Creepypasta

They can hear you (~part 6)

Hello my peoples /.\ here the next part of the story :3 hope you enjoy it!
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(=•w•=)~

One-Thirty A.M., Monday

Greg thought that must've been the twelfth time he passed that mausoleum tonight. Or maybe it was the eleventh; it wouldn't be out of the question to say Greg possibly lost count.
For the past three hours Greg had been caught in the androgynous process of nightly routine. Walk around your designated route, make sure the grounds are kept, and keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. That's exactly what Greg was hoping for, something out of the ordinary. At least it would make this pass more exciting than the last eleven; or twelve.
After the three nights last week Greg knew the layout of the cemetery pretty well and could find his way around with little to no problems whatsoever. He knew that currently he was standing in the North West portion of the land, mostly due to the slight elevation by being situated on a large bulbous hill. He was also aware of his position because he was near the mausoleum he commented to Jim about on his first night. This section was the newest addition to the cemetery and therefore contained the newest offerings that willingly fed the ground. He figured that at this point Ryan, who was working as well this night, would be due somewhere between East and South East of the general plot of land. Sure enough, off in the distance Greg could see Ryan's flashlight peering around like an oppressive ray against those who would attempt to invade his space.
Greg met and started working with Ryan earlier in the night. Ryan had a muscular stature to the same effect as Crawford minus the Viking beard. Greg almost mistook them for brothers when he first laid eyes on Ryan, but Crawford was quick to kill that rumor where it conceived. Ryan was in his early forties and was the oldest of the night watch composition. Greg found Ryan's age to be comforting when he was working with him; older age, more experience.
The guys also claimed Ryan to be a bit of a funny guy, one who liked to play pranks and joke around with the others. Greg didn't seem to find much of the jokester in their first meeting, but he did find his advice for those who worked into the long hours of the night particularly on point: "Find a way to pass the time or else you'll want to dig a hole for yourself and join the others."
It was similar advice to what Jim had told him his first night on the job. Walking in circles at night while watching mounds of dirt and stone tablets had an easy time becoming dull after a while. Ryan's advice on passing the time was singing entire albums in your head, but Greg wasn't much of a musical guy and he knew they didn't play albums on the Top 40. Jim's advice was more succinct: "Find a hobby that involves a lot of thinking. Writing, problem solving, whatever. Find a subject and then think about it all night while you work. Before you know it the sun will be coming up over the horizon and it'll be time to go home." At times Greg would start writing mock ledgers in his head and start balancing budgets while he walked the paths over and over again. But even his number skills proved to be too stale at times, and he would begin to notice that only an hour had gone by in his seven hour shift. At least he had nights leading into Fridays and the weekends off; it was something to look forward to once the sun finally came up.
Greg took his eyes off Ryan's light from the distance and did a 180 to face the woods a few yards behind him. Since this was the newest section of the cemetery, it was the closest portion against the neighboring woods and the closest thing to bountiful life in the fifteen acres that made up the current layout. Greg knew however that the trees were destined to meet the same end as the thousands of corpses that called this place their ultimate home. When there wasn't enough room for more bodies, Crawford would issue an order to make more room. Crawford had no problems cutting down the woods to make more room for the continuous number of bodies that were coming in monthly. Greg wondered how the trees felt about such actions against their kind. He wondered if the trees were simply waiting for the next lumber crew to come in so that they may come to life and kill every human in their site. Oaks killing humans over the land where both their kind had been laid to rest; poetic justice.
Greg shook the thought from his head as he thought he saw a shadow move in the tree line. He pointed his flashlight beam in the direction of the movement, only to reveal a hanging branch swaying in the wind. He gave a sigh of disappointment at the revelation. Not only because he was duped by a strong gust of wind against a tree branch (they really were out to get him), but moreover because he found that he really wanted something excited to happen. He had hoped he would shine his beam of light over to find some masked lunatic holding a decapitated head, breathing heavily through a mutilated Halloween mask that had clearly run out its usefulness by now. A twisted fantasy, a fun game; anything to break the boredom.
Greg looked back across the east to find Ryan had moved slightly further down the path and into faded view. He figured stopping for a minute or two wouldn't be noticeable when he crossed paths with Ethan later down the path. He turned his focus to a single line of graves that made their way down the hill in perfect formation, the unmoving march of the dead. He never took the time to actually read any of the grave stones in his multiple walkthroughs. When combining the darkness, thousands of other stones, and trying to keep your sanity from nose diving into the abyss, he couldn't really blame himself for not noticing them before. He figured now would be a more perfect time than ever to enjoy the handiwork that helped roll in his paycheck every night.
Eeny, meeny, miny, MO!
Greg stopped his flashlight upon two graves paired closely together, oddly close together in fact. He moved in closer to get a better look. They were two marble slabs only six inches apart from each other, the left one being slightly larger than the right. Greg fixed his light on the first stone and then moved to the second.
Clara Davidson, born February 19th, 1986. Died May 10th, 2015.
Sydney Davidson, born October 3rd, 2007. Died May 10th, 2015.
It was always hard for Greg to fathom people, especially children, dying at such a young age. He remembered at the age of fifteen when his parents told him his twelve year old cousin had just died in a car crash. It was the first close death Greg had ever experienced, and it was enough to turn his world upside down. To cope with someone you know no longer being alive is a hard thing, turning that someone into someone you had a close relationship with can be earth shattering. Greg knew death all too well; he did work in a graveyard after all.
He gave a long whistle of astonishment before speaking. It singed his throat with depression.
"You sure died young kid, and it was only two months ago when it happened? I'm sorry you won't be able to experience a full life, but sometimes life just happens to be unfair to the best of us. At least you died with your mother... but there's no grave for the father. How did you two die? Hmph, this job has driven me to beg questions from corpses in order to pass the time. Not like you can tell me anyway."
Just then, Greg heard a faint whistle ring out to the left of him. He quickly shot up and shone his flashlight in the direction of the noise. There was nothing to see but more grave stones, the lone mausoleum, and the tree line in the distance. He looked to his right and across the field to see Ryan's flashlight faintly extend over the hill. Greg figured that the wind passing through the trees was the cause of the sound.
Ryan is too far away for me to hear him from this distance and I suppose the wind right now is strong enough to create whistling noises. At least I got that scare I was hoping for tonight.
Greg made his way back onto the path with a slight smirk. He pictured someone off in the tree line whistling from the shadows attempting to draw him in, a modern day siren that would lead Greg to his untimely demise. The gruesome deaths he played out in his mind once he would be lured in were beyond a PG-13 rated level.
Greg gave a slight shudder at the thought, and though he didn't notice it, the ground under Sydney Davidson's grave did the same.

~/.\ [credit to original author] okay guys hope you like this story I really love it so far but I think there is only 1 or 2 parts left :,v but I will have to post those tomorrow /.\ anyways night night lovelies