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         Old Mr Warris Sailung was just starting to doze off at his security guard’s station outside the Hillcrest road cemetery, leaning against the head of his baton. The monotonous humming of the crickets was growing on him, almost lulling him to sleep. Snowflakes flitting through the air, ill-lit street lamps, twinkling lights on Christmas trees in the distance – all of it was starting to blur before his eyes when suddenly, he heard the scream.

Sailung startled up on his stool. No, he wasn’t dreaming. The blood-curdling scream was still ripping through the night air. As he fumbled over his belt loops for his walkie-talkie, the scream stopped just as suddenly as it had begun. As the night sank back into dead cold silence, Sailung’s wits returned to him. He had been a security guard at this ancient 18th century cemetery for over twenty years now. And for most of it, he had been busy chasing stoned and horny youngsters who would sneak into the graveyard looking for a good time. This was just another one of those times, he told himself as he grabbed his flashlight and keys. Stupid stoned kids trying to play a prank on the old guard...

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