Few hold more reverence for Anubis’ realm or empathy shepherding past souls than fourth-generation Oldthorpe gravedigger Reginald “Mortimer” Godfrey keeping the dead and their less than considerate living descendants contented on opposing sides the wrought iron gates sealing town eternity. For four loyal decades, Mortimer exhumed expired shells respectfully whilst consoling kin left adrift mortality’s passage. Despite arduous digging through blizzards, floods or cruel summer heatwaves far from his own hearth, Mortimer cherished role upholding divine order smoothing graveside turmoil...a humble yet essential psychopomp easing endless tears fate spills nursing loss universal. What man better understands frailty binding human hourglasses than he routinely reuniting dust and ashes cremains following last spark quenched?

But when the churchyard’s stone-faced new bureaucratic director imposed ruthless demands for increased interments callously capitalizing recent epidemic windfalls, Mortimer’s proverbial patience met entombing. As a string of inexperienced day laborers misplaced remains or further distressed relatives already emotionally overburdened, Mortimer's appeals for compassion went summarily ignored by management now increasingly faceless through “streamlining efficiencies.” For no amount of sanctified parchment or bureaucrat's handshake alters the intrinsic gravity attending disrupted grief, in his view.

Shortly after another mistaken midnight burial exhumed multiplex occupancy plots to the horror of mourners promised pristine resting beds for their departed, distraught groundskeeper Mortimer confronted his administrative nemesis in the rusty tool shed admonishing such continued desecration. “This hallowed land deserves stewardship honoring what came before future's shrouded, not scavenged like carrion quick and carelessly as today's numbers mandate." But his impassioned entreaties fell on deaf ears and colder calculus. Sneering indifference sealed indifference dictating “Sentiment costs currency and the dead pay no premiums. Perhaps you should consider retirement if modern business practices disturb quaint sensibilities?"

Defeated by bean-counters lacking concept of sanctity beyond ledgers, battered Mortimer stumbled home grasping bottle whiskey-tinged grief no local publican could salve nor seasoned liver forgive. In that distraught stupor amidst faded portraits of bygone Spencers buried long before, the last Godfrey descendant swallowed lethal nightshade draught chasing peace less complicated below the casket lids he so carefully sealed then swiftly shattered his own upon the wine cellar flagstones, joining generations in dreamless slumber against harsh reality’s harsher verdicts.

Yet the remorseless business model still reshaping God's acre to maximize profits continued encountering inexplicable impediments daily. Intolerable wailing beyond wind or bird arose waylaying work crews attempting further encroachments on time honored plots. Phantom footsteps and lantern lights roamed after dusk sealing gates and freezing diggers bloodless in their tracks. Most disturbingly, remains carelessly exhumed reburied themselves overnight methodically stacked and labeled in a wild longhand vaguely resembling Mortimer's own script beside receipts tallying 18 pence standard burial fee waived indignantly for the affront.

Within a fortnight of such impossible supernatural sabotage recurring unrelenting despite incensed management and orthodoxy’s denial, the entire administration staff fled abandoning lucrative contracts and rationality altogether. For once glimpsed that smoldering stare and tendrils erupting violently from an empty trench below, no second sight required identifying the restless gravedigger himself patrolling the grounds wielding wordless defenses now eternally against repeat desecrations upon land and souls of his sworn protecting. And in death as before, the surrounding village realized Old Reginald Mortimer kept cemeteries hallowed, even if invoking equal terror now towards the uncouth living as once compassion for mourning descendants seeking some graceful continuity laying predecessors respectfully at long last to rest.

For the devoted caretaker's unquiet spirit continues diligent rounds indefinitely it seems, no matter the year or faith. All visitors who revere rituals of passing and sanctified ground itself may lay pious wreaths freely in communal mourning joined. But fortune help the brazen fool who dares dismiss holy cemetery spaces or his resident wraith still buried where roots run deep as measured duty and memory alike. For even monoliths erode before some oaths attenuate their formidable grasp—or loose their hold steadfast—on keeping divine accord respectfully between two worlds ever separate, yet walking closely hand in hand ‘cross every fragile mortal epoch fated. Let all wend ways gently here where peace rests never finished its intricate labor blessing hallowed remnants interred. For love’s lantern persists outshining darkness and time alike when nourished duly through memory's consecrated gardens so fragile yet eternally abiding indeed.