20181128

Day 1,544

He's been going around the neighbourhood, just walking around people's houses and wandering away, for the better part of a hundred odd years. The children have always known about him - even gave him the nickname of Legless Bernie -  but it was another one of those urban legends that you grow out of until someone or something reminds you that he exists.

Our town was founded when a local Lord decided that the village on the outskirts of his land needed a factory put in it to make him even richer. The people welcomed the work for the most part and labour laws were simply left at "be careful and remember that you can be replaced".

With most factories of their time, in that great technological leap of the 19th century, accidents were another part of life and almost as common as sparrows. So many people died in that factory that the Lord set up a church and graveyard right beside it, offering free burials to placate the grieving workforce.

While there aren't any records Legless Bernie working there, or anyone by the name of Bernie, some part of us just knows he was killed there and wasn't buried properly. So he walks about looking for the rest of his body and we just watch him go.

For a disembodied set of legs, he moves awfully fast.

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