Robert E. Howard

The dead man had lived a mean and spiteful life fueled by hate and malice. He died alone still savoring his anger and resentments against all humans, no friends or relations in his decrepit house that was as far from neighbors as he could get it, deep in the woods. But the custom of sitting up with a corpse the first night is engrained in you as the right thing to do. With no friends or relations, the doctor asks you to do it, unless of course you are afraid. Scoffing at this superstitious faddle you agree. And so, as the night comes on and midnight approaches you find yourself alone with a corpse just a few feet away from you and only a small lamp for light. The corpses' eyes for some reason are open. And looking directly at you.

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