The Cemetery Keeper
Flash Fiction Prompt | May 2025
They say he’s been out here over a hundred years, tending a little cemetery no one visits anymore. No one really knows why he doesn’t age — maybe the cold preserved him, maybe it’s something else.
We found the map in my grandfather’s things after he passed. Hand-drawn, edges worn soft with time, a note tucked inside: “Find Milo. He’ll know.”
So here we are — me, my brother, a compass, and a thermos of strong coffee — tracing the same path our grandfather must’ve walked decades ago.
We’re not sure what we’re hoping to find. Maybe stories. Maybe closure. Maybe just a man who remembers someone we love.
And somehow, that’s enough.
The wind’s picking up, but I swear, just beyond the ridge, there’s a little wooden gate. A figure in green waves once, then turns back toward the headstones — still keeping watch. Still waiting.
