Chapter 5: Creepy Graveyards in Kakariko

Before the salesman began to set out on his journey once more, he called upon a merchant in the streets of Hyrule Castle Town. And before you could even say "get going, already!" he had purchased a map of Hyrule and pocketed it. The salesman had learned from his mistakes, and he was getting tired of walking over the same ground again and again.

"This journey is truly changing me," the salesman thought to himself. "Before I had set out to find the masks, I would never have wasted precious money on something like a map." With that thought, he stepped back onto the dusty dirt road leading out of the town, pondering on how he would surprise himself next.

It was a long and hard journey. The stifling 75 degree weather rained on the salesman's head as he trod the earth for an entire hour to his desired destination. And even with the tyranny of Mother Nature and father time following him wherever he went, the salesman's greatest challenge was with himself, for it was on this stage of his journey that he came to grips with his skills and learned a very important thing:

The salesman did not know how to read maps.

"Let me see," he puzzled as he stared at the map, his nose touching the paper. "If that is Hyrule Castle Town, and that is Kakariko Village…" The salesman flung down the map in a rage. "I have no idea what I'm doing!" he cried in despair towards the suspiciously sunny skies. He glared at the fluffy white clouds as if daring them to sprinkle rain upon him. The clouds did not oblige, which simply made the salesman more frustrated.

But after he calmed down, he gave a great sigh and picked up the map once more. The salesman was nothing if not gallantly determined. He would find those masks if he had to go to the ends of the earth to do it! He walked along with his nose once more buried in the map, trying to figure out what the strange symbols and writing upon it meant.

He finally managed to make out squiggly writing showing him that brown lines meant dirt paths, and realized that he was on a path directly towards Kakariko Village. As he walked along, he noticed some more writing near where he imagined he must be standing.

"Beware…of…hole?" the salesman read aloud.

The salesman felt an unfamiliar lurching sensation in his stomach, and with a frightened yelp he plunged feet-first into a large pit that had been dug into the road. Of course, this made the salesman extremely confused. Who in Hyrule, he thought, would have the audacity to dig a hole in the middle of the road? And write its location on a map no less? It simply made no sense, unless the one who sold him the map enjoyed playing pranks on people.

The salesman suddenly remembered recognizing the man who sold him the map as an old poker buddy he knew from years ago. This would have been exactly the sort of thing he would do. Cursing, the salesman struggled to pull himself out of the pit, and ten minutes later he was back on the road.

The map, however, still lay in the hole. Something so untrustworthy, he thought wisely, should not be passed on. From that moment on, when the salesman needed directions, he would simply ask for them.

The sun was setting as the salesman finally approached Kakariko Village, and this time he was sure that this was the place! It was nothing like Hyrule Castle Town. You would be hard pressed to ever find a chicken wandering around the streets of Hyrule Castle Town, for one thing. And in Kakariko Village, there was a windmill. A windmill! The salesman had never seen anything so strange in all his years, although he acknowledged that he had not seen much.

As the salesman took in the strange surroundings, he thought back to what the Keaton had told him. "The Keaton had said that if I talked to the townspeople, then I would find more of the legendary masks," he thought aloud. And so he decided to do just that. But how, he thought to himself, would he convey the seriousness of his mission to such simple, country-bred hicks? It was quite a puzzle.

Perhaps the best thing to do would be to just walk boldly up to some person. The salesman quickly spotted a likely bumpkin near a chicken coop, a slightly portly fellow with a thick and bushy moustache. Choosing his words carefully, the salesman went up to the man and said, "Excuse me. I am a collector of sorts, and I specialize in masks. Would you happen to know where I could find one?"

"A what?" said the man.

"A mask," said the ever patient salesman. "One of those things you put on your face."

"I know what a mask is," said the man, who the salesman thought was secretly lying. "It's just a strange thing to be looking for around here. Nobody buys masks anymore."

The salesman thought he felt a sob rise up in his throat at the memory of his lost business, but he quickly dismissed the matter. "The masks I'm looking for are not the type you can buy in any store," he continued. "They are quite rare. You see…"

"Now that I think of it," the man so rudely interrupted, "I do remember the grave keeper talking about something like that. I never paid attention to him, though. He may be good at the job, but he's no Dampé. Now THERE was a man that could dig a grave. And he was an honest man, too."

The salesman could sense that the man was beginning to ramble, so he quickly reminded him, "but what was he saying about masks?"

"Oh. He said he had found one while he was burying a new body," said the man. "He should be making his rounds soon, since the sun is almost setting. But I should warn you," he said, and a dark and forbidding look came into his eyes. "I would not dare to go around that place at night."

Now, the salesman had always been very superstitious, and when he heard the man say those words the skin on the back of his neck began to prickle. He knew what kinds of creatures roamed around graveyards around sundown: zombies, vampires, ghosts…all kinds of creepy dead things. And so he asked the question that voiced his fears. "Why? Is it haunted?" he said, attempting to sound like he was joking.

The man stared at him for a moment before replying, "No, but the grave keeper does not like trespassers. He's afraid of people tampering with his work."

