Jackson sat on the over grown stone bench covered in a thick layer of moss. The stone blessed with a chill from the night air. He rummaged in his coat pocket, pulling out a small dented cigarette case to withdraw the final cigarette.

He pursed the cigarette between his dry lips, the taste of their cheap paper staining the tip of his tongue. He let out a soft sigh as he struck his match, the fizzle of the flame lighting his well aged face. The deep wrinkles and lines visible for just a brief moment as he brought the burning lucifer to his cheap vice. He shook the match as his tobacco began to smolder, his lungs taking in the taste of the well staled leaf.

He stayed silent, he thought of his starving son and wife at home. their eldest daughter passing three days prior weighing on him. The cost of the doctor, the coffin, and the burial. all bringing his family to debts the magistrate will collect upon if he retires. He took a long slow drag, letting out the wisps of smoke, letting their fingers trace upon his face. The guilt on his mind of how he told his family every night, he had been staying late to help the town blacksmith.

He couldn’t tell them the truth, lest he see the end of the hangmans noose. But, If he did nothing they will be on the street, beggars. the only food a simple penny loaf if they were lucky.

After tonight, he would make forty shillings. The contract he was able to negotiate more, almost twice for everything he was about to do. Another drag, he stood up, using his cigarettes cherry to light his lantern before snuffing it out. He grabbed his shovel, and prayed for forgiveness. The feeling of sorrow, and regret overtaking his body. His life at risk, for what will eventually save many more in the centuries to come, Unbeknownst to him

He softly sobbed, as he walked to the grave of his daughter, ready to defile yet, another grave for coin.

But, That is the life of a Bodysnatcher.