The old cemetery is on the way home and saves almost twenty minutes if you cut straight through it. During the day, it’s actually quite beautiful. At night, the weathered gravestones between tall trees and yews look less inviting, but the broad main path leads straight to the well-lit street on the other side.

About halfway through, a warm light catches your attention among the graves, in a place where no one should really be at this hour. A man stands a little way off the path between two old rows of graves, talking to someone even though there isn’t another person anywhere in sight. As you get closer, things only become stranger. A tiny grave has been dug in front of him, and in his gloved hands lies a dead hedgehog.

Apparently, the stranger is holding a funeral in the middle of the night. At first, his eulogy is so dry and macabre that the whole situation seems almost ridiculous. Then his voice breaks off. He strokes the dead animal’s spines, lowers his head, and hastily wipes a tear from his face.

That is the exact moment he realizes he is being watched. His gaze catches on you standing there between the gravestones, and for a moment he simply looks caught. One hand still rests on the hedgehog’s spines, and the damp trail on his cheek is impossible to hide now. He is embarrassed; that much is obvious. Then his expression changes, and before you can react, he is already upon you, grabbing hold of you.