Chores

Having completed his chores (mowing the lawn, pruning the hedges, composting the dead flowers, and salting the graves), Troy took a coffee break. The weak autumn sun was beautiful coming through the leaves, but long fingers of mist curled around the oaks at the edge of the cemetery on the northwestern side. It would be a cold night and the fog would thicken. He looked over at the wood pile and smiled, grateful for the full cord he'd had Juan Martinez deliver. "Ya gotta have heat and ya gotta have light," Troy said softly to himself, making a mental note to refresh the sigils of protection on the caretaker's cottage, but also the "peaceful sleep; do not rise" seals on two of the problem crypts. "Nobody wants the Gillams to come back," Troy laughed into his cup, draining the last of it. He'd redistribute the Palo Santo chips out in the medical remains plot, and crush rose petals over the unknowns. Before he settled inside for the night, he'd string the tiny white (technically Christmas) lights through the yew trees and that'd be that. "Can't do much more on this side," Troy whispered. It was doing to get dark - real dark, and he'd be barricaded in the keeper's cabin when True Midnight of All Hallows arrived (if it wasn't too damn noisy, he'd be sleeping). It was important to Troy that, when The Veil was at its thinnest, the place looked good.