Harold the Gravedigger squinted through the pre-dawn mist. A low, guttural groan echoed through the Davis Graveyard, sending a shiver down his spine. Not the usual mournful sighs of the restless dead, no. This was a sound more…sugary. More…sprinkled.
Harold gripped his shovel tighter. The rumors had begun a week ago – whispers of a giant, sentient donut rolling through the cemetery at night, leaving a trail of sticky frosting and disembodied sprinkles in its wake. Tonight, he'd finally catch the culprit red-handed (or, should he say, red-glazed?).
As the groan grew louder, a monstrous shape lumbered out of the fog. It was a donut, alright, but colossal. Its glazed surface shimmered under the moonlight, studded with malevolent chocolate chips and a single, menacing gumball eye. A chorus of disembodied moans rose from the disturbed graves as the donut flattened several headstones with an indifferent squish.
Harold, adrenaline coursing through him, charged. "Hey, sprinkle-brained beast! This ain't no bakery!"
The donut turned its gumball eye on him, a single, menacing blink. Then, it spoke in a voice that sounded like a thousand disappointed children: "But...I crave the screams of the terrified!"
Harold blinked. "Terrified? These are ghosts, dude. They're already terrified. Try a carnival."
The donut paused, its gumball eye rolling in what looked suspiciously like contemplation. Finally, it sighed, a sound like deflating pastry. "Perhaps you're right. A captive audience is no audience at all."
With a reluctant groan, the donut lurched away, leaving a trail of glistening frosting in its wake. Harold watched it go, a bemused smile spreading across his face. Maybe next year, the Davis Graveyard could add a "Giant Donut Terror" attraction. It did have a certain…ring to it.
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