Ezra, the old man is passing through a country cemetery at night. A young waif of limited knowledge named Hugh has taken up with him, and proves to be a trying companion.

These rocks, with names on them: who put them here, Ezra?

They mark the places of the dead. Their bones lay underneath, and the stones remind us where we left them. Without voices, they cannot call us. But the stones call, and some of us must answer. Not all, mind you. Only the morbid and the curious feel the tug of this place, while some come to talk and remember. Others can disregard the dead without conscience.

Why would we wish to be reminded of the dead? The living tax us enough, why bother with the bones? I never knew anyone who died, but I have known many who seem to have just gone away.

Have you not heard of the graveyard, boy? You don’t need to know someone who died to know that we all will die. Do you think they leave us on the kitchen table after we’re gone?

Why are we passing through this place? I don’t care for the feel of it. Jumpers, for sure. I just keep thinking that I hear someone calling me, but you and me’s the only ones here.

No, we’re not. They’re here. And we pass because it lies along our road.

Hey, Ezra, you said they have no voice. How do they call?

It’s the stones. I said the stones call us back. I don’t know why. They just do.

Do you know anyone under these stones? Anyone you would talk to, or remember?

Nope. But I ask passage, and mind my own business till we clear it.

Well then, you must be morbid, or curious. Are you curious, Ezra? Morbid, perhaps?

Yep.

Ezra, the old man is passing through a country cemetery at night. A young waif of limited knowledge named Hugh has taken up with him, and proves to be a trying companion.

These rocks, with names on them: who put them here, Ezra?

They mark the places of the dead. Their bones lay underneath, and the stones remind us where we left them. Without voices, they cannot call us. But the stones call, and some of us must answer. Not all, mind you. Only the morbid and the curious feel the tug of this place, while some come to talk and remember. Others can disregard the dead without conscience.

Why would we wish to be reminded of the dead? The living tax us enough, why bother with the bones? I never knew anyone who died, but I have known many who seem to have just gone away.

Have you not heard of the graveyard, boy? You don’t need to know someone who died to know that we all will die. Do you think they leave us on the kitchen table after we’re gone?

Why are we passing through this place? I don’t care for the feel of it. Jumpers, for sure. I just keep thinking that I hear someone calling me, but you and me’s the only ones here.

No, we’re not. They’re here. And we pass because it lies along our road.

Hey, Ezra, you said they have no voice. How do they call?

It’s the stones. I said the stones call us back. I don’t know why. They just do.

Do you know anyone under these stones? Anyone you would talk to, or remember?

Nope. But I ask passage, and mind my own business till we clear it.

Well then, you must be morbid, or curious. Are you curious, Ezra? Morbid, perhaps?

Yep.