The Ghosts Of Holidays Long Past

20251130

Prompt from DailyPrompt.com

“Good evening, Charlie.” August patted the gravestone.
Though worn, it was as immaculately kept as the rest of the grounds; the gratitude felt towards the Greeneworths by their staff reached into every nook of the estate, and was extended even to Greeneworths long gone, beyond mortal living memory.
August sighed.
Perhaps it was the spiced wine, or memories of holidays past, but he’d found himself moping around the edge of the party and finally slipped off to… visit old friends.
Stooping, he set the cooling mug of wine on the grave. “Here. You always loved it so. Perhaps I got that from you.”
Silence. Silence all around. Not even wind disturbed the dead tonight.
“I’ve started to think that… I might not have what it takes to be a family guardian.” August confessed.
To the memory of Charlie, and of Annette who was laid beside him, and the other family members down the row.
“It’s nothing to do with the current crop. Lovely children, all of them. I just…” He absently dusted snow off the low wall and settled himself. “I’m finding it hard to connect with them. Knowing that at any moment they could just… stop being. The more friends I… lose… the more it baffles me that none of you seem to mind. I’d find it horribly depressing.”
They couldn’t answer, of course. They were gone. Long gone, somewhere he could never follow.
“It’d be one thing,” August mumbled, “knowing that your time is limited. I could cope with that. I think. It’d be a, an overwhelming sort of deadline. The highest-stakes project imaginable. Making sure you did something with yourself in time. But…”
He looked back towards the house. While it was too far to catch any music or laughter, he could catch movement in the windows. Spirits were running high tonight; the dance floor probably wouldn’t catch a break until the musicians cried off.
“How do they do it? Get up each morning and face the possibility that they might die at any moment? To the silliest little things? Trip on the rug because you’re yawning and that’s it. Poof. No chance to say goodbye.”
“That was after your time.” He added to the graves. “Cedric. One of your grandchildren. And everyone shrugged and said ‘ah, well, he’s sixty, these things happen’, as if dodging those odds for six puny decades was more than could be hoped for.”
He shivered. Not from the cold; that was a mortal concern.
“It’s starting to feel like a waste. Getting to know people. Caring about them. Which is the wrong way of looking at things, I know. Especially for a family guardian. That’s why I’ve been thinking that… perhaps I should try and find someone else to pass the role on to.”
“Granted, nobody in the family’s had the Knack for two generations. But it still exists. I can find a warlock easily enough, I’m sure. I just… there’s the question of vetting candidates.”
He cast an earnest, reassuring smile at the uncaring graves. “I am still taking the Pact seriously, I promise. I’ll do everything I can to make sure my successor will look after your family. Goodness knows who long it’ll take to find an honest, enterprising demon. But I’ve got time.”
Three hundred and eight-six years and counting, after all. He leant back with a dull chuckle.
“After that… assuming I do find someone, I mean… well. I have no idea. I’m sure I’ll figure it out by then. Or soon after. I just…”
He looked across the graves. The silent rows of loss.
“I think… I need to wrap my head around this mortality business. Before I take another go at guardianship. Because right now, I… I don’t think this is… healthy.”

Prompt was “An immortal being stands in a graveyard, struggling to comprehend the concept of death.”