Chapter 164: Twenty-one. The hole in the forehead

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For most people, graveyards are not the most comfortable of places to be.

Even if they have family members buried there.

It's not just because it is the resting place of the deceased, or the sensation of being watched by every standing tombstone that symbolizes the bones below.

Crucial to this sentiment is the presence of the mortuary that houses the bodies.

On this account, the mortuary is far more frightening than the graveyard. After all, the latter is made up of nothing more, at most, than tombstones with the photographs of the deceased—whereas the former contains rows of cold, stiff corpses.

Belfast, Holy Father District, graveyard.

The sprouting green buds of withered trees on the street side brought a touch of life to the desolate and solemn graveyard, unfolding tombstones of varying heights, all encircled by an iron fence that stood halfway up a person's height.