Shut Up, Don't Talk

Before he died, my grandfather held my hand and said: "Our ancestral shroud shop should not be opened at night." I nodded in agreement. On the first seven nights, there was a knock on the door. A soaked woman stood outside the door. She handed me a stack of Ming coins and said she wanted to buy a shroud. I glanced down - there was no water stain on the soles of her feet, they were as dry as ashes. Behind her, a faceless man stood, smiling at me.