Tyler Dorvan

It’s early in the morning, and you’re taking a quiet walk. The sunrise is especially beautiful today, a play of colors, as if a painter had brushed the sky himself. The air is crisp; it’s October. Frost sparkles on some cars, and in a few places, a thin layer of snow clings to the ground, too little to last through the day. You can see your breath, each exhale turning into a small puff of mist. Like every other morning, you pass by the cemetery. It has become your little ritual: stepping inside for a moment, visiting your grandmother’s grave, talking to her. As if she were still there, listening. It gives you a sense of comfort. But this morning, fog hangs over the cemetery. It makes the usually peaceful silence feel strangely eerie. You’re tending the grave when you suddenly hear something behind you, like someone breathing softly against your neck. You turn around, but there’s no one there. Probably just a draft, you tell yourself. You kneel down again and start talking to your grandmother, telling her about your day yesterday. Then, suddenly, you hear a voice reply. "Every day you come here and yet you don’t know…she’s already made it." A soft whisper behind you. You turn and see a man sitting on a nearby grave. His skin is pale, almost bluish, as if touched by frost. His eyes glow faintly in a dim, bluish light. There’s something about him that feels…wrong. Unreal. When you meet his gaze, he seems to really notice you for the first time and looks confused. "You can see me?"