of the ghosts noticed him.

"You!"

Samuel pointed at himself.

"Me?"

"Tell him the chair is mine."

Samuel looked at the chair, then at the ghosts.

"Why do you need a chair?"

All three ghosts stared at him.

One finally answered.

"Because sitting is comfortable."

Samuel looked at Joseph.

Joseph shook his head.

"Don't."

"But you're ghosts."

"I know."

"You can float."

The ghost folded his arms.

"Floating is tiring."

Samuel opened his mouth.

Joseph interrupted him.

"Samuel."

"What?"

"Don't try to understand them."

Samuel nodded slowly.

He was beginning to understand that logic had very little authority inside Green Valley Cemetery.

Over the following weeks, Samuel learned the cemetery's strange routine. The ghosts weren't constantly frightening. Most of the time, they were simply there. Some wandered between the graves. Some sat beneath the trees. Some visited the chapel. A few liked to stand near the gate and watch living people pass by. They seemed less interested in frightening anyone than in having something to do.

Then there was George.

George became Samuel's greatest problem.

He had been dead for twenty-seven years and had apparently spent those twenty-seven years developing a talent for irritating people.

The first time Samuel met him properly, George moved a security cone from one side of the path to the other.

Samuel put it back.

George moved it again.

Samuel put it back.

George moved it again.

Finally Samuel shouted into the darkness, "Stop moving the cone!"

George's voice answered from behind him.

"Why?"

Samuel spun around.

George was floating upside down beneath a tree.

Samuel nearly dropped his flashlight.

"Why are you upside down?"

George shrugged.

"Why aren't you?"

Samuel stared at him.

George laughed.

That was the beginning of their friendship.

At first, Samuel hated him.

George hid Samuel's flashlight. He switched off lights. He moved chairs. He knocked on windows. One evening he placed a plastic skeleton in Samuel's chair, and Samuel sat down without looking.

When he finally noticed it, he screamed so loudly that three ghosts came running.

George laughed for several minutes.

Samuel pointed at him.

"One day, George, I'm going to find a way to scare you."

George grinned.

"You can try."

"You're already dead."

"Exactly."

That was difficult to argue with.

Eventually, Samuel realized that George wasn't trying to be cruel. He was simply bored. Twenty-seven years of death had apparently given him too much free time.

So Samuel brought an old television to the security booth.

George stared at it.

"What is that?"

"A television."

"What does it do?"

"You watch it."

George sat down.

Samuel switched it on.

George became completely silent.

Joseph looked at Samuel.

"What have you done?"

"I've given him something to do."

For several hours, George watched television without moving. Samuel enjoyed the silence so much that he almost considered buying another television for himself.

Then George suddenly stood.

"Terrible ending."

Samuel looked at the screen.

"The programme hasn't finished."

"I know."

"Then how can the ending be terrible?"

George shrugged.

"I don't trust it."

Joseph shook his head.

"He's definitely human."

The strange thing was that Samuel eventually began looking forward to George's visits.

He would never admit it, but the cemetery had become less frightening because of him.

One Friday night, however, something unusual happened.

The cemetery was too quiet.

Samuel noticed it around midnight.

There were no ghosts wandering around.

Nobody complained about the weather.

Mrs. Williams wasn't stealing flowers.

The chair argument hadn't started.

George hadn't moved a single cone.

Samuel looked at Joseph.

"Where is everybody?"

Joseph frowned.

"I don't know."

Then Samuel noticed the gate.

It was open.

Joseph had locked it himself earlier that evening.

They walked toward it carefully.

The wind had picked up, and dry leaves moved across the path. Somewhere in the distance, music was playing.

Samuel stopped.

"Do you hear that?"

Joseph nodded.

The music was coming from the old chapel.

They walked toward it.

When they reached the doors, Samuel looked inside.

His mouth fell open.

The chapel was filled with ghosts.

Dozens of them.

Some sat in the old wooden seats. Others floated near the ceiling. Several stood around the walls talking quietly.

Then every ghost turned toward Samuel and Joseph.

A ghost at the front raised both hands.

"The guards are here!"

The entire chapel erupted in applause.

Samuel stepped backward.

"What is happening?"

George floated toward him, smiling.

"Don't worry."

"Why are there so many ghosts?"

"Meeting."

"What kind of meeting?"

George pointed at Samuel.

"About you."

Samuel's smile disappeared.

"Why?"

A ghost stepped forward.

"You have served this cemetery well."

Another said, "You have tolerated our complaints."

Mrs. Williams raised her hand.

"He has allowed me extra flowers."

Mr. Peterson nodded.

"He listens to my weather complaints."

The chair ghost pointed at Samuel.

"He understands the importance of comfortable seating."

Samuel looked at Joseph.

Joseph was smiling.

Then George approached him carrying a small box.

"Open it."

Samuel hesitated.

Inside was an old medal.

The words were faded, but he could still read them.

