NEXT PART: “DON’T BURY HER—SHE’S ALIVE!”

“DON’T BURY HER—SHE’S ALIVE!”—the scream tore through the cemetery like something breaking in half, and before anyone could react, the woman was already on the coffin,

gripping it like she could stop the earth itself from closing in, her voice raw, desperate, shaking the silence that had settled over the grave, while mourners gasped and stepped back,

unsure if they were witnessing grief or madness, until the father surged forward, grabbing her hard, fury exploding through his pain,

“GET OUT OF HERE!” he shouted—but she wouldn’t let go, clinging to the wood, tears streaming down her face, “I saw her move… I swear…”

and the words landed wrong, spreading unease through the crowd, the priest stopping mid-prayer, the wind picking up just enough to carry that doubt from one person to another,

until everything slowed, the moment stretching, tightening—and then it came… a sound so soft it almost didn’t exist… a knock… from inside the coffin, and the world froze,

completely, no one breathing, no one moving, the father’s face draining as his eyes locked onto the wood beneath his hands, “…what…?

” he whispered, like saying it might make it untrue—but then it came again, louder this time, unmistakable—KNOCK… KNOCK—and panic ripped through the silence, people stumbling back, someone dropping a flower,

the illusion of certainty collapsing in an instant as the father lunged onto the coffin, hands shaking, voice breaking into something raw, uncontrollable, “OPEN IT! OPEN IT NOW!”—and just as the men rushed forward,

just as the first hand reached for the lid, a faint, muffled voice pushed through the wood… weak… trembling… impossible—“…dad…”