On a chilly October night, a lone spirit winds his way down the path of a deserted graveyard. It’s the night of Friday the 13th, and the moon is full, illuminating the desolate cemetery. Dead leaves cover the tombstones, but it’s not just this autumn’s brush that render the markers illegible. Years’ worth of dirt has caked its way into the fine lettering; the epitaphs can no longer be made out.
But the spirit doesn’t have to read the headstones to know what they say. His decades-long haunt of the cemetery has afforded him the opportunity to memorize each and every inscription, to the point where he even knows the precise dates for everyone buried within. On long, quiet, lonesome nights, he studies the markers. Tonight, however, should not be one of those nights.