Hexatia
The church was silent except for the rain tapping against the stained-glass windows. Evelyn sat in the front row, her black veil trembling as she stared at the closed casket. Inside lay Daniel, her husband — gone too soon, they all said.
But Evelyn knew something was wrong.
The air was too cold. The candles along the aisle flickered, though no breeze passed. And then she heard it — faint, slow, impossible — three knocks from inside the coffin.
She froze. No one else seemed to notice. The priest kept speaking, his voice trembling slightly.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The sound grew louder. Gasps spread through the mourners. The coffin began to shake. Evelyn stood, her heart hammering.
“Daniel?” she whispered.
The lid creaked open — not from the top, but from within. A pale hand pushed upward, nails cracked, skin cold and gray.
Evelyn screamed as Daniel’s voice rasped from the darkness:
“You buried me too soon.”
The candles went out, and the church was swallowed by the sound of scratching wood and breaking screams. ⚰️