There was only a brief curiosity in town about the two men when days had passed with them being absent. They hadn't been well-liked. They did odd jobs (which was helpful), the money from which they generally used for drink (which was viewed with disdain). The general consensus was that they had gone a step too far with someone and had, under threat, left the region.
They were not missed.
As the years passed, Digger kept up his position and did the jobs that needed doing. New graves were dug, old ones maintained. And during the occasions that he found those particular claw marks or random bone, he and his spade made sure that no other person was disturbed by such sights. Anything else he found, he kept to himself, though nothing came close to the graverobber night.
The town grew into a small city and the countryside around it became more thickly settled. Other cemeteries were built, though Digger didn't approve of the one on the hillside overlooking the bay (he thought it improper). His work never ended, but there were boon times and slow. The misery of that one rain-cursed spring had never repeated.
There still only seemed to be that one Grümklauch. He hadn't gotten any closer to it than that night, but it didn't hide from him. Theirs was an uneasy truce, the polite (if it can be named thus) tension between predator and prey.
Ministers came and went from that small church that had housed him for twenty years, some full of fire and brimstone, others preaching in a kinder and more tolerant fashion. Digger regularly attended Sunday services, but never in the front row.
One Sunday after church, Digger made his way through the graveyard, noting a patch here and a stone there that would need his attention in the days to come. Nearing his cabin, he heard a hiss coming from the woods.
It was there. The Grümklauch stared at him intently, but he could not tell its state of mind (not that he ever could). Bur as something shifted, he thought perhaps he knew a little after all.
Behind it, frozen in place, were two more Grümklauch, smaller than the original but identical in every other way. Their eyes were focused on him, and he felt a thrill of fear. His Grümklauch he knew – these were an unknown element. He could smell them and knew they had just fed. The larger creature turned its head and hissed, as though telling the others to come along, and began moving into the forest. Still staring fiercely at Digger with a palpable sense of hatred in their narrowing eyes, the creature's children (were they its children? it seemed likely) followed after their leader, taloned hands swinging in razor arcs.
It made sense in a way. His cemetery was older now and not used as often. There were newer, fresher feeding grounds, and now there were three Grümklauch. Only so many dead to eat, after all. He wondered if the other groundskeepers would ever see them, what they would think or do. What would it be like, their first time finding an unearthed bone with obvious chew marks? Oh certainly dogs and coyotes and raccoons would be blamed at first. Traps would be set, men with guns would look about. But what would they find? Would they set the hounds against the unknown creatures, hoping that strong noses could find the culprits of grave destruction? Baiting them with meat wouldn't work and they're too canny for the snare.
Digger shrugged his shoulders and went inside his cabin. It was nearing lunchtime and he had a fresh piece of beef.
He had found that he liked it raw.
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