The Stirthenstill graveyard was the epicenter of spooky in the town of Auno. People have been known to drop dead visiting the grave of a loved one, crows were frequently seen circling over mausoleums, flashlights and lanterns would arbitrarily stop working only to turn back on outside the gates, and bats were sometimes found sleeping on their bellies on top of the dirt of fresh graves.

One little brown bat in particular was quick to claim fresh graves as her own. As soon as the gravedigger gave the mound one last pat with their shovel and turned their back, she’d swoop down from her branch in the lone willow tree and would nestle into the dirt.

The bats were selective in choosing which graves to settle on. The graves never belonged to wholesome souls, but to those that beckoned for the devil to take them home. The little brown bats had a special energy that gave the souls of the damned the push they needed to meet their master.

It wasn’t a one-sided exchange. Whenever a bat helped a soul, they gained the ability to take the form of the deceased for one night. They could then wander within the borders of Auno from sunset to sunrise before transforming back into a bat. Doing so extended their life and strengthened their power. Most never left the graveyard as their movements were slow and they were most comfortable staying close to the graves.

* * *

The wind blew chill and the purple sky faded to dark blue. The little brown bat watched the gravedigger intently, small black eyes unblinking. The gravedigger wiped his brow with a handkerchief before patting the dirt over the grave he just filled. As soon as he turned his back, the bat streamlined from the willow tree to the dirt. There wasn’t time for her to get comfortable because a child emerged from behind a tree and ran to the grave. The child flung herself down at the head of the grave and wept. After composing herself, she reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a toy. She leaned a unicorn with butterfly wings against the gravestone that read “Castle” and then walked away.

The little brown bat cautiously made her way back to the dirt. Once she was confident nothing would disturb the peace, she fell asleep.

The following night, the bat morphed into the man that was once living with the last name “Castle.” He picked up the unicorn toy and examined it. Some paint had lost its luster around the wings, and scratches around the body made it apparent the toy had been played with over the years. The bat-turned-man walked around the many paths of the graveyard, toy in hand. Twilight gave the gravestones a look of forlorn. Shadows deepened and the wind swirled leaves that littered the paths. As the man walked towards the setting sun, his eyes scanned the names carved into each stone but absorbed nothing.

It wasn’t until the crunching of leaves reached his ears that he stopped walking. He turned his head over his left shoulder and saw a woman and a child walking hand-in-hand. They came over a small hill and saw the man in the distance. The child recognized the toy in the man’s hand as the unicorn she’d left at her father’s grave. She reluctantly looked up to the man’s face and realized it was her father. The woman saw her late husband standing yards away in the suit he was buried in. Both she and the child froze. The man, still with only his head turned, raised his free hand and gave a meek wave.

The eyes of the woman and child rolled up and they both dropped where they stood. Leaves danced around them. The crows bellowed raspy caws from various fence posts. The man lowered his hand, turned his head, and continued on the path through Stillthenstir until the sun rose the following day.

Dedicated to Samara who wanted a story involving a unicorn with butterfly wings, a bat, and a graveyard.