Creep across floorboards, avoid the ones that creak, step here, and here, and here.  Choose the window that slides easy, slip out and shimmy down. Tiptoe through cold, wet grass between streetlights and run like a ship with the spinnaker set.

The graveyard is not far; friends are waiting in their boxes in their holes in the ground. Their bones will clatter together and clamber up and out, and dance and tell their stories and sing until the time comes to rest again or until they fall into exhaustion and dust. They are beyond caring which outcome awaits them tonight.