"Oh," said the sheepish salesman. "I will make sure to be careful." And then he made his way, knees knocking, towards the mysterious graveyard.

As soon as the salesman entered the graveyard, he imagined that he felt a spooky aura about it. One could not go to a place like that without feeling the eyes of the dead staring up at him through the ground. He could almost hear them conspiring, waiting for the moon to rise so that they could rise themselves and feed upon his flesh.

"Now, now," he told himself fiercely, "You are just being ridiculous. You know just as well as any person that ghosts and zombies do not exist. There are no such things as ghosts…" and he began to make a chant out of it. As he made his way through the graveyard, he muttered constantly under his breath, like a prayer, "There are no such things as ghosts, there are no such things as ghosts, there are no…"

An icy cold hand touch his shoulder in mid chant, and the salesman nearly leaped out of his skin with fright. Suppressing a shriek of terror, he stood stock still, apart from his shaking legs. "Excuse me," said a voice behind him, "but what are you doing here?"

The salesman slowly turned around, dreading what he might find. Imagine his surprise and relief when he looked into the eyes of a man standing before him. Granted, the eyes of the man were a bit sunken, and he had a bit of a slouch in his posture that made him seem hunchbacked, but otherwise he seemed perfectly normal.

At least that's what the salesman told himself. "Are you the grave keeper?" he asked, unable to keep the quaver out of his voice. He was not afraid, he insisted to himself. It was just that it was a creepy situation!

The man smiled crookedly back at him, showing yellowed and ragged teeth (which were perfectly normal teeth for a man to have! the salesman reassured himself). "That I am," he said with a slight nod. "What business have you here?"

And so the salesman launched into his epic tale, although he babbled a bit more than necessary out of nervousness. After he had finished, the grave keeper nodded slowly and said, "So you wish to see my mask. I do believe that I have what you are looking for. I found it on the face of one of the dead here in this graveyard."

Upon hearing this, the salesman gulped down his urge to scream and run far, far away. "Really?" he said. "H-how interesting!"

"I might be willing to part with it…however," he said, and he gazed deep into the salesman's eyes, as if meaning to turn him to stone, "You must do something for me in return."

The salesman gulped. What would he have to do? Sign his name in blood? Perform a strange ritual? What could this man be plotting?

The man suddenly straightened up. "You must spend dinner with me and my family. We are awfully starved for company. Nobody seems to want to eat with a man who buries the dead, but you seem like a nice enough fellow."

"Oh," said the salesman. "Of course. That would be lovely." But on the inside, he was thinking to himself, "How anti-climactic."

It was only a moment later that the salesman found himself inside the grave keeper's hut. The salesman's eyes roamed the house suspiciously to find any sign of weirdness around. However, to his surprise, there was none. The place was perfectly normal, and well kept: there were even little white doilies on the table in the middle of the room.

"I must insist that any drinks you may have to be placed on the doilies," said the grave keeper, waving a lanky hand towards the small, round objects. "My wife does not like to clean table stains, and I try to make life easy for her."

"Your…wife?" the salesman said hesitantly, his mind beginning to race once again. What kind of wife would a grave keeper have?

What if, he thought suddenly, she was a corpse reanimated? The very thought made his blood curdle and an involuntary gasp made its way out of his mouth. The salesman once again tried to search for an exit, but just then a sweet, feminine voice rang through the air.

"Welcome back, dear!" the voice said, and the salesman's jaw dropped. A beautiful, young woman stood not far away from the two men. She was of an average height with medium long, dark hair and gentle brown eyes. The woman held her arms daintily in front of the apron on her chest, and the salesman's beady eyes were instantly drawn to her ample bosom. "Your shift's done early tonight, isn't it?" she said, and the salesman listened to her soft voice, which was similar to the coo of a dove.

Not only is she not dead, the salesman realized incredulously, but she's absolutely gorgeous! How could a grave keeper get a woman like that?

"I came across this young salesman while I was making my rounds," the grave keeper replied as he embraced his wife. "He said he was interested in the mask that I found, so I invited him to stay for dinner. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," the woman said with a gracious smile. "The more the merrier. It's so nice to have a guest," she said, turning her gaze to the salesman. "It's very nice to meet you."

"Uh…yes! Likewise!" the salesman blurted out, still stunned by the unlikelihood of these circumstances.

"I'll get changed. Please make our guest feel at home," said the grave keeper, and he left his wife and the salesman alone.

"So, you are interested in my husband's mask? I must say, it's strange that you even heard about it. George only told a few people," the woman said in an engaging way.

"Oh, well…I'm a collector…I was hoping that I could persuade your husband to sell it to me…" the salesman stammered, secretly thinking what an ordinary name "George" was.

"Oh, well I don't think you'll have any trouble doing that," the woman said confidently, still shining her gentle smile. "He isn't too fond of it. To tell you the truth, neither am I," she admitted, pulling a long face. "It doesn't go too well with the rest of the house."

"Oh, yes…you have a lovely home," the salesman said politely, and he meant it. He never would have expected the best kept house he had ever been in to be so close to a graveyard. "Um…Pardon me for asking," the salesman said hesitantly, "but I must know…what exactly was it that attracted you to your husband?"

