My Coffin’s Narrow View
“She won’t need it anymore,” Daniel’s voice droned through the thin crack of light, his hand hovering over the gold chain.
I felt the weight of the rosary against my chest, the tuberose scent thickening each breath.
“Elaine, you promised,” Natalie whispered, a tremor in her throat, fingers clutching at the hem of her dress.
My mother’s sobs rose like a chorus, “Don’t even bury her yet, and you’re already giving away her things.”
My ears rang, but the words cut clear: “$500,000 life insurance—it’s already filed.”
“What about the $42,000 transfer we found?” Daniel snapped, eyes darting to the ledger on the side table.
“She said it was a business payment,” Natalie echoed, but her voice cracked, “It’s too clean.”
My aunts whispered prayers, their hands trembling over the candle flames, “May God forgive us if we’re wrong.”
In the dim, I sensed the tension, the accusation hanging in the air, a hidden suspicion that perhaps my death was staged.
Every syllable pressed against my cramped ribs, a relentless tide of doubt and betrayal.
The Clock’s Secret
Suddenly, the house shivered as the lights sputtered out, plunging us into black.
A gasp cracked the silence; Aunt Margaret’s voice, sharp and startled, cut through the darkness, “What’s that behind the clock?”
She felt the wooden frame, fingers tracing the grain until they snagged on a hidden latch.
She pulled, and the wall yielded a concealed panel, a narrow opening just large enough to glimpse a steel‑clad safe.
Her breath hitched, “There’s a safe here—who would hide a safe in a funeral home?”
She fumbled for a flashlight, the beam trembling as it fell upon the safe’s cold surface.
Before she could twist the lock, the house flickered, the bulbs sputtering back to life with a harsh buzz.
In that instant, the safe’s heavy door slammed shut with a deafening clang, sealing Margaret inside the cramped cavity.
The light snapped on, illuminating the safe’s locked face, the darkness swallowing Margaret’s scream as the room fell silent once more.
Elaine Finds the Brass Key
I felt a sudden twitch of sensation in my left hand, a faint numbness that gave way to a tiny movement.
My finger, as if guided by a phantom, brushed the edge of the silk dress that clung to my chest.
A metallic click echoed in the darkness, and the key slipped free, clinking against the polished wood of the coffin lid.
It fell, tumbling down the narrow gap, landing on the faint sliver of floor that the mourners could see.
Through the crack, Daniel’s hand hovered, his fingers trembling as he reached for the glint.
“Elaine? Are you—?” he whispered, voice cracking, but his eyes were fixed on the object.
See more on the next page
