"Don't be a dickwad." Dillard shaded his eyes with his hand to see the figure more clearly. "Dead people are... well... dead. That guy is very obviously alive. "
"Why are there no shadows on the wall of the tomb behind him then?"
"There must be a reasonable explanation." He set off toward the figure. "Hey, you!"
Sam scrambled after him, a little behind his bigger, burlier flatmate but to the side so he could see what was going on. "Careful Dill. He's most probably going to take your head off with a scythe as soon as look at you."
"My dear fellows," said the figure. "Why ever would one do that? What sort of an impression would that give?"
"A similar impression to seeing you piss up a tomb wall." Dillard looked at the figure closely. He was dressed in a soldier's uniform, though an old fashioned green serge rather than a modern camouflage cotton. His shoulder star proclaimed him as an officer of rank, underscored by the beret and a pace stick tucked under one arm. The only disturbing thing about him, as far a Dillard could see, was the faint outline of the tomb behind him.
The man coughed. "Apologies. One was unaware of your ability to see me." He gave a vague wave at the cemetery. "The civvies walking through here are generally oblivious to the residents. You can't blame me for the assumption."
"Residents?" Sam ventured to speak. "You mean you live here?"
"Indeed I do, old son." The figure used his pace stick to point at a large grave with a relief carving of a cannon. "Brigadier Edward Copthorne-Brown, 1912-1944 at your service."
"You're a ghost?"
"Alas, yes, but let's not let that come between us, eh?"