A Grave of life

I took a job at a hospital located outside a rural town, far from paved roads or streetlights. Muddy paths zigzagged through old farmland and neighborhoods, crossing small bridges over streams that ran through cultivated fields. While the locals shared strange tales of the area, I paid them little mind—until I heard about the old house near the market. They said a grave lay directly behind its garden wall, and that a light emanates from it at night.

One afternoon, a teacher from my hometown paid me a visit. We had such a wonderful time talking that we didn't notice darkness falling, even though she needed to return to her accommodation in the middle of town. I had no choice but to accompany her through the dirt roads, crossing the large, gloomy market yard filled with tall, sinister-looking palm trees, guiding our way with only a hand torch and our laughter. It was around ten o’clock when we parted at her doorstep, and I walked back humming my favorite song. However, as I approached that same, dark market yard just fifteen minutes later, a sudden shiver ran down my spine. Unable to face it alone, I decided to take a shortcut between the houses. I didn't think about the house with the grave in its yard until I was directly under the wall—and I froze. I was so terrified I couldn't bear to turn my back on it. Desperate to prove to myself that it was just a grave, I climbed a few rocks, placed my hands on the edge of the wall, and pulled myself up to look.To my horror, the ground inside was much lower than the outside. The grave was only three feet from my face—and sitting on it was a man. I ran and ran and ran and ran. I ran for my life.