I went out for a walk last night--yet again--because I couldn't sleep. I've tried everything for it: sleeping pills, medical maryjane, even Valerian Root. Nothing seems to work and the fact that I watch TV all night drives my roommate crazy, hence the walk.

Now, this town isn't that big, so a person in decent shape can cross it in about two hours. This night, I decided to head for the cemetery over by the woods. Even though there was some expansion going on there during the day, no one would be there at this time of night. It sounded like it would be a peaceful enough place for me to hang out and sort out my life.

After I'd been there for about half an hour, the fog starting rolling in like it does every October. I did remember to bring my toasty-warm Columbia Gore-tex jacket just in case. Glad I did!

Maybe it was because I hadn't slept in three days or maybe it was because of the weird acoustics that fog creates, but I could have sworn I heard voices drifting in from the cemetery. At this distance, I couldn't make out what the disembodied voices were saying, so I crept closer out of curiosity and sheer boredom.

As I drew closer, the unclear voices became the sound of two men arguing. One said that their boss was unhappy because the replacement project was way behind schedule. The other shouted back he was going as fast as they could, but they were running out of room to dump the bodies.

The word "bodies" sent shivers up my spine. "No, it couldn't be," I thought. I misheard the word or my mind is playing tricks. Still, spooked by what I may have heard, I decided to leave the cemetery and head back to my apartment. Plus, the fact that the fog was getting unseasonably thick wasn't putting my mind at ease.

I felt my way along the short stone wall that surrounded the cemetery and finally found the gate. Stepping out into the street, I was almost getting clipped by a van that had been driving without its lights on. It wasn't driving fast in the fog but I didn't hear it until it was right on me. Cursing at the near collision, I was ready to give the driver the what-for, but he sped off. I tried to remember the description of the van in case I saw it in town later. As it turns out, that wasn't necessary.

I headed toward home and had just turned the corner to my street when--mother of all miracles--the van was just pulling away from the curb right in front of my building. This time, though, it had its lights on and the two men inside waved cordially as they drove by.

Quietly, I slipped into my apartment because it was only 4am and my roommate didn't usually awaken for another two hours. I changed into my bed clothes and thought I'd give sleep another final shot, although I had trouble shaking my experience at the cemetery. Sometime during the 50th rerun of those events, I must have dozed off.

I woke up with a start because the house was dark and quiet. Too quiet. My LED alarm clock was dark and the ceiling fan, which I always have on, wasn't making a sound. Sliding into my slippers, I walked quietly into the living room and was startled by my roommate's voice behind me, "You don't live here anymore!"

Suddenly, two shots rang out and I felt a burning deep in my stomach and chest. As I slumped to the floor in utter shock and surprise, my roommate turned on the lights and dialed the phone, speaking in quiet tones, before hanging up and walking to the front door. Just before I slipped into unconsciousness, I saw the two men from the van reaching for me.