The Graveyard BookThere is a legend surrounding the graveyard of the small town of Goristan. Legend says that, if you go to the graveyard at midnight, a strange book will appear, listing all the people who will be buried in it. The graveyard, though it had been destroyed many, many times, but somehow was always rebuilt after, and so the legend lived on.

With such an ominous legend, the younger, more frisky generation often got curious about the graveyard, and though most dared not to venture into the bleak place, nothing could stop the curiosity of the village’s infamous young bard, Leit, and his slightly less infamous thief friend, Asche.

“Like I said, there’s no way that the book exists,” Asche told his friend for the hundredth time. “It’s just a silly urban legend. You know, like how the elders used to tell children monsters roamed the streets at night to keep them from running around.”

“Didn’t stop you, though” Leit sang, looping his arm underneath Asche’s, a smile curled on his lips. “Aaaanyways, this book thing’s got a lot of eyewitnesses or whatever, so there’s at least a shred credibility”

Asche sighed, but made no effort to pull away from the grasp. “Let’s just go.”

The two trudged through the muddy ground, with Asche grudgingly slapping away the wet leaves that went over Leit’s head, yet were not tall enough to go over Asche’s as well. The graveyard was about a fifteen-minute’s walk away from the village square and a seven-minute’s run, though it took the duo over twenty minutes to get there due to the soil still drenched from the rainstorm in the evening and sticking all over their shoes.

They arrived at the graveyard slightly later than scheduled, panting from climbing over the hill to reach the said place. After a quick check on Asche’s watch, the time was confirmed to be eleven fifty-three in the night— eight minutes after they had planned to arrive, but still before twelve midnight.

“Guess we should start spreading ourselves out… We don’t know when the book’ll vanish, so we shouldn’t waste time searching the same couple of graves over and over again” Leit said cheerfully, and started bounding towards the opposite end of the graveyard.

Asche, sighing, sat down on one of the stone chairs nearby, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And then, finally, the clock struck twelve, and the two boys leaped into action, combing through the graves in search for a suspicious book that supposedly had the names of the dead written in it.

It didn’t take long.

At exactly twelve oh-five, a cry of triumph was uttered from the very heart of the graveyard— not the fiftieth lane in a hundred, not tenth column in twenty, but right in the center of the whole area— that was where Leit discovered a large, leatherbound book.

Asche rushed over to his side in an instant, not quite believing his eyes when the other boy proudly presented it to him.

“Are you sure that’s the Graveyard Book” he asked doubtfully, gingerly taking it off Leit’s hands and turning it around in his own. It was in an incredibly good condition- the leather was pristine and barely marked, the only sort of blemish being the wet mud that was stubbornly clinging onto it. For something that was supposedly hundreds of years old, it was in almost perfect condition. “It looks so… not-old.”

“You mean new” Leit suggested.

“No, not-old.”

Asche carefully opened the cover of the book, breath held, and stared at the first page.

Written in jet-black ink, on a crisp, white page, were dozens and dozens of names.

“So” Leit prompted.

“Names,” Asche replied, paling. “Lots, and lots of names. Leit, check if there’s a ‘Marista Einry’ somewhere here.”

A couple of minutes of searching later, Leit called, from a couple of rows away, “Yeah, she’s here. Marista Einry, dead for fifty years, and some weird quote in a language I don't understand.”

“Name of the person beside her” he asked again.

Leit said— “Winston Shaiorson— Asche Asche, you okay You look half-dead.”

For Asche was pale, not in a natural way, but his skin was white, his fingers quickly flipping through the book, face twisted with horror, and another emotion that Leit couldn’t identify.

Now, Leit wasn’t the smartest person in the village, but even he knew that only one conclusion could be reached: this book was indeed the Graveyard Book, and all the rumors were true.

Asche’s condition seemed to worsen the more he flipped through the book, and the moment he reached what seemed to be the last page of the book, he froze still and said not a word.

“Asche” Leit called. There was no response, and suddenly, the graveyard seemed eerily silent. The time was twelve thirty— and the book suddenly vanished from Asche’s hands, as if evaporating into the air around him, and still he was frozen.

His friend dashed over to him, and gripped both of his arms tightly, trying to snap him out of his shock. After a few toe-steps and smacks on the arm, Asche was back, though still pale and trembling.

“Asche” the bard asked worriedly. “Are you alright What did you see”

“Nothing,” Asche said softly, though his eyes were dark and his expression refused to give anything away. “Absolutely nothing.”

And so, they returned to the village.

—What’s that You want to know what happened after that You’re impatient, aren’t you… We don’t have much time until twelve thirty, you know If you want to look through the book in my hands, we’ll need to have more time.

Oh, fine, I’ll tell you. Two weeks later, an earthquake hit the village, and there were around a hundred survivors— everything was destroyed, except, of course, the graveyard you are standing in now.

Now, what do you think little Asche saw in the book

—Hey, don’t look like that. Why don’t you see for yourself Flip to the last page, in fact— this book can tell the future, you know. No one records the names down— because it knows. The grave is alive, and it knows.

—Don’t be like that. You came here to find out about the legend, didn’t you A reporter like you would live on these kinds of stories… especially since the recent murders in your town seem to be linked to this book. Come on, just open it. It won’t bite.

...Oh Flipping right to the last page Brave, aren’t you

...Oh, what’s that It seems like you’re in luck. The book’s recording the grave’s newest inhabitant. This name seems somehow familiar… where have I seen it

Ah… I’m sorry. My memory isn’t the best, but...

It’s yours, isn’t it

Don’t worry… You’ll be out of this nightmare soon. After all… the book never lies. So I can guarantee a safe journey over to the graveyard— Ah, but I’m not sure how swift it will be.

You don’t have to go so pale, you know. Don’t try to struggle against fate… it’s useless.

Huh Who am I A good question… Who am I, I wonder

I guess you could call me… a servant, of sorts You all always pen down that there are “guardians” of the graveyard… a more religious person may even call it the “god of the graveyard”. That fundamentally implies that there is someone ‘ruling over’ the graveyard.

That is wrong. The graveyard rules over us— and the book, just like us, is its faithful servant.

But that’s a story for another time.

… It’s twelve twenty-seven already Time sure does fly. My time is almost up… though, hopefully I’ll be seeing you again very, very soon.

My name

Well, you can call me Asche, though no one’s called me that in ages.

Like I said, you’ll be free from this nightmare, soon enough. I’m envious, you know… because I’ll never be. Though, I doubt you’ll care.

Goodnight… and farewell.