Just like that, nothing more. I stood and marvelled at it for some time but then, feeling the chill of the night, I set off across the yard for the old cottage. There was no light from the windows, no smoke from the chimney, and even though I assumed no one was there I knocked at the crooked, wooden door. Of course there was no answer so I tried the door knob. Like the gate, the door creaked on its rusty hinges as I pushed it open.

Inside I was assaulted by dust, centuries old, which lay about the room in a thick blanket. Cobwebs hung down from the ceiling and brushed against my face. The cottage was one simple room with little in it. There was a table in the corner at which I supposed the occupant ate his meals. Opposite the door was a cold, stone fireplace, before which sat a high-backed velvet chair. Pushed against the far wall was a small bed covered by many blankets. The only decoration came from a framed black and white photograph on the wall over the fireplace mantel, and a well worn rug on the floor.

It seemed that there was someone lying under the blankets on the bed. I cleared my throat and politely apologized for entering unbidden. When no reply came from the unmoving form, I tip-toed over and, with all the resolve I could muster, I drew back the tattered blue blankets. My heart leapt with fear and then settled with relief. There was a quiet skeleton lying in peaceful repose. It was obvious that he had been there quite some time and did nothing but offer an alabaster grin. I drew the covers up over his head. I didn't think he'd mind if I stayed the night.

I strayed over to the fireplace and attempted to light the old, rotting logs in the hearth. Reluctantly they sputtered to life and I placed my lantern upon the mantel. Now, with both hands free, I reached up and took down the aged picture. By the firelight I studied the youthful faces so vibrant and alive, but long ago dead. A young man and woman, obviously in love, and behind them was the cottage, as pretty as I had imagined it. The young man was quite handsome, and the girl was possessed of a glowing beauty which seemed to light up the picture. She was handing him a violin and they were smiling at one another. It was perfect, it was happy.

I took the picture with me and I sat down in the high-backed chair. Holding it tightly to my chest I closed my eyes and tried to envision them as they had been so many years ago. He was the cemetery caretaker, she was his young wife. They had no children, but spent each day planning a future to include them. Then one day he went away to fight in the war and she stayed behind to take care of the pretty little cottage. He wrote her letters saying how much he loved her and that soon he'd be home. And one day he did come home. He came through the door and, taking her in his arms, he kissed her and promised never to go away again.