A Knife in the Grave
Tom, Fred, and John were sitting at the cafeteria table during lunchtime, discussing some of the local urban legends.
"According to my Uncle, his friend walked into the cemetery on a full moon, and at the stroke of midnight the hand of a skeleton reached up out of the ground and grabbed his leg," Tom explained as he twirled his fork around the pile of spaghetti on his plate.
"Yeah, whatever," John replied as he rolled his eyes.
"So, um, what happened then?" Fred stuttered as he stared at Tim with wide and fearful eyes.
"Well, they say that he was pulled down under the dirt and, trapped there, he died of suffocation," Tom answered, glancing back and forth at his two friends.
"Wow," Fred said as he broke a corner off his cornbread and popped it in his mouth.
"Get real. That's one of the oldest stories about Greywood Cemetery. Everyone knows it's a bunch of baloney," John said, looking at Tom with disdain.
"Okay then. Tomorrow night is a full moon. I dare you to stick a knife in the ground at midnight and leave it there. We'll check in the morning to see if you really did it." Tom answered, matching John's look with a smirk.
"Fine."
"Fine," Tom said as he shoved his hand across the table. John reached over his plate, grasped his friend's hand firmly, and shook it. The deal was made.
The next night, John crept silently into the dark and foreboding cemetery. It was far spookier than he remembered it being during the day. Finally, he found a fresh grave plot that had recently been filled in. He quickly removed the jack-knife from his jacket pocket, and unfolded the blade. As he watched the moon's reflection dance over the silver blade, he realized that his hand was shaking.