This is the fourth. [spoiler][i]To the new owner of this cemetery, this letter is indeed for your eyes. There is only so much a man can say before driveling on for too long in a short letter of addressment. And indeed, this job has many pitfalls to overcome. Simple, small important things to learn that take time. Admitedly, there is no formal selection process for these sorts of things. If you want the job, you can have the job. And rightfully so, my predeccessors were worse off than I, or now in your own case, yourself. When I first arrived here, there was nothing to help me or guide me, to teach me of what I had to do, how to do it, and what I had to be careful of. But fear not. If luck should play fairly, then you will have my library of notes to refer to. I will walk you through what matters most in this letter, and leave the rest up to your discretion. This job is simple. In fact it works itself. No sane man would ever come here to rob and desecrate graves. No upkeep is ever needed. But, your services are required to bury the dead you receive here, which, I can say with ernest experience, come in fleeting moments. Coldshore Cemetary is no longer much of a cemetery as it is a relic of older days. The real job, lies in taking care of those who do not rest. For as I said, sometimes, the soul forgets that it is dead. It strays off the path, and wanders, back home, to the only place it ever truly called home in life. The dead come, in many forms. From assembled masses of bones held together by the stubborn will of the soul. To old flesh, preserved or decayed. Admittedly, not all souls can return to their bodies, and not all bodies can free themselves from the ancient crypts that run so far below the ground here. You may see lights. Small beacons that move of their own accord. Wisps. There are lanterns set about the cemetery, that burn of blue fire and use the knowledge of what I’ve heard of as the old arts. These lanterns burn of blue fire, can be lit by a match or a spark, and burn for hours without end before the flames eventually reside. But while the flames burn, they create warmth. The wisps are drawn to it. Use these lanterns to light the cemetery in the night, check them in the day, and appease the wisps with their warmth. Wisps are the most common, and easiest to deal with for they are simple. Secondly, and only slightly more complicated are the dead who’ve gone mad. It matters not what form they may take, but only that you carry with you a weapon or tool for defense at all times. Personally, I preferred a scythe, as ironically cliché as it may seem. For the dead who’ve gone mad, keeping them at arms length or farther is preferable. An undead soul who’s trauma upon returning to this world is easy to recognize. Eratic movements, with no sense to them. Howling or attempted howling. And a destructive, angry nature to their shamblings. I say keep them at a distance because they will attack you. They are a corpse after all, and can carry disease and sick on them. A wound you sustain from them will not be pleasant. But put them to rest with your tool or weapon of choice and they will not be a bother again. Now, the matter of curious, or sprightly dead. Keep trinkets on you at all times. Preferably machinations. The latest in fashion or design. Or, complex children’s toys. The curious dead will rise, and will often be found near the walls of the cemetery, attempting to get out beyond the wards placed and built into the walls. Some, regular offenders as I call them, may even wander to your very doorstep. They will never attack you. They simply, wish to look. And on that regard, I say, never leave things laying around here. For they will take them. When you find these dead, or they find you, give them a trinket. Excite them with noise it makes, or movement. Show them the trinket and they will happily wander, back to their place of rest on their own terms. To the sprightly dead who wish to move and run again, play with them, for they are like children. Perhaps they were energetic in life. Perhaps they remember fond moments. But they like someone to be there with them, for their brief moments of enthusiasm. And I know in my heart that what pleases them the most is that someone puts them to rest. Tucks them into bed after a long day when they grow tired. And, finally, we come to the most difficult to deal with of all. All other dead beforehand require patience, and somewhat tiring physical days of labor. But the last two that I have laid eyes upon require more than a strong arm, more than a sprightly pair of legs, and more than patience. A Banshee that screams and howls, requires you to fight fear. For if you give in to your fear you will run. You will run from them and abandon your duty at the thought of them laying their hands upon you. You will abandon the souls here, to be claimed by this perversion of death. Do not let them down. Stop them from wandering into the banshee’s grip. Fear makes fools of us all. But if you are brave, fear doesn’t have to. Fear can make you more than that. Fear can make you clever, and smart. Fear can make you faster, and stronger. Fear can make you the opposite, of what those banshees are. Brave. Be brave, when you encounter them. Be brave for the dead and those who came before you. And, finally. We come to, arguably, the most powerful, the most dangerous. The dead who are alone. These undead, are arguably, the most human. The most alive, in some way. For they are alone because they regret. In all the years I have watched over this cemetery, I have learned a great deal. The undead are human. Their actions, come from emotion. Human emotions are all powerful. For if they weren’t, they would not drive man to do what they do. And they would not lure the dead, back to this world. Of all emotions I have seen, regret is the strongest. Regret pulls the dead, back into this world intact. Their minds are more healthy. They are capable of speech, capable of talking, if they still have lips or a tongue. Regret, can be the fuel for anger. It can be the fuel for fear. It can be the fuel for happiness and joy. But for most, regret is the fuel for sadness. I have no words for you, my successor. For how do you deal with a soul who has ripped themselves back into this world on sheer sadness alone? How do you console a dead man who has lived a life with regrets? A soldier who made mistakes? A woman too harsh on her children? A father, abandoning his child? These are answers that I do not have. For it is up to your discretion, how you deal with these souls. But all I can warn you of, is the burden. These souls, these undead, dead, who and whatever you wish to call them, will be heavy on your own soul. Heavier than fighting those who’ve gone mad. More perplexing than finding a toy to amuse those who are curious. More exhausting then playing games with a corpse. And, more frightful then facing a twisted perversion of death. If you are compassionate, you will feel pain. You will seek to help them when nothing can be done. If you are cold, and detached, tired of the world, they will only drag you down farther. My only advice to you, dear successor, Is to listen. Listen to what they have to say. Be a comfort to them. Someone they can confide in. Listen to their words and their stories. Be brave. And listen, and learn from them. And make your life something beyond theirs. Learn from their mistakes and live your life well. Find something out here to occupy your time. Do not spend your life away communing with the dead, and studying them as I have. This cemetery, is your sanctuary, as much as it is theirs. You may only have the nerve to stay here for a short time. Perhaps, like me, you will spend the remainder of your life here. But I beseech you, whoever you are. The world is not as tiresome as you believe it is. For if it were, the dead would not walk beyond their death. And so, I bid you farewell now, and wish you the best of fortunes. Yours in confidence, Cromwell Hume.[/i] [/spoiler]