Coffin Incense

On the third night after my father died, a crack opened in the red coffin. The relatives who were keeping vigil were so frightened that I was the only one lying on the edge of the coffin, smelling a very light smell, like moss mixed with cold incense after rain. It's not corpse odor. It is the incense of living people. I reached out to touch it, and suddenly a cold hand stretched out from the coffin and grabbed my wrist firmly. In the darkness, someone laughed softly into my ear: "My dear daughter, don't scream, daddy is not dead yet." This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.