The Universe's Mixer

John's mouth was dry. As he awoke, he felt as if he'd like a drink of water, and his shoulders and back were stiff. He found these facts slightly peculiar. What followed was even stranger: he realized that he ought to hurt a lot more. The spot where he'd been bitten felt completely normal, and even the dull ache of his muscles had gone. He was cold. There was a blanket, half-flung across him and half-folded beneath as a sort of bed.

Odd. Watson groaned and tried to sit up.

The floor was concrete and bare. The walls looked like some sort of armory - they were covered in weapons he recognized from first-hand experience, and others that had come straight out of a medieval studies textbook. A punching bag hung in a corner. A washer and dryer sat in another.

It was all vaguely familiar, but also completely foreign. Where was he?

And, more importantly, how had he gotten there? Had he dreamed the previous night? Where were his clothes?

The cemetery wasn't open after dark. Most aren't, and there's a reason for it. Everybody knows the reason, and nobody talks about it. It isn't because there are dead people in there. It's because there are not-quite-dead people in there. Ghosts and shadows linger in graveyards more than anywhere else. That's why people build walls around graveyards, even if they're only about two feet high - not to keep people out, but to keep other things in. Walls can have a kind of power in the spirit world, and the walls around graveyards are almost always filled with the unspoken intent of keeping the living and the unliving seated at different sections of the community dinner table.

Cemeteries after dark had long since stopped having an effect on Harry. He knew how to defend himself against the things within. But being aware and unafraid could still lead to being stupid and dead, so Harry brought along protection ( in the form of Mouse. )