A/N: Hi all! I know, I know. I said I wouldn't be uploading fanfiction until I got my novel done. (It's almost done, by the way.) However, this scene got stuck in my head and I had to write it! It's a short, but warm, oneshot. I hope you all enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to the Graveyard Book. The genius that is Neil Gaiman does.

The Graveyard Book Epilogue

Bod smiled to himself, wrinkles becoming deeper in the corners of his lips. His ears greedily soaked in the familiar squeak of the graveyard gate. It was early morning, the light barely over the hilltop of the graveyard—his childhood home.

He was here. In the place he had dreamed of, every night, in the past 70 years.

He had kept his promise: he had adventured, seen the world, become a man. He had done everything he wanted and more. (Even with the occasional visits from Silas.) But now? The graveyard was calling him home.

Cautiously he stepped forward. His eyes followed the path, looking at the nearby gravestones and tombs with fondness. Many thoughts ran through his mind. Memories flooded behind his eyes. Would his family recognize the crinkly old man he had become? Were they standing around him, right now, at this very moment? He closed his eyes. Breathed in, breathed out. Someplace in the back of his mind, he swore he could feel a familiar presence.

"Oy!" Liza piped, having been picking and pruning Essence of Thistle along the path to the graveyard gate. "Who's this old'n?"

She was going to continue rambling to the old goat. How dare he step on her Essence of Thistle! Can't he see the tender care she had been giving it? She knew he couldn't see her, but it still hurt all the same to have her hard work trampled.

An ice-cold hand—well it would've been cold had Liza been able to feel it—stilled her ranting. She was about to bark at the person interrupting her until she saw it was Mrs. Owens standing beside her. The expression on her face was what made Liza stop: tears gathered in her eyes, her jawline was slack. Something was amiss with Mrs. Owens.

"Can't you feel it, Liza?" she whispered, staring at the strange man. "Can you feel his soul?"

Liza stilled; so that was it. She took in the old man with fresh eyes. There was something familiar about him after all. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She let herself sense all around her. The trees swaying in the autumn breeze, the rustling of a squirrel in the bushes, the chirp of a nearby bird. She listened. And suddenly it hit her: a soul she hadn't felt in many decades.

"Bod?"

She stared at the man, her jaw dropping. Mrs. Owens clasped hands with her. And they watched, disbelieving, as the old man looked straight at them, seeing them for the first time.

His thick, weary body seemed to fall away as their eyes all connected, revealing a tall form shrouded in mist. For the first time in so long, Bod didn't feel pain. He felt like the boy in the graveyard again.

"My son," Mrs. Owens gasped, "you've come home!"