(For Spike)
This is the last one, Snow promised herself. Cemeteries are not scary. They are rocks and earth and bodies turning into compost waaaay underground. Nope, not scary.
Headstone rubbings would make her classroom look Hallowe’en-y - fifth graders liked that sort of thing, didn’t they? Just because she hadn’t gotten a chance to get over here to make the rubbings until tonight made no difference. The fading light, well, faded now, was nothing to worry about; it happened every day. She’d worry if it didn’t.
Snow chuckled as she stood and brushed the dirt off her knees. It would’ve been nice if she’d had a chance to change out of her school clothes, her ‘teacher uniform’ skirt and cardigan, but she didn’t think she’d gotten any grass stains. Laying the last sheet of paper on the pile, she tucked her crayon back in the box just as a sudden gust of wind blew the papers across the row of graves behind her, like they were dry autumn leaves. “No. Noooo! Crap--”