As the salesman predicted, the woman seemed taken aback. But then again, who wouldn't be? It was a rather personal question. However, it wasn't long before the woman began smiling again. "It must seem rather odd for a woman to be married to a grave keeper," she said, "but my husband is truly a kind and generous man. Did you know," she said proudly to the salesman, "that he holds a private funeral service for every person he buries? It's really a good thing that this village is so small, so he doesn't have to do it so much; he gets so broken up about it."

"Ah…I see," said the salesman softly. You truly can't judge a person by their vocation in life, he thought to himself.

"And," the woman added with a grin, "he's a really good kisser, too!"

The salesman could only stare at her. That was a little too much information.

Just then, the grave keeper came back into the room. He had changed out of the tattered clothes the salesman had found him in into a nice suit. And, the salesman noticed, his hump was gone.

Noticing the salesman's suspicious glance, the grave keeper laughed a hearty laugh. "I see you've noticed my change in appearance. I only wear the hump when I'm out on duty. It makes it easier for me to do my job if people don't approach me." The grave keeper smiled with brilliant white teeth. The salesman figured that his old yellow ones must have been part of the disguise.

"Yes dear, but it makes it so much harder for us to meet people," his wife scolded.

"Well," the grave keeper laughed again, "That's true. But now we have a guest. You'll never want to eat anything else once you've tasted my wife's cooking," he assured the salesman.

His wife blushed with pleasure and giggled, "Now really dear, don't get his hopes up!"

Just then, a smaller figure bounded into the room and wrapped its small arms around the grave keeper's legs with a shout of, "Daddy's home for dinner tonight!"

This was getting to be too much for the salesman. The grave keeper had a child, too? How in the world could a grave keeper be so much more successful in building a family than a mask salesman?

Suddenly, the salesman felt despair in his heart. Could it be that he himself really wasn't that much of a catch? The very thought filled him with sorrow. It would be one thing if he had women to choose from, but (and the salesman was very ashamed to admit this) he had never once had ANY woman interested in him!

The women of Hyrule Castle Town must have horrible taste, the salesman thought bitterly.

"I brought a guest with me tonight, son," George the grave keeper said to the tiny child clinging to him. "He's here to take that mask off our hands."

"Awwww," the boy pouted. "Why? I like that mask! It's so spooky and mysterious!"

The whole graveyard is spooky and mysterious! the salesman thought to himself.

"Hmmm…well, how about this?" the grave keeper said to his son. "Next time I go out on the job, I'll take you with me and we'll find something even spookier!"

"Really? Yay!" said the young boy. "I have the coolest dad ever!"

As the child embraced his father, the salesman could only stare. He wished he could have a little boy like that.

"Before we begin eating," the grave keeper said, startling the salesman out of his reverie, "I would like to make a toast to our guest! Thank you for joining us for dinner tonight!"

And then the salesman looked at the three smiling faces standing opposite him and suddenly felt ashamed. How could he have ever doubted that this was any less than a normal family? Tears welled up in his eyes as he replied, "Oh, no sir. The pleasure is all mine."

The remainder of the night passed without incident. The grave keeper told many stories about interesting digs he had been on, and the grave keeper's wife told the salesman tales of life in Kakariko village while her husband played with their son. The meal was perfectly normal, and for that reason it was exquisite. The salesman had never eaten tastier meatloaf. All in all, he thoroughly enjoyed himself. It was the best night he had since he had started on his journey, even since his business started to decline.

But he never forgot, of course, that he was there for business.

After the dinner, the grave keeper rose and beckoned the salesman into a small room just off of the kitchen. This room was dark and dusty, possible the most out of place room in the whole house. Inside it were many bones and artifacts, either in tiny display cases or hung on the walls.

"Occasionally," the grave keeper said, "I find things in the graves that do not belong. When this happens, I take these things home to show my family. We sell what we can, and keep the rest."

"Oh," said the salesman. "I see." That WAS a bit unusual.

"I believe this is what you were looking for," said the grave keeper, and with that lifted a dusty round object from one of the display cases. "Nobody wanted to buy it. They believed it was cursed. But I suppose that turned out to be your good fortune," he said with a gentle smile.

The salesman carefully accepted the mask, for that is what it was, from the grave keeper and examined it. It was a carefully carved wooden mask, covered almost completely with a dirty cloth material. The only things showing underneath the cloth were two holes for eyes. It was the Gibdo's mask; how fitting, the salesman thought, that it should be found in a graveyard!

"Thank you," said the salesman. "I truly appreciate your hospitality and kindness. I would like to visit again the next time I am in town."

"You are always welcome in my house," replied the gentle grave keeper. With that, the salesman left the grave keeper's home with a new mask and a slightly better outlook on human nature.

However, he did not notice that as the hour changed, the house behind him ever so slowly became tarnished and old, until it vanished completely from the mortal world.

A graveyard was where the salesman next treaded

Walking the same ground that he feared the dead did,

But his bravery helped him achieve his prize:

The Gibdo's mask! It was a sight for sore eyes.