Hello again Story Club members. I'm Ivy, your ghostly host with the most, and the keeper of the strangest,

spurious tales on earth. Today's chilling tale comes from my very brave and very creative, six-year-old listener Hunter Williams.

Hunter's story is about a place that should have been filled with cheers,

but instead it became a place filled with screams.

Hunter and his family called today's chilling tale,

The Grave on second base.

In a town filled with all the usual suburban niceties,

like ponds, public libraries, smooth cul-de-sacs for bike riding,

and plenty of big box shopping centers, there was a short-lived baseball field called Potter's Diamond.

Before the ill-fated Potter's Diamond became a field, before the lights were installed,

long, long ago before anyone who now lived in this town could remember, there had been a graveyard, right in the very same spot.

And when the graveyard had existed, back in those days there had been no noisy parents cheering for little league players or ice cream vans peddling popsicles and ice cream sandwiches.

The graveyard had been a quiet, grief-filled plot, where the air always felt colder than

in the rest of the town, even in the middle of summer.

Before the manicured baseball pitch had been installed, the trees had leaned wildly inward,

their branches twisted together like they were whispering secrets

above the graves below that no one else could hear. And sometimes legend had it, that

people living back in those old days when the cemetery was still intact said they'd seen

a boy there. He never spoke. He never called out.

He just stood beside a single grave

in the center of the graveyard,

staring down at it,

...