by Pete Murphy

Created on: April 23, 2008   Last Updated: June 11, 2008

The Cemetery Stranger
He was there every year. Ever since anyone in town could remember, that strange looking guy wearing all camouflage and combat boots was seen walking through the cemetery on November 11th. It was not necessarily a strange occurrence to see a man dressed this way in the cemetery, as it was a military cemetery. Many times people were seen in military uniforms paying respect for those that lost their lives in war. This man was different, though. He was often seen walking amongst the headstones as if looking for something, muttering to himself. He was very strange indeed.

Over time, many people tried to speak to him. What's your name, or where do you live, they would ask. He never gave a clear answer, though. He would stop and look at them and then just walk away, muttering under his breath. For the first few years, people were frightened of him. In a small town where everyone knows everyone, outsiders were all scary, especially men dressed for combat wandering the cemetery. There were plenty of theories on who he was. Many thought he was a man in a neighboring town that was always begging for money in a local supermarket parking lot. That man was named Joe. Some thought it was the introvert who lived on the outskirts of town. He was known as crazy old Mr. Stewart. He was pretty old by now, but they all knew he served in the Marines years ago. The most widely held theory was that he was someone who lived far away and just came to pay his respects on this patriotic holiday to lost comrades.
One particular year, a young writer for the town paper named Dana decided she would interview this strange man and find out who he was. Dana set out early. She arrived at the cemetery, but he was already there. She decided to watch him for a while. Around and around he wandered, looking down at the headstones, as if he was speaking to them. For two hours, she followed and watched. Finally, she decided to close in. Slowly she began to catch up with him. Closer and closer she came, and he didn't seem to notice her at all. She was no more than 15 feet from him when she for the first time heard him speak. As he walked, she realized he was reading each headstone aloud. After each name he would pause, bow his head for a moment, and then move on to the next. Finally, just as she was to call to him, he stopped dead in his tracks. He was standing in front of a grave in the back corner of the cemetery. It was shaded by a large weeping willow that had grown over from

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