A Clean, Well-Maintained Cemetery

It was very early and all the souls had returned to their graves but for an ancient vampire who sat in the shadow of the tree in the fading moonlight. In the day the cemetery was busy, but at night the dust settled and the ancient vampire liked to sit there because it was quiet and because he had ennui. Dawn approached but still he did not move. He liked the danger. It made him feel alive.

Two gravediggers watched the ancient vampire from a distance. Even from there they could see he was depressed. 

“Last week he tried to stake himself,” said the older gravedigger.

“Really? Why?”

“Maybe because he is no longer trendy. Maybe because, I don’t know, burritos.”

“Burritos? What the hell do you mean?”

“Who knows?” the older gravedigger said. “It could be anything and yet he has everything anyone could want.”

  They stood together by a fresh grave and looked at the knoll where the tombstones were bent near the ancient vampire sitting in the shadow of the tree that creaked in the wind. A woman being chased by a zombie ran by in the path. The moonlight shone on the exposed viscera in the zombie’s torso. The woman had no weapon and hurried to lose him.

  “The villagers will get him,” the younger gravedigger said. “But first she will get shin splints running that way. No form.”

“What does it matter?”

The ancient vampire sitting in the shadow tapped his wolf-headed cane on a tree root. The younger gravedigger went over to him.

“Say, what do you want?”

The ancient vampire looked at him. “To die,” he said.

“Don’t be silly,” the gravedigger said. The ancient vampire pouted at him. The gravedigger went away.

“He should have done himself in last week,” he said to his co-worker. “I’m sleepy now. I like to get home before five a.m.”

“He’s sad,” his colleague said.

“I bet he’s sad. How did he try to stake himself?”

“He rubbed himself against a wooden fence. He was hoping a splinter would do it.”

“He’s not a very smart vampire, is he?”

“Perhaps. He must be over eighteen hundred years old.”

“What does age matter to a vampire? I wish he would go home. I never get to bed before five o’clock. What kind of hour is that to go to bed?”

“He stays up because he likes it.”

“He is lonely. I am not lonely. I have a hot succubus waiting in my trailer for me.”

“He had a wife once. Many wives. They do not come around much anymore.”

“I never want to be that alone or that old. An ancient vampire is a nasty thing.”

“Not always. This ancient vampire is very neat. He drinks without spilling.”

“I do not want to look at him. I wish he would go home. He has no regard for those who want to live.”

The ancient vampire moped at the glowing horizon then over at the gravediggers.

“Kill me,” he said, pointing to his heart. The gravedigger who was in a hurry came over.

“Bang. You’re dead,” he said, making a poor crucifix with his fingers. 

“Rats,” said the ancient vampire.

“Now scram. Die somewhere else.” The young gravedigger kicked the dirt around the vampire and shook his head.

Sighing, the ancient vampire stood up slowly, dusted himself off, fluffed out his cape, and transformed into a large silver-haired bat. The gravediggers watched him flutter down the street, a very ancient vampire fluttering unsteadily but with dignity.

“Why didn’t you let him stay and mope?” the unhurried gravedigger asked. They were putting away their shovels. “It’s only half past four.”

“I want to go home to bed. He can go catch a tan at his castle.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Hombre,” the gravedigger who was in a hurry said, closing the doors of the old crypt stocked with shovels and beer and shotguns. “There are Burpee Marts open all night long. Let him go to one of those.”

“We are of two different kinds,” the older gravedigger said. He was now dressed to go home. “I am of those who like to stay at the cemetery. This is a clean and pleasant cemetery. When the Moon comes out, it is well lighted. The light is very good and also there are the shadows of the leaves.”

“Sure,” said the younger gravedigger.

“Sure,” the other said. Turning off the lights, he continued the conversation with himself. It was the light, of course, but it is necessary that the cemetery be clean and neat and quiet. You do not need plastic flowers and keening. Certainly you do not want flags or bugles. Nor can you stand before a cramped counter of a Burpee Mart with dignity although that is all that is open at the end of the night. What did he fear? It was not a fear or indigestion. It was a hunger that he knew too well. It was all a hunger and life was a hunger too. It was only that and soft light was all it needed and a certain cleanness and order. Some lived in it and never felt it but for him it all was burritos y pues burritos y burritos y pues burritos. Our burritos who art in burritos burritos be thy name thy kingdom burritos thy will be burritos in burritos as it is in burritos. Give us this burritos our daily burritos and burritos us our burritos as we burritos our burritos and burritos us not into burritos but deliver us from burritos; pues burritos. Hail craving full of famished starving ravenous is with thee. He smiled and stood before a counter with a gaudy Burpee Slurpee machine.

“What’s yours?” asked the clerk.

“Beef and Cheese Burrito.”

“They discontinued those.”

“The Jerk Chicken then.”

“No burritos, only taquitos.”

“Oh. I’ll take one of them.”

“Otro loco más,” said the clerk and turned away.

“And a Cherry Blast, please,” said the gravedigger.

The clerk made it for him.

“The shelves are disorganized and the floor is unmopped,” the gravedigger said.

The clerk looked at him but did not answer. He kept his finger near the alarm that would call the police.

“You want hot sauce with your taquito?” the clerk asked.

“No, thank you,” said the gravedigger. He disliked clerks and disliked Burpee Marts. A clean, well-maintained cemetery was a different thing, a better thing. He would kill the clerk and then go home. He would throw away the food and lie in his coffin and finally with daylight he would sleep. After all, he said to himself, it’s probably only ennui.