Chapter 1
The heavy wooden mallet slipped slightly in Leo’s sweat-slicked palm, but he tightened his grip, his knuckles burning white. His maroon hoodie smelled of damp earth and stale autumn air, a lingering scent from the hurried hours spent digging in the suffocating shadow of the old parish graveyard. Beneath him, the white coffin lid groaned in protest. He did not care about the splintering wood or the frantic, jagged rhythm of his own breathing. He only cared about the muffled, desperate thuds vibrating against the soles of his sneakers.
Father Thomas lunged forward, his black suit catching on the damp weeds as he grabbed Leo’s shoulder. The priest’s face was pale, his dark hair plastered to his forehead by a cold mist rolling in from the valley.
"Stop! Put the hammer down! She's still inside!" Father Thomas shouted, his voice cracking with a raw, authoritative terror that pierced the heavy afternoon gloom.
Leo shook his head violently, tears finally spilling over his lower lashes to track hot paths through the dirt smeared on his cheeks. He wrenched his shoulder away, ignoring the priest’s desperate warning. He raised the wooden mallet high above his head, muscles trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline, and brought it crashing down again with all his remaining strength. The blow landed squarely over the pre-marked circle on the lid. With a sharp crack of aged pine, the wood gave way, splintering inward and leaving a jagged, dark aperture that smelled faintly of lavender and old dust.
Silence descended upon the clearing instantly, heavier and more suffocating than the dirt they had shoveled over the box just twenty minutes prior. Leo dropped to his knees, his chest heaving as he stared directly into the newly formed dark hole.
An extreme close-up revealed the horrifying reality within. Staring up through the splintered gap were a pair of wide, bloodshot eyes, dilated with a primal, suffocating terror. A strip of thick gray duct tape covered the woman’s mouth, sealing her lips tight while frantic, shallow breaths puffed tiny clouds of condensation against the underside of the lid. It was Clara, Leo’s mother, trapped alive in a nightmare orchestrated by administrative cruelty and financial despair.
Father Thomas stumbled backward, his boots sliding on the wet grass. He stared down through the hole, his dark eyes widening in absolute, unadulterated shock. The color drained completely from his face, leaving him looking like a carved stone monument of grief.
"Oh god," the priest whispered, his hands trembling as reality finally crashed down upon him.
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Leo did not waste another second in shock. He jammed his fingers into the jagged edges of the broken wood, ignoring the splinters biting deep into his skin, and began tearing the lid apart piece by piece.
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