The Scent of the Coffin

On the third night after my father died, a crack appeared in the red coffin all by itself. My relatives keeping vigil were scared out of their wits, but I leaned over the coffin and caught a faint scent, like moss after rain mixed with a cool fragrance. It wasn't the smell of a corpse. It was the scent of a living person.

I reached out to touch it. Suddenly, a cold hand shot out of the coffin and clamped around my wrist. In the darkness, someone leaned close to my ear and chuckled softly. "Good girl, don't scream. Your dad isn't quite dead yet."

This novel and its characters are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual people or events is purely coincidental. Please do not imitate.