1

They dressed him in black because it was easier than explaining why white felt dishonest.

The fabric clung to his skin, stiff and unfamiliar, the collar pressing against his throat just tight enough to remind him of its presence. Someone had brushed his hair neatly away from his face, fingers careful, reverent as if touching him too roughly might wake something that should not wake. His hands were folded over his chest, palms pressed together, fingers interlocked in a pose that mimicked prayer.

He hated that part most.

The coffin was too narrow. He had noticed it the moment they laid him inside, before the lid descended, before the world disappeared. His shoulders barely fit. The sides pressed in on him, wood against bone, forcing his body into stillness. He could not turn his head. He could not lift his arms. He could barely expand his chest.

They thought he wouldn’t notice.

They thought he wouldn’t feel.

The lid closed with a soft, final sound thuk and darkness swallowed everything.

At first, there was nothing. No panic. No screaming terror like the stories promised. Just a strange, floating calm, like the moment before falling asleep when the body forgets itself. He waited for unconsciousness to claim him fully.

It didn’t.

Time passed strangely after that. Or maybe time didn’t pass at all. There was no sun to rise or set, no clocks, no movement only breath. Shallow. Controlled. Measured.

In.

Out.

The air was stale but present, thick with the scent of fresh wood, varnish, and something faintly sweet that made his stomach twist. Flowers, maybe. Funeral flowers. He imagined them above him, bright and excessive, hiding the truth with color.

He tried to swallow.

The attempt sent a bolt of pain through his throat, dry and burning. His tongue felt too large for his mouth. His lips were numb. Panic fluttered weakly at the edge of his mind, testing the space like a trapped insect.

No, he thought. Not yet.

He forced himself to remain still. Any movement wasted oxygen. Any sound would be swallowed by the walls pressing in on him. He had learned long ago that silence was survival.

That was when he heard it.

A sound so faint he almost dismissed it as imagination.

Voices.

Muffled. Distant. Layered.

Reality crashed down on him in a cold, merciless wave.

He wasn’t in a room.

He was in a coffin.

And he wasn’t alone.

The realization didn’t explode. It crept. Slow and insidious, sinking its teeth into him bit by bit. His heart began to beat faster, thudding against his ribs, each pulse echoing painfully in the tight space. He clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to gasp.

They think I’m dead.

The thought felt unreal, like someone else’s nightmare stitched onto his mind. He replayed the last clear memory he had: bright lights, the antiseptic sting in his nose, voices arguing somewhere above him. A needle. Cold spreading through his arm.

Then darkness.

Had he screamed? Had he tried to move? Or had his body betrayed him completely, slipping into stillness while his mind lingered behind like a forgotten ghost?

His chest tightened.

He listened harder.

The voices became clearer not words, not yet, but cadence. A rhythm of speech broken by pauses. Someone sniffed loudly. Someone else murmured something soft and reverent.

A funeral.

The word settled over him like a shroud.

They had buried him alive.

His breath hitched despite his effort to control it. The air felt thinner now, as if fear itself was consuming it. His fingers twitched against each other, the smallest betrayal of movement. The coffin creaked faintly in response.

The sound froze him.

Above him, a voice faltered mid-sentence.

Silence followed brief, uncertain.

Hope flared so suddenly it hurt.

They heard it.

He focused every remaining ounce of strength into his hands, flexing his fingers again, pressing them harder together, forcing motion into limbs that felt distant and numb. The wood beneath him vibrated slightly.

He wanted to scream.

Instead, he swallowed another wave of panic and did the only thing he could.

He knocked.

The sound was pathetic. Weak. Barely more than a dull tap against the interior of the coffin. His knuckles screamed in protest, pain shooting up his arms, but he did it again. And again.

Help me.

No sound came out of his mouth, but the word burned in his mind, frantic and desperate.

Above him, someone laughed.

It was nervous, uncertain, the kind of laugh people used to fill space they didn’t understand. Another voice murmured something sharp, admonishing. The ceremony resumed.

The finality of it crushed him.

No.

His heart slammed against his ribs, too fast now, dangerously fast. His breaths grew shallow, uneven. The air was definitely thinning he could feel it, a creeping heaviness in his lungs.

I can’t die like this.

The thought wasn’t dramatic. It was practical. Terrified. Unfairly calm.

He tried to shout.

Nothing came out.

His throat closed around the effort, choking him. Panic surged, raw and uncontrollable now. He thrashed, shoulders slamming uselessly against the coffin walls. The wood groaned louder this time, the sound unmistakable.

Above him, the voices stopped.

A heartbeat of silence.

Then footsteps.

Someone leaned closer. He could feel it feel the shift in air, the attention pressing down on him. He knocked again, harder, ignoring the pain, ignoring the terror clawing up his spine.

Bang.

Bang.

A gasp.

A whisper. His name.

Hope bloomed so violently it nearly broke him.

But hope was a fragile thing.

Someone else spoke firm, annoyed. Dismissive.

“Settle down,” the voice said. “It’s just the wood.”

The footsteps retreated.

The air above him changed again, heavier now, crowded.

The priest’s voice returned, steady and solemn.

Words blurred together, meaningless and cruel.

His strength began to fail.

Every breath was a battle now, lungs burning, vision swimming in darkness that had nothing to do with the lack of light. His thoughts tangled, slipping, losing their sharp edges.

Please, he thought not to anyone in particular. I’m still here.

The first clump of soil hit the coffin lid.

Thud.

The sound was final. Absolute.

It echoed through the small space, vibrating through his bones, settling into his chest like a verdict. His body jolted instinctively, a silent scream tearing through him.

Another clump followed.

Thud.

And another.

Each one sealed him further from the world of the living.

Tears burned behind his eyes, but they had nowhere to go. His body shook, muscles spasming uselessly as the weight above him increased. The coffin creaked under the pressure.

His breath came in ragged gasps now, each inhale shallower than the last.

This was it.

This was how it ended not with violence, not with a final confrontation, but with quiet. With misunderstanding. With people choosing comfort over doubt.

His heart stuttered.

For a brief, surreal moment, he wondered if anyone would ever feel this this exact fear, this exact suffocating terror and know it came from him.

Somewhere deep inside his chest, something fragile cracked.

And far above the grave, in the open air of the cemetery, someone he had never met suddenly pressed a hand to their chest breath hitching, heart faltering as if a scream had passed invisibly between them.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***