7 Chapter 6: 420...

In the upper half of the East Side Cemetery, a young couple, Brad and Shelly, both 17, wandered through the tombstones.

Brad had convinced Shelly that a nighttime visit to the cemetery would be romantic, though she seemed less than enthused.

As they walked, Brad, seeing his chance, leaned in for a kiss. However, Shelly turned her head at the last moment, leaving Brad to awkwardly kiss her hair.

"Did you hear that?" Shelly whispered, her voice tinged with anxiety. "Maybe someone else is here. We should go."

Brad scoffed, trying to sound confident. "There's no one else here, just us and the groundskeeper. I checked before we came."

Continuing their walk, a sudden crackling sound from nearby bushes startled them. Brad instinctively hid behind Shelly, who shot him a look of disbelief.

Clearing his throat, Brad called out with feigned bravado, "If there's anyone out there, show yourselves!"

A raven emerged from the bushes, flapping its wings before soaring into the night sky. Both Brad and Shelly exhaled in relief.

Brad turned back to Shelly, trying to regain his composure. "See, no one's around. Now, where were we?"

Just as he moved in for another kiss, he froze, noticing Shelly's horrified expression. She was staring, wide-eyed and pointing behind him.

Brad sighed. "Come on, babe, relax. There's no one else here but... USSSSS!!!"

His bravado shattered as he came face-to-face with what appeared to be a grotesque, monster-like human. It had beady red eyes, patchy skin, and antlers protruding from its head.

"Mu-mutant!" Brad screamed, pushing Shelly to the ground in panic as he stumbled over his bag.

As Brad struggled to get up, he felt the creature's footsteps approach. He turned his head slowly, only to be met by the creature's face mere inches from his own.

Shelly, lying on the ground a short distance away, was a mix of anger and fear – anger at Brad for abandoning her and fear for their lives.

"Please don't eat me, I'm skin and bones! Eat her, she's got more meat... I don't want to..."

Before Brad could finish his plea, the creature raised its hand and delivered a sharp "PAA!" – a slap that echoed through the cemetery.

"..."

"..."

The area fell deathly silent. Both Brad and Shelly were stunned into stillness, each processing the unexpected slap.

...

In the eerie silence following the slap, the creature spoke in a voice tinged with irritation. "That's rude, you know. How would you feel if I called you or your mother a mutant?"

Brad, still in shock, stuttered incoherently, unable to form a response. The creature surveyed its surroundings with a sigh, then turned back to Brad. "I think you owe me and your girlfriend over there an apology."

Nodding meekly, Brad mumbled an apology to both his girlfriend and the... person. The creature's eyes betrayed no emotion as it glanced at Brad's bag and approached it.

Rifling through, it found clothes approximately its size.

"I'm taking these, and we'll call this even, yeah?" the creature stated matter-of-factly. Brad, still too frightened to protest, simply nodded.

"Since you're not saying anything, I'll take that as a yes. Oh, looks like it's my unlucky day," the creature remarked, spotting a nearby pond. Without hesitation, it jumped into the water, disappearing beneath the surface.

Brad and Shelly watched in stunned silence as bubbles surfaced for over a minute before abruptly stopping. Minutes ticked by. After ten long minutes, curiosity overcame their fear, and they cautiously approached the pond.

Suddenly, a body floated to the surface, backside up. The couple gawked, unsure of what to make of the scene.

Then, the body twitched and turned over, revealing a face marked by sadness and disappointment. "I'm really immortal, aren't I..." the creature, now recognizably human, muttered to himself.

Realizing the couple was still there, he sighed. "Huh, you guys are still here? No wonder you people die in horror movies first."

Brad and Shelly, too taken aback to respond, watched as the man – clearly no longer a 'mutant' – cleaned off the mud and grime from his body, revealing a more refreshed appearance.

Standing up and walking to the shore, the man, now identified as Grim, casually draped Brad's bag over his shoulder, seemingly unfazed by his own nudity.

'Wow...' Was the first thought that came to Shelly's mind, while looking in a certain direction of Grim's body.

"Well, it wasn't pleasant meeting you, but thanks for the clothes. And think twice before name-calling someone," he advised, before walking away into the night.

Left behind, Brad and Shelly watched Grim's retreating figure. "He left with my porn magazines," Brad whispered, a trivial concern in the wake of the night's events.

Shelly, her expression a mix of disbelief and frustration, turned to Brad. "I'm done. I'm going home. And Brad, we're over." Her anger was palpable, not just for the night's terror but for Brad's earlier willingness to sacrifice her.

As Brad scrambled after her, trying to apologize and make excuses, the cemetery returned to its usual silence, save for their fading voices.

...

Grim walked solemnly through the cemetery, his footsteps leading him back to the grave he had once occupied.

Standing at the edge of the hole he had emerged from, he unclenched his hand to reveal a familiar knife.

He turned his gaze to the tombstone, reading the inscription: "Here lies the boy Grim Mortimer, R.I.P, The Star that extinguished too early..."

As he read, a name surfaced in his mind, unbidden. "Valeria..." he whispered, not out of longing, but as if the name was a piece of a puzzle he was trying to solve.

His eyes drifted to a pot of lilies beside the grave. Most were wilted and dead, but a couple of petals still clung to life.

Grim looked up at the night sky, his eyes briefly widening at the sight of the vast expanse of stars above him.

With a sigh, he turned his attention back to the grave, methodically filling the hole. He changed into the new set of clothes taken from Brad and felt a semblance of normalcy in the act.

Before leaving, Grim paused and, with a sense of detachment, plunged his knife into his neck.

Blood gushed from the wound, but in an instant, the injury healed, and the blood evaporated into a mist that disappeared into the night air.

"Stabbing doesn't kill me, nor does drowning," he mused in a bored, lethargic tone. "What about jumping off something really high? The impact might just do it." His words were devoid of hope, just a man contemplating the limits of his unwanted immortality.

Unbeknownst to Grim, his actions were witnessed by Stan, the cemetery guard, from a distance.

Stan, Weed in hand, watched in disbelief as Grim walked away from his own grave.

Shaking his head, he tossed the splif aside, convinced it was the cush playing tricks on his mind.

"Time to quit puffing," Stan muttered to himself, still trying to make sense of the impossible scene he had just witnessed.