Laura lived in a small, stone cottage that sat nestled just outside the small village's cemetery. When people of the village died, they were brought to her, the local minister performed a ceremony, and then the bodies were left. Then, at midnight, Laura would begin digging. Even when people passed away in the bitter winter, she would still only start digging at midnight. It would just take a little longer.

     Laura used to wonder if all this planting of bodies would ever make anything grow. Then, one night, just as she finished a grave, she found it did. As she was gently patting the mound of soil with the back of her spade on the newly finished grave, she felt a light tapping on her left shoulder. She turned slowly and saw the outline of a slightly glowing figure.

     "Are you the gardener?" the specter asked in a faint whisper.

     "No," said Laura, her eyes widening, "I'm the gravedigger."

     "I was looking for the one who planted us. Are you sure you are not her?" asked the specter.

     "Planted you? No, I buried you," said Laura. Then she remembered how she used to think about how putting the bodies in the soil was like planting huge seeds. She used to have dreams of strange plants growing out of the soil, draping themselves around the tombstones. She had not had those dreams in a long time or even thought about the bodies as being huge seeds.

     "You must be her," insisted the specter, "You are the only one here who could have planted us."

Laura wondered how the specter could have known her thoughts from so long ago. "You were not planted, you were buried. You are dead," Laura told the glowing specter.

     "But we have sprouted. We have grown. We are here," stated the specter.

     Through the trees and shrubs surrounding the cemetery, Laura saw more faintly glowing figures approaching.

     "We are here to thank you," said the specter, "You have given us life."