She didn’t know what was happening. But one thing was certain something wasn’t right. Darkness crept through the St. Michael’s Church church as the altar candles flickered weakly.
The air felt heavier than ever after Lucy’s words. Those gathered around the coffin began stepping back, avoiding Clara and her daughter as if fearing what might come next. Papa hasn’t left.
He’s still here. He’s calling for Mama. Lucy’s words echoed in Clara’s mind, sending shivers down her spine.
She scanned the crowd until her eyes landed on Henry the man who had just urged her to sell the house. He still stood there, but his composure seemed to waver. His fingers tapped nervously against the wooden surface of a pew, and his eyes darted away.
Come now, let’s not let a child’s words stir unnecessary fear, Henry said, forcing another weak smile. But there was a slight tremor in his voice. Madam Rose, the oldest in the village, silently made the sign of the cross before murmuring.
There are things beyond our understanding. Sometimes, children can see what adults cannot. A shudder ran through Clara’s body.
She tightened her hold on Lucy. Henry blinked rapidly, then turned back to Clara, attempting to regain control of the conversation. Clara, I’m just trying to help.
We should settle the matter of the house and assets before it’s too late. If Samuel were here, he’d want you to take care of everything quickly. Clara’s stomach twisted into knots.
Can you leave me alone for a moment, she said, her voice laced with steel. Henry shrugged, but a flicker of irritation crossed his face. I’m only trying to help.
But if you’re too stubborn, I may have no choice but to involve the law. His veiled threat sent an icy chill down Clara’s spine. Margaret, a woman from the village, clicked her tongue and whispered to the person beside her.
Absolutely heartless. The man hasn’t even been buried yet, and he’s already talking about assets. But Henry didn’t seem to care about the murmurs around him.
I’ll be back tomorrow. Hopefully, by then, you’ll have thought things through, he said before turning and walking out of the church. Clara felt her heart pounding not just from his veiled threat, but from the way he reacted when Lucy mentioned her father.
Why had he looked so tense? She glanced down at Lucy, who was still clinging tightly to her dress. Mama. Papa is still here.
Clara took a deep breath, trying not to let panic take over. Lucy, what do you mean Papa is trapped? Lucy looked up at her mother with tear-filled eyes and whispered. Papa is stuck in there.
He’s calling me. He’s scared. The words sent a chilling wave through Clara’s body.
She turned back toward the coffin. It was made of solid oak, the lid firmly sealed, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. Beside her, Madam Rose shook her head and murmured.
The child isn’t making things up. I’ve seen this before. Clara turned to her, her pulse racing.
What do you mean? Madam Rose was silent for a moment before speaking in a hushed tone. Many years ago, there was a case. A man was thought to be dead, but he had only fallen into a deep coma.
After they buried him, his family kept having nightmares about him, and then she trailed off, her expression haunted. Clara’s throat went dry. She looked back at the coffin, a growing horror creeping into her mind.
Lucy hiccuped, then whispered. Papa is calling me. In that moment, Clara felt her chest tighten.
A shiver ran down her spine. No, it couldn’t be. Samuel was dead.
But, was she absolutely sure? Outside, the wind howled through the stained-glass windows, creating an eerie sound. The candles on the altar flickered, and then one of them went out. A few villagers exchanged anxious glances, murmuring among themselves.
This is a bad omen. A middle-aged woman whispered. The tension in the church rose like an approaching storm.
Clara looked around, feeling as if the walls were closing in. What should she do? No. This was just a coincidence.
But, what about Samuel? Clara held Lucy tightly, her heartbeat drumming in her ears. Margaret stepped closer and whispered. Clara, if you have even the slightest doubt, don’t let them bury Samuel just yet.
The words hit Clara like a knife to the chest. She no longer knew what to believe. But one thing was certain—something was very wrong.
The St. Michael’s Church church remained cloaked in darkness as the funeral stretched on longer than expected. The hushed whispers grew louder, filled with unease. The villagers exchanged anxious glances, stepping away from the coffin as if afraid to get too close.
Clara stood frozen, her mind in turmoil, while Lucy still clung to her, her innocent eyes filled with fear. Clara, if you have even the slightest doubt, don’t let them bury Samuel just yet. Margaret, words echoed in her head.
Clara wanted to believe this was just the imagination of a grieving child, but deep down, she couldn’t ignore the gnawing feeling that something was off. Henry had left, but the way he reacted when Lucy spoke of her father made Clara more uneasy than ever. Madame Rose suddenly stepped closer, gently tugging at Clara’s sleeve.
My dear, perhaps you should trust your instincts, she said, her voice low and serious. Clara looked down at her daughter. Lucy’s small hands clutched her dress, trembling.
Mama! Papa is scared! A bone-chilling cold coursed through Clara’s veins. No! It wasn’t possible! Samuel was dead! But, what if he wasn’t? The mere thought made it hard for Clara to breathe. She tightened her grip on Lucy, struggling to find logic amidst the rumors, the fearful gazes of the villagers, and the ominous unease that hung in the air.
Suddenly, from outside the church, a voice called out, breaking through Clara’s spiraling thoughts. Clara! She turned sharply. Standing at the entrance was Matthew, a close friend of Samuel.
He was panting, his face tense with urgency. I just heard! I got here late, but there’s something you need to know. Clara frowned, her heartbeat hammering against her ribs.
What could be so important? Matthew strode toward her, lowering his voice. Before Samuel, before he died, he mentioned something important. I don’t know if this is the right time, but, it has to do with Henry.
Hearing Henry’s name made Clara even more uneasy. Tell me, she said firmly. Matthew glanced around as if making sure no one was eavesdropping, then leaned in closer.
A few days before Samuel passed, he told me Henry kept pressuring him to sell the house. Samuel refused. And the next day, he had his accident.
A wave of ice washed over Clara. She recalled Henry’s words from earlier the way he urgently pushed her to sell the house, the way he tried to remain calm when Lucy spoke about Samuel being trapped. Could it be, that this wasn’t an accident? Clara’s hands trembled.
Matthew, are you saying? Matthew swallowed hard. I have no proof, but Samuel never trusted Henry. He told me that if anything ever happened to him, you shouldn’t trust anyone.
Clara felt like the air had been sucked out of her lungs. No. It couldn’t be.