I look up and silently curse the new moon. Dammit. Of all nights, you pick tonight to go into hiding. 

A cool October breeze finds the bottom of my cape and teases up my calves and between my thighs. I shiver, but not from the cold. I’m excited for what’s coming and walk faster.

One of the zombies hanging out around a lamppost whistles as I pass. 

“Whacha got underneath that cape for me, darlin’?”

“Nothing you could handle,” I murmur under my breath. 

He turns toward a vampiress walking in the opposite direction. Yeah, good luck with that one.

Tonight the streets are filled with the living pretending to be dead. Fucking posers. They don’t excite me. Not since them. 

By the time I reach the rusty iron gate, my heart is wildly thumping enough to make my nipples hurt rubbing against the inside of the cape. I peek through the railings. The cemetery is pitch black except for the light coming from the gatekeeper’s cottage. His wrinkled face appears in the window. 

“Henry!” I call to him and wave. 

His face disappears from the window, and it takes longer than expected before I see him hobbling with his cane toward the gate. He’s out of breath when he reaches me, and his hand shakes badly as he struggles to fit the key in the hole.

“Can I help you with that?”

He looks up. “I’ve been working this gate since before you were born, little lady.”

“And I’ll die before you get it open.”

He chuckles as the key turns and lets me in.  

He’s combed his powder-white hair, and I smell his aftershave. For me? Aww, sweet Henry. I kiss his cheek, then follow him inside his quaint cottage. 

I slip off my shoes and turn my back to him. He remembers what to do and slides my cape off my shoulders. 

I turn to him. Cool air touches my breasts, my tummy, and the soft curls lower. He folds the cape neatly over his arm, avoiding looking at my nakedness. 

Always a gentleman. That’s Henry. 

“I’ll come for you,” he says. 

“You always do.” 

I know he’ll be watching from his window. We have a strange friendship, I suppose. 

I walk barefoot around the graves, running my hands over the smooth tombstones. 

“I’m back, boys.” 

The sun has set. They’ll start arriving anytime now. 

Then, I see the freshly turned topsoil and stop to read the simple grave marker. Carl. I wonder who’s missing him tonight. A breeze blows by me. It’s rare for a newbie to make it the first year, but I’ll see if he can figure it out. 

I walk to the center of them. The wind blows my hair back away from my face, and my hips start to sway. I didn’t dance for my boyfriend, but I’ll dance for them. I think they like it. I run my hands over my body, then raise my arms in the air and slowly twirl. 

I say one name first. “Grayson.” 

I hear a faint, indecipherable whisper, and feel a touch on my ankles. A face emerges in the fog. “Are you going to behave this year?’

His mouth moves. I reach for him, and my fingers pass through him. 

“Come on, Grayson. Quit teasing.”

He rises and kisses my cheek.

Another face appears beside him. Jeff. A hand brushes across my hip, then settles on my rose tattoo. 

“You remembered.”

Cold fingertips graze my cheek and touch my hand. My hair’s being played with. It’s Jack. He loves my hair. 

“Gentleman Jack! I thought maybe one of the ghostly gals snatched you up this year.”

His face appears. Older than the others. 

“Keith. Robert. Marcus.” I call each by name. The men I’ve come to know over the years. 

More fog swirls, keeping close to the ground. I step inside it, turning slowly, letting the mist gather around me. They’re cold and feel good to me. They return at varying ages. Maybe they get to choose.  

“There you are,” I say to them.

Some faces and their bodies can’t quite hold form yet. It takes a minute. Grayson’s almost solid now. He pulls me into him and kisses me. God, I’ve missed him. He was my first lover here. He always starts gently, but then…

More hands find me. A hand slides down my tummy. Ooo, an extremely cold touch further down makes me jump.

“I know that was you, Jeff.”

He’s a playful spirit. The rest draw closer, and as they grow stronger, they grow bolder. I welcome their embraces. Such a wonderfully warm feeling of being wanted by men who have been waiting an entire year to touch me again. 

I don’t tell anyone, but it’s not like I can’t find a living man. I had one. He left. Didn’t come when I called him. These men do. 

My body responds. Nipples harden to stiff peaks. Heat gathers between my thighs. Hands are everywhere all at once. I let them get reacquainted with my flesh. Living, warm flesh must feel good to them.

A ghostly hand touches between my thighs, then withdraws. 

“It’s okay,” I say. “I want this.”

The hand returns. 

A mouth finds my breast. It’s a feather-light kiss. Robert’s still struggling to hold form. 

“You can do it,” I tell him. 

I see a shape standing back from the others, then he vanishes. I bet it’s Carl. He may not know he’s dead yet. I pull away from the others. “Excuse me for a moment.”

Jeff’s reluctant to release me. 

“I promise I’ll be back.”

I walk to where Carl was. He tries to take shape again in front of me. Some of him forms, but he’s struggling. What I see of him is handsome.

“It’s okay. Be patient.”

