But the hands stopped reaching for them and the spectre made no attempt to block their exit. He only offered them a sad, tired look. The children, their fear subsiding, found themselves hesitating despite their instinct to run.
The floating figure raised his fiddle to his chin and began sliding the bow across its strings. The music it sang out was old and familiar despite neither child having ever heard it before. With the chords came memories, though not those of either child. The lives of those buried played out in notes - the hardships, the loves, the regrets, and the hopes set to song, and that's when the children realized this was not the place of evil the older kids had teased about. The spirits were not angry and spiteful as the tales of the old men had promised. The only truth the children had ben told was these ghosts hungered for life, but not to feed. They wished to be a part of it once more, if only briefly.
As bony hands clapped in time and the fiddle played, the two children danced through the cemetary for those who could not.
R. K. Milholland