It was dark. Whatever meager moonlight might have helped guide him was obscured by the heavy clouds overhead. Probably better, Nick thought. The wrought iron fence was low on three sides, only tall at the front entrance, so he would have no trouble hopping over.
He scanned the area. It was too late for after-dinner walkers and too early for college kids heading home from a night out on Main Street. A lone car moved slowly down Wilcox. Nick waited until he saw the taillights turn the corner onto First Street before he grabbed the cold metal railing of the low fence with both hands and swung his body over. It wasn’t the first time he had done it. He and his friends used to have séances in the graveyard on Devil’s Night, the night before Halloween. They’d grown out of it, but Nick thought of it now as he weaved his way through the headstones and mausoleums. Such innocent fun, he wondered if he would ever feel that way again.
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