At his time of life nothing really happened to Turlough, he had reached that age where he had become almost invisible to others and no one ever asked for his opinion on anything. In short he was of interest to no one, or so he thought. He had been out on one of his late night walks and found himself once more at the grave yard, it had not been a conscious decision to go there, somehow he was drawn there. He had been there a number of times but tonight was different, he had the feeling he was not alone, a feeling that stayed with him as he walked home. Now, as he looked from his cramped little flat out on the the old town street below he noticed it was more than just a feeling.