Haunting

Stranded, half awake on the exhausted ends of an evening, the minds graveyard keeper sometimes lets occupants loose. You can feel their cold feet walk the corridors inside your head, picking over a secret or a hidden fear, lifting the scab of a hurt. It becomes a familiar haunting, in time a few become friends. They know their way and make themselves at home before tiptoeing back to their place of sleep. It takes a lifetime to give each headstone a name.