Ancestral Coffin Bearer

I have been a coffin bearer for twenty years and this is the first time I have seen such a coffin. The coffin was engraved with twisted charms, and the rope carrying the coffin broke three times inexplicably. But the host smiled and said: "According to the rules, the burial must be on time." But it was raining blood red that day. I turned around to leave, but the eighty-four-year-old master suddenly knelt in the mud: "This coffin... Can only be carried by you." He tremblingly handed over my father's relic - a rusty vaginal claw. The moment I saw the dark red mark on the tip of the claw, I froze. That was the blood stain on the corners of my mother's clothes the year she disappeared.