The Graveyard Boosh.
Hello! This is my first fanfiction! Its based very loosely on The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman. Except with the Boosh characters. Who I do not own.
When I get old enough to join DeviantArt I'm going to upload the comic I did of this. For now you'll just have to make do with this strange one-shot story. Sorry it's so short!
Bethnal Green Cemetary.
"Who are you?" The small boy stared at the young man, who looked lazily back with a mixture of amusement and boredom. "Vince Noir. I worked in the zoo. Then in a shop." He grinned and tapped the back of his head. "'Course, then this happened! Fell over one day, taking out the bins. Howard still kinda blames himself." He looked thoughtful for a few seconds, then looked back up at the boy. "Oh, Howard, he's my mate, you see. He's buried here too an' all. And Naboo. Bollo's in the pet cemetery across the road, but he still visits from time to time." The little boy seemed to be cottoning on now. "Are you dead?" He whispered. "'Course I am. Slipped didn't I? Out the back." Vince shuddered. "Howard said the bin men couldn't even get down there, so I have no idea how that woman got that horse..." He stopped, and smiled. "Sorry. Long story. Depressing. You want to see my mate Howard?" He got off the tombstone he'd been sitting on (Dorcas Halliway, 1747-1804. Much loved spinster of this parish.) and, ignoring the outraged mutterings of the resident ghost inside, began to stroll through the cemetery. The little boy followed, trying to keep up, his head buzzing with questions. "So what's it like being dead?" "Are those friends you mentioned dead too?" Vince answered most of these queries with yes and no answers, until the little boy came out with one that unsettled him somewhat. "How did Howard die?" Why did that unsettle him? He was dead. Everyone in the graveyard was dead. And being deceased had never particularly bothered him. Now he could walk through walls, his hair stayed just as he'd styled it, and he could chat to Joshua VonGrimm from the Horrors. But for some reason, Howard's death had always troubled him. Why was that? Fear of the unknown, he supposed. The little boy was still waiting for an answer. Vince laughed nervously. "You're very morbid, for a kid of your age anyway. Nobody knows. No one. Not Naboo, who usually knows these things, not even Howard." He looked faraway for a few seconds. "He says he doesn't know the way he died. He says he doesn't want to know, but I can tell he wants to find out."
It was at that point that another man walked (apparently from nowhere) up to the young man. He had a small silver stain on the chest of his fine oriental tunic, which looked horribly like blood. "This is Naboo!" Vince grinned and then, seeing the boys look of alarm, he turned away from Naboo and, pointing at his own chest mouthed the word "Hitcher."