Graveyard Shift

by M.L. Rio

It’s frighteningly easy to get lost in your own subconscious; any place you think you know is different after dark.

I have also been a lurker in churchyards; the proximity of somebody’s final resting place can be a strange comfort when you can’t find any rest of your own.

Nobody wanted to huddle in a moldering churchyard after midnight because there was nowhere else to smoke. But huddle they did. Misery loved company and made strange bedfellows.

“Occam’s razor,” Edie repeated. “The simplest explanation is the best explanation.”