I remember the first time I saw a spirit appear. I wasn’t sure what to do.

Carl’s hand solidifies. He reaches for me. Our hands touch before his dissolve again. He looks confused. 

“You did it. Keep practicing.”

His mouth moves, and I lean closer. His mouth moves again. I want so badly to understand them, but don’t. Maybe someday. 

“Why don’t you just stay and watch tonight,” I tell him.

Fingers thread mine. It’s Gentleman Jack. He nods to Carl and gently pulls me back to the others. 

The nearby church bells ring. On the first chime, every spirit stills. I believe they’re gathering strength. After the eleventh chime, the spirits turn frantic. Each body solidifies and presses harder against me. 

Grayson’s the first inside me. I cry out. Cold and heat collide.

“I missed you,” I whisper once he finds his rhythm.  

He whispers back. His cock’s the most solid part of him now. 

Other hands grip my bottom. Kisses are on my neck. A cock’s pushing against my lips. I open for him.

I surrender myself to them. Completely. 

Cold hands touch the places mouths don’t. I’m the only beating heart, and it’s pounding inside my chest. 

I feel alive! We all do. 

I think they’re passing through one another to get to me now. I don’t know who’s inside me. I come again and again. Each craving to fuck me. Jack crushes his body on mine, abandoning his gentle ways. Mouths, hands, and cocks fight for my flesh. I roll over in the grass, and a cock fucks me from behind. I let them take what they need. I need them, too. 

I see Carl’s moved closer. He’s watching us. 

I grab fistfuls of grass to hold. Brace for them. Come again. Time passes too quickly. We know it’s about to end. 

The bells ring. 

By the twelfth chime, the cock inside me softens. One by one, their bodies begin to lose their shape in the fog, and my drenched body is peppered by cool sensations that I assume are goodbye kisses. My fingers reach out and close on nothing. 

“No, not yet!” I beg. 

They’re dissolving. The weight on me is gone. I’m left empty. I roll onto my back, and the one last face remains.

“Grayson…”

His mouth moves, then he’s gone. 

It’s over. 

I feel the earth beneath me. I cry. Lonely again. But for a while, they were mine, and I was theirs. I look up, and the sun-blanched stone angels look down at me with judgment. “Don’t you dare,” I fuss.

Light grows nearer, weaving between the graves. Henry’s soon beside me, holds a lantern, bends with a grunt, and helps me off the ground. He drapes the cape over my shoulders. 

“Thank you, Henry.”

We lean on one another as we slowly make our way back to the cottage. 

Like all the years past, he settles me in a cozy chair and brings me a cup of hot tea. Mmm, I smell the peppermint. 

Henry studies me without smiling and says, “You look so happy when you arrive.” 

“I am,” I say, picking a leaf from my hair.  

“But not when it's over.”

We’re both quiet for a while, sipping our tea. His cup rattles against its saucer, and I reach over to steady his hand. 

“There’s something I’ve wondered all these years.” He looks out the window at the cemetery, 

“Why I come here?” 

“I don’t want to pry.”

“But you wanna know.”

He nods. “If you don’t mind sharing with a curious old man.”

Nine years, and I’ve never told anyone why I come here. But Henry’s not just anyone. “Well then, old man…” I wink at him, then take another sip of tea, suddenly wishing it was a little something stronger. “When you first saw me, my boyfriend had passed away. Car wreck.”

He sits patiently while I gather my words. 

“I thought he’d come back to me. Be waiting for that night.” I pause to rub my chest. Damn, the ache is back. I look in Henry’s sweet eyes and continue. “As soon as dusk came, I settled myself on his grave. He never bought me flowers because he said they were a waste of money. Said they died too soon. But I told him I loved flowers, so he’d bring me artificial ones. They were ugly, and we’d laugh. So I stuck an artificial rose in the dirt for him. Waited. And nothing.”

“I’m so sorry, Virginia.”

“Me too, Henry. I was angry, and I looked at the tombstone beside him. It read, ‘Grayson Gimble.’ So, I said, ‘What about it, Grayson, do you want me?’ Moments later, mist gathered around me, and I saw a man’s face. Saw want in his eyes. And I needed to be wanted.” 

“Everyone does,” says Henry. 

“The next year I visited more graves, read more names, and more came.”

“Did you ever call your boyfriend’s name again?”

“For a few years.” 

“Then you stopped?” 

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I got tired of being the only one remembering us.” 

He frowns with me. 

“And does Grayson still come?”

“Every year. I always call his name first.”

He sets his tea back on the table. I do the same, and we reach for each other’s hands.  

We sit quietly for a while longer, just holding hands. He gives my hand a squeeze and says, “Virginia, I’ve spent eighty-nine years on this earth. Most of them good.”

My eyes sting. “Don’t say it.”

“You know I won’t be here to open the gate next October, Virginia,” he adds. 

I lift one of his hands to my lips. A kiss with a promise for Henry. “Next year, I’ll call your name first.”