1994: The Year the Old Ways Ate People

The year the old rules began devouring people, I was nineteen and apprenticed to a funeral master. In the winter of 1994, the richest family in town held a wake. The eldest son thought the oil lamp was inauspicious and replaced it with an electric light. The moment the light went out, one of the eight pallbearers carrying the coffin died. My master had spent his whole life upholding the rules, but he couldn't save anyone. The ledger offered only three words: Lamp before the coffin. Paper figure. Name. Break a rule, and it goes in the ledger. That debt will have to be repaid sooner or later... As the rules fail one by one, someone has to restore them, one by one.