Based on a really cool ghost story I heard...really short, just tell me what you think.
Thirteen children sat round their mother at the dinner table, slowly chewing their meat and licking leftover gravy from their forks.
The fifteenth chair, however, was empty.
Its usual occupant was on the way, fighting their way through the night, as it was a rather windy evening.
Then, at last, the front door was unlatched, and in stepped the childrens' father, a tall, broad-shouldered man with streaks of grey running through his once-brown hair.
This man was Keeper of the Bones.
His duties were to oversee the local cemetery- building caskets, digging graves, and the like. He kept the fierce watchdogs that guarded the place, making sure no one [dead or alive] could get in when he left for home.
The man trips over the doorframe and stumbles. He curses under his breath, just loud enough for the youngest to hear it and turn bright pink.
He composes himself and straightens, turning to hang his cloak up on the rack and then limp over to the table and collapse into his seat.
"I dropped my walking stick in the graveyard," he said. "I could not see, for it was too dark."
All the children keep their eyes fixed on their meat- no one wanted to be sent to the cemetery at night, no matter how irritable their father could be when displeased. They can feel his eyes pass over each of their heads, searching for someone to speak up.
Finally, a lanky girl with stringy blonde hair looks up from her dinner.
"Father, I'll go."
He smiles.
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