A young girl kneeled solemnly next to a tombstone. The dewy grass of the morning had long since sunk into the fabric of her dress and onto her knees. Her hands rested calmly in her lap, fingers loosely intertwined, and the toes of her bare feet absentmindedly wove their way through the grass on which she sat.

It was a quiet morning, and to her, that was the best kind. A heavy fog had been rolling in since the wee hours, crawling slowly and steadily across the earth like long, creeping fingers. The voices of ravens called meekly to her through the thick air, but the echoey cry of ghosts whispering in through the veil threatened to drown them out.  The girl ignored all of this.

The girl touched the words on the tombstone softly, her thin hands and long nails trailing across the name with contemplative melancholy.

Here Lies Gregory V. Oswald

May We Meet Again In Another Life

No tears fell from her cheeks. It wasn’t often that Locals cried, after all—not even for their Neighbor, the person with whom they returned to again and again in the quiet town of Villa Falls. This girl was no such exception. She closed a fist tightly around the fabric at the neck of her dress, as if the pressure would keep the feelings down.

Anyone could tell you how deeply Old Gregory cared for this Local. He called her August, after the month they first met, and considered her to be almost a daughter. His real daughter, a woman of 37, had died twelve years ago in a car accident with her own children, and, as this also happened in the month of August, Gregory tended to believe the Local girl now kneeling at his grave first visited him in that month for the purpose of helping him through the hardest time of the year.

August did not know if that was the true reason as to why she picked him. Locals couldn’t manipulate fate any more than anyone else could. Honestly, all that happened on her end was that she showed up one day in the quaint little cul de sac of cottages in which he lived, decided she liked it there and liked him too, and decided to stick around for a while.

Gregory immediately welcomed her presence, and soon after, made up a room for in his home. August briefly wondered why someone would be so hospitable to a Local, as Locals commonly do things such as steal spoons, and replace the the water in the ice cube trays with diluted vinegar. Overall, though, she thought it was sweet of him, even though at the time she had sided with most Locals in belief that Neighbors should never see them in any state but “awake.” Still, somehow, she found herself sleeping in the little room most nights, and staying there during the day as well. She was the only Local she knew of who did anything like that, and she knew that made her odd—not that she minded.

Sometimes, she recalled as a raven perched itself atop the tombstone, Gregory would pat her on the head. That always felt so nice.

Or, it did, while it lasted. Neighbors die. They all do. So do Locals, eventually. That is just how it is. Still, it’s a hard topic to get over, and August didn’t like thinking about it.

The sun was coming up, now, and the dew was evaporating off the long blades of grass. She noticed that ravens had quieted some, and so had the ghostly whispers, but in the dim, muted colors of the morning, August was happy to note that the fog stood strong. She stood, wiping the dirt from the front of her dress.

She felt something in her pocket—something she had forgotten about—and took it out. Resting in her palm was a single key on a blue keychain with her name on it. It was her key, and it unlocked the cul de sac cottage that Gregory had made sure was legally hers before he died.

How did she decide where to go from here, she wondered? Locals do not own houses—not even the odd ones like her. It’s just not what is done.

Yet . . . she hated the idea of another Neighbor living in the place Gregory lived. Perhaps she should leave the house locked and empty so no one could ever go in, she thought. Though, Gregory would have hated that. He told her he didn’t want her to avoid the house after he was gone just because it held sad memories. He said to remember the happy ones as well.

Also, everyone already knew who the Local names August was in the town of Villa Falls. Locals that acted as surrogate daughters had been unheard of before. There was probably no new Neighbor August could “adopt” without causing a big fuss for everyone.

In that case, the most logical option was to live on her own in the Oswald cottage for now and figure out the rest later.

“You’re an honorary Oswald, after all,” she recalled Gregory saying. He patted her head affectionately, the wrinkles on his old hands bending and shifting as he moved.

She pulled on the braid that rested across her shoulder, regretting how she not once try to pat his head, too. Perhaps he would have liked that. She didn’t know. Neighbors were an odd bunch, and a little confusing with what they liked and didn’t like.

August wasn’t sure how she felt about being August Oswald. She wasn’t even sure how she felt about being August. She thought the Neighbors’ nicknaming tenancy was a little silly. A little pettish. It was something you’d do for a stray cat, not a humanoid being.

Yet, she always sort of liked it when Gregory would call out to the seemingly empty house, yelling, “August?” in that shaky voice of his, and she would peek her head out of whichever room she was in. It always made him smile, and that was good.

August reached into her other pocket and placed a handful of blue jelly beans atop the dirt of Gregory’s freshly-filled grave. She had been sitting here since his burial the previous day, and figured it was about time for this phase of her mourning period to end.

She stood, and the raven on the tombstone frightened, cawing as it flew away. 

August watched it for a moment as it grew smaller in the sky.

Then, she placed one foot carefully in front of the other, and, as Locals often do, walked further into the cemetery, into the depths of the thick, encompassing morning mist, and disappeared for a time.