The Cracked Grave
The rusty gate creaked open with a noise which sent shivers up my spine. Still, I strode forward into the dark graveyard. As I slowly crept among the shadowed graves, I kept fear at bay with the though of that crisp bill waiting for me in the morning. Fear and greed kept me moving among the ancient, crumbling graves, searching for the grave of Sarah Brown.
In the distance, an owl hoots - straight to my soul. Every sound sends a chill through me and serves as premium gasoline for my already racing heart. Finally, I find the grave of Sarah Brown. It is a small, plain grave, with a dusty crack running its length. Spreading my musty sleeping bag out before it, I lie down, hoping to capture some brief rest. Gradually, I drift off on strange boat to the mysterious island of sleep.
A young woman is reading my the light of a flickering candle. As she turns the page, her face catches the light and stuns me with its beauty. As I stand there, absorbed in her, I hear a footstep on the stairs. Out of the shadows, creeps a man with a knife glinting in his hand. My warning shout goes unheeded as the man steps behind the woman. At the last minute, she looks up with fear in her eyes. She only has time to let out a single, piercing scream before the knife descends into her flesh. There is blood everywhere - on the man’s clothes, on the book, on the chair.
With a scream of my own, I hit my head on the grave stone. Dazed, I look down at the ground to find the blood wasn’t only in my dream. Dripping down from the crack of the grave, a small pool of blood is forming. Paralyzed by fear, I stare as the blood boils in the pool and my heart. In the eerie silence, a decaying hand reaches up out of the pool. Feeling around, it finds my quivering ankle and latches on with the grip of death. At its touch, my blood freezes. Slowly dragging itself up, a skeletal body emerges from the depths. With another scream and a hardening of will, I kick the hand away and run back towards the gate. The old bones hurtle themselves after me with a startling speed. Just as the disgusting hand grabs at my head, I tackle the gate and escape the graveyeard. Dashing off into the night, I leave my cap in the corpse’s freezing grip.
Later, as we sip hot chocolate, my friend asks me where my cap went.
No hat is worth a life.