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Fit was about three-quarters of the way down the main road in the center of the cemetery when he heard the faint whispers of whistling in the distance. He made his way down to the end of the road, shutting off the truck’s engine and hopping down from the cab and flicking on his flashlight as he clipped the key back onto the loop on his hip.
He grabbed a broom from the truck bed and made his way down the first row of graves, the whistling growing louder. Fit started sweeping dead leaves and fallen flower petals off of the stone of the tombs and headstones, finding himself whistling along.
Fit had fallen into a trance of monotony -sweep one grave, take two steps, sweep another grave, take two steps- and he didn’t realize that the other whistling had stopped until he heard a faint giggle behind him. FIt startled, spinning around quickly, broom held out in front of him like a makeshift weapon. He relaxed when he saw Pac sitting on the memorial, swinging his leg and residual limb back and forth, heel phasing through the stone with each swing. The ghost giggled, “Hi Fitche!”
Fit huffed, “Hi Pac, you scared the shit out of me,”
Pac smiled widely, “Living up to my ghost reputation, right?”
Fit shook his head, smiling fondly, “Whatever you say Pac,” he turned back to the grave he was sweeping, continuing along the line.
He heard the ghost sigh, and shivered as he phased through his chest, sending a chill through his body. Pac floated in front of him, cross legged, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and chin resting on his hands, “So,” Pac trailed off, floating along beside Fit as he continued to work, “Any new reports of hauntings in the graveyard?”
“Pac, you’re the ghost, you can figure out where if there’s any other ghosts here way easier than i can,”
Pac sighed, rolling over to lay on his stomach, chin still resting on his hands as he kicked his foot and residual limb in the air, “That’s not what I mean Fit, I was just wondering if there were any rumors of ghosts in the area, maybe from a group of children? I don’t know, maybe around fifteen years old?”
Fit laughed, “Are you trying to tell me you were scaring little kids before I got here?”
“Never Fit!” Pac dramatically raised a hand to press against his chest, “I told you they were teenagers.”
Fit snorted, “No, I didn’t hear any kids talk about getting spooked by a ghost in the graveyard,”
“Damnit,” Pac sighed, face falling, “that was one of my best scares I thought.”
“Really? Tell me about it.”
Pac spun in the air quickly, rotating to upright with a wide grin, “Oh, Fit, you won’t believe it, I was sitting over by the south corner, when I heard a rustling in the forest. Now, I thought it was just an animal, one of those squirrels or something, but, Fit, it was a group of teenagers!”
Fit smiled, continued his sweeping as Pac rambled on about the scare.
“So I made sure I disappeared except for my eyes, and when they looked at me I stared at them until they realized, and then I ran away, and did it again, and once they got to the cemetery wall, I fully disappeared and whispered behind them, and then one of them was able to see me, and they all ran off screaming!” Pac grinned, eyes sparkling and full of amusement.
Fit couldn’t help but smile back, “You’re a menace, you know that.”
Pac’s eyes went wide, “What? You don’t mean that Fit, if it wasn’t for me trying to scare you, we wouldn’t be friends!”
“Hey,” Fit grinned, “I didn’t say I don’t like your menace-ness,” he shrugged, “just said you are a menace.”
Fit finished sweeping the row, and crossed over the central road to continue, “Hey Pac, have you heard-“ he cut himself off when he realized the ghost wasn’t around anymore.
He sighed, remembering that he was in the southeast corner. Fit was almost positive that Pac’s grave was down in that area, he always disappeared when Fit was near the last few rows of headstones.
Still, Fit had yet to see a headstone with Pac’s name on it. Fit didn’t know his surname, so he was inclined to believe ‘Pac’ wasn’t the name on his headstone. He didn’t even know when the ghost had died, except a broad guess of the nineteenth century judging on his frilly shirt and nice looking pants, and the fancy suit jacket that he wore from time to time.
Fit finished the row and and the row behind it, before switching back to the other side of the central road. About halfway down the road, Fit heard Pac behind him, staring up on a rant with no introduction. Fit smiled sadly as he listened, continuing on with his sweeping.
He felt bad for Pac, he was young, and the missing leg and bloodstained trousers were a strong indicator of what had caused his death at such a young age. He couldn’t go into the same area of the graveyard as his headstone, and any time Fit had questioned about his missing limb, he’d quickly deflect, moving to a new topic of conversation as fast as he could.
Fit just hoped he’d be able to open up, eternity was a long time to deal with the ghosts of your life.