BEST GRAVEYARD GUARD

For a moment, Samuel didn't know what to say.

He had never received an award before.

He had worked for years without anyone noticing how hard he tried. He had learned to accept that most people only noticed a security guard when something went wrong. Yet here he was, standing in an old cemetery chapel surrounded by people who were no longer alive, and they were applauding him.

Samuel smiled.

"Thank you."

The ghosts applauded louder.

Then someone shouted from the back of the chapel.

"MORE BISCUITS NEXT WEEK!"

The room became silent.

Samuel looked at Joseph.

Joseph burst out laughing.

Samuel eventually laughed too.

After that night, something changed.

Samuel stopped thinking of Green Valley Cemetery as a place where he worked.

It became a place where he belonged.

Years passed.

Samuel grew older. His hair slowly turned grey, and the uniform that had once felt strange became as familiar as his own clothes. He knew every path in the cemetery. He knew which gate squeaked, which tree attracted birds, which lights flickered during storms, and which ghosts could be trusted around food.

More importantly, he knew the people who lived there.

Or perhaps it was better to say the people who remained there.

He knew when Mrs. Williams wanted flowers.

He knew when Mr. Peterson wanted to complain about the weather.

He knew when the chair ghost was looking for furniture.

He knew when George was bored.

Sometimes the ghosts didn't want anything at all.

They simply wanted someone to talk to.

Samuel understood that now.

He had once believed a cemetery was a place filled with death.

Eventually, he realized it was also filled with memories.

Every grave belonged to someone who had once laughed, worried, loved, worked, dreamed, argued, made mistakes, and lived an ordinary human life. Death had taken their bodies, but apparently it had not taken their personalities.

Mr. Peterson was still stubborn.

Mrs. Williams was still demanding.

George was still annoying.

And the chair ghost still believed everyone deserved a seat.

Samuel found comfort in that.

Visitors occasionally saw him sitting alone in the security booth and assumed he was enjoying the peace.

They couldn't see the ghost sitting in the chair across from him.

They couldn't hear the conversations.

They couldn't see George floating near the ceiling while complaining about the television.

They couldn't hear Mrs. Williams arguing with someone about flowers.

They couldn't see Mr. Peterson standing outside complaining about the weather.

To the living world, Samuel was alone.

He knew better.

One night, many years after his first shift, Samuel was sitting quietly in the booth when he heard three familiar knocks on the window.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

He didn't jump anymore.

He didn't even look surprised.

"George?"

A pale face appeared on the other side of the glass.

"Yes?"

Samuel sighed.

"What do you want?"

"Nothing."

"Then why are you here?"

"I'm bored."

Samuel smiled.

"You've been dead for twenty-eight years."

George corrected him.

"Twenty-eight years and three months."

"You've been counting?"

"Of course."

"Why?"

George floated through the window and sat down.

He looked at Samuel for a moment before answering.

"Because eternity is very long."

Samuel laughed.

He opened the booth door and let his old friend inside.

Outside, the cemetery remained silent.

The trees moved gently in the wind.

The moon hung above the graves.

Everything seemed peaceful.

Then, somewhere in the darkness, a familiar voice suddenly shouted,

"WHO TOOK MY CHAIR?"

Joseph's voice came from the other side of the cemetery.

"IT'S A PLASTIC CHAIR! YOU'RE DEAD!"

The answer came immediately.

"THAT'S NOT THE POINT!"

Samuel looked at George.

George looked at Samuel.

For several seconds they tried to remain serious.

They failed.

Both of them burst out laughing.

And that was another perfectly normal night at Green Valley Cemetery.

It had taken Samuel years to understand that the cemetery was never really quiet. There was always something happening among the graves. Someone was always complaining, arguing, laughing, wandering around, looking for something they had misplaced, or simply searching for someone willing to listen.

Samuel had accepted the job because he wanted to escape people.

Instead, he found more people than he had ever expected.

They were simply people who no longer had heartbeats.

And perhaps that was the funniest part of all.

Samuel had spent years believing the dead would be the frightening ones.

They weren't.

The dead were stubborn, lonely, funny, dramatic, generous, irritating, and sometimes surprisingly kind.

They reminded him of the living.

Maybe that was why he had grown so comfortable among them.

Because beneath the pale faces, strange voices, floating bodies, and impossible stories, they were still human.

And Samuel had learned something he never expected to learn from a cemetery.

Sometimes people don't need you to fix anything.

Sometimes they just need you to sit with them.

Sometimes they need someone to listen to the same old story.

Sometimes they need a cup of tea.

Sometimes they need a few biscuits.

And occasionally, apparently, they need a plastic chair.

Samuel leaned back in his seat and smiled as another argument began somewhere among the graves.

He listened to the voices drifting through the night.

He knew the cemetery would never truly be empty.

And strangely enough, he was glad.

Because after all those years, Samuel had finally discovered the quiet place he had been looking for.

It just happened to be full of ghosts.