My grandfather spent his whole life sealing coffins.
After he died, he left me two things.
A box of tools nobody wanted.
And a few words I never took seriously.
"If you hear a sound from inside the coffin, don't answer."
"If there's something extra inside, don't touch it."
I never took his words seriously.
Not until three years after his death, when I sealed a coffin for someone.
The third nail had just gone in when three knocks came from inside.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
That's when I remembered my grandfather's last words:
"In our line of work, the dead aren't what we fear."
"We fear what's still inside the coffin after it's sealed, trying to get out."
