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The cemetery was eerily quiet, the moon casting long shadows over the rows of tombstones. A cold wind rustled the dead leaves, but the young man barely noticed. He was too busy laughing, stumbling through the graveyard with a beer bottle in one hand. His friends had dared him to do it—to desecrate the grave of someone he didn’t even know. It was a stupid challenge, but he was never one to back down.
With a smirk, he unzipped his jeans and let the stream flow onto the aging tombstone. The name carved into the stone was barely legible, worn down by time, but it didn’t matter. To him, it was just another lifeless piece of rock, a forgotten relic of someone long gone. His laughter echoed through the still night air—until it was suddenly cut short.
A deep, guttural growl rose from the earth beneath his feet. His body stiffened as an unnatural chill seeped into his bones. The ground trembled. The air grew thick with the scent of decay. He took a shaky step back, heart pounding, but his legs felt heavy, as if unseen hands were gripping them tight. Then, a whisper slithered into his ear—low, raspy, and filled with something beyond rage.
"You should not have done that."
A scream tore from his throat as a skeletal hand burst through the dirt, its bony fingers clawing at the air. More hands followed, grasping, reaching, pulling themselves out from the depths. The man stumbled, his feet slipping in the damp earth, but it was too late. A cold grip seized his ankle, and before he could react, he was dragged downward, his terrified cries swallowed by the night.
By morning, the graveyard was silent once more. His friends searched for him, but all they found was his discarded beer bottle and the eerie imprint of where he had stood. The disturbed grave had settled again, as if it had never been touched. Only one thing was different—the name on the tombstone was now clear, as if freshly carved. And underneath it, a new inscription had appeared.