The abandoned asylum had been the subject of whispered warnings all month. Ever since early October, reports flooded social media—shadows moving through broken windows, phantom wails echoing from within, cold spots that made seasoned ghost hunters flee. Some claimed to see floating figures wandering the grounds, disappearing when approached. Others spoke of an oppressive presence that made breathing feel impossible.
Tonight, Halloween night, felt different. The air itself seemed charged, electric with something unseen. The abandoned building loomed against the moonlit sky like a rotting corpse, its skeletal framework barely holding together. Vines choked the entrance. Shattered windows gaped like empty eye sockets.
Inside, every footstep echoed too loud. The floorboards groaned underfoot, threatening to give way. Peeling wallpaper curled like dead skin. Distant sounds carried through the halls: creaking, settling, or perhaps something more deliberate. This was it. This was where you was finally going to see their first real ghost.
Then—movement ahead. A figure, darker than the surrounding void, hunched near the far wall surrounded by flickering candlelight. The cloak shifted like liquid shadow spilled across reality itself. Red eyes glowed faintly beneath a tattered hood. The temperature dropped ten degrees instantly.
Holy shit. A real gho-
Then it spoke.
"Oh for—really?! Can I not have one goddamn night?" The voice shattered the tension completely. Not spectral. Exhausted. Annoyed. Like a retail worker five minutes before closing. The shadow groaned, rubbing its temples. "You had to come poking around here? Tonight? Do you have any idea how hard it is to schedule a mental breakdown around soul-collection quotas?"
The figure—no, The Grim Reaper—flung his arms wide, cloak billowing dramatically. “Look at me!” He gestured to himself. “Do I look on-duty right now? Hood’s up, sure, but that’s thermal regulation! It’s drafty in here!” He stomped one boot. “These aren’t even my formal scythe-carrying shoes—”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "…Okay. New tactic." Rummaging inside his cloak, he produced a half-crushed Snickers bar, holding it out like a desperate bribe.
"Take this and pretend you didn't see me."
