The moon has eaten my grandmother. I didn't think that was what I was signing up for. When the men in their nice neat suits and name tags came to my door, I was just so glad to have someone to talk to. They told me about Christ's adventures in the New World, and what happened to the Lost Tribes of Israel, and Magic Underwear and what *really* happens when we die.
When we die, we go to another planet. If you're bad, you go to sun and you burn, if you're properly baptised, you go to some heaven planet where God and his best buddy Jesus live. Your dead relatives get stranded on the moon if they aren't baptised in the Faith. You can retroactively do it for them, though. A forced conversion from beyond the grave! It's the only way to get them off the moon.
That's what they told me, anyway. I did it of course. My poor grandmother, stranded on the moon! How horrible! She always hated microgravity and near-vacuum weather. So I signed her up. Not my grandfather, though - I hated the way he smelled, and I got the impression that Grandma was happier after he died.
It turns out, though, that they lied. I don't know where she was before, but afterwards, there she was, on the moon. I checked. She wasn't there for long. The man in the moon is real. But it's not a man. I don't know what it is. It's hungry, though. I've been watching it eat. And I know when I die, that's where I'll end up.
I should have punched those guys when they came to my door.