Story 114: The Grin of the Grave
In the heart of a desolate town, there was a story that parents whispered to their children on cold, windy nights—a story of a creature that lurked in the shadows, waiting to claim the souls of the foolish who dared to wander alone after dark. The elders called it "The Grin of the Grave," a name derived from the chilling, otherworldly smile that was said to be its signature mark.
Late one evening, young Marcus, a skeptic who scoffed at old wives' tales, found himself walking home from a friend's house. The night was darker than usual, the moon obscured by thick clouds. The wind howled through the barren trees, their skeletal branches scratching against each other like bony fingers. As Marcus turned onto a narrow, forgotten path that cut through the town’s cemetery, a sudden chill ran down his spine. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched.