The Coffin That Spoke

1. The Shortcut

It was just a shortcut.

That’s what I told myself as I pushed open the rusted gate of the old cemetery that separated two neighborhoods in our town. I had taken the path a dozen times before, during the day. But that night was different. The wind was colder, the silence deeper. My phone’s battery had died, and I was already running late. So I stepped in.

Gravel crunched beneath my shoes as I walked quickly between rows of crooked headstones. The moonlight was thin, slipping between clouds like a guilty secret. Somewhere behind me, a dog howled. I kept my head down.

Then I heard it.

A soft thump.

I froze.


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2. A Whisper in the Wind

At first, I thought it was a trick of the wind, or maybe an animal. But then it came again. Closer. Louder.

Thump.

Thump.

It was coming from one of the newer graves. A large, dark coffin lay half-buried in loose soil, its lid slightly ajar. That was odd. All coffins are buried deep, sealed shut. But this one looked like it had been tossed in carelessly.

I took a cautious step forward, my breath sharp in my throat.

And then — a voice.

“Help me…”

I stumbled back, nearly falling over a headstone. My mind raced. Was someone trapped in there? Was this some sick prank?

“Please… it’s cold…”

It was a woman’s voice. Weak, but desperate. I crept closer, my heart pounding.

“Who’s in there?” I whispered.

No answer.

I moved to the side of the coffin and hesitated before reaching for the lid. It was heavier than I expected, cold to the touch. I pushed it up slowly, unsure of what I’d find.

It was empty.


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3. Echoes of the Dead

I stood frozen, staring into the black void of the coffin. Nothing. No one. Just silence.

Then the voice came again.

“I’m not in the coffin anymore…”

It came from behind me.

I spun around — nothing.

“Look behind the tree,” it whispered.

I stared at the large, twisted tree just a few feet away. I couldn’t move. Every instinct told me to run. But something stronger held me there.

A figure stepped out.

She was barefoot. Pale. Wearing a faded white dress. Her eyes were hollow, as if drained of life — and yet, she looked right at me.

“I was buried alive,” she said.

Her voice was calm now, almost serene.

“They thought I was dead. I screamed, but no one heard me. Until you…”

My mouth opened, but no words came.

“I don't want revenge,” she added. “I just needed someone to know.”

She raised her hand and placed it over her heart. Her fingers disappeared into her chest like smoke.

“I’m leaving now.”

And then she vanished.


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4. The Morning After

I don’t remember running home. I don’t remember unlocking the door or collapsing on the floor. All I remember is waking up the next morning with my clothes still dusty, my shoes still wet with cemetery soil.

No one believed me, of course. Not my parents. Not my friends.

But something told me to go back.

That afternoon, I returned to the cemetery. The coffin was gone. In its place was a fresh mound of earth. A new headstone had been added:

Amara Bint Hussain
1995–2024
Beloved daughter, lost too soon.

I knelt beside the grave. There were no flowers, no candles. Just silence.

I whispered, “I know now.”


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5. One Last Sign

As I stood to leave, I noticed something carved into the base of the headstone — not engraved by a machine, but scratched in by hand.

It read: “Thank you for listening.”

That was the moment I understood: some souls can’t rest until their story is heard. Until someone knows. Until the silence is broken.

Since that night, I’ve taken the long road home. I never cut through the cemetery again.

But I listen more.

To silence.

To shadows.

Because sometimes, the dead aren’t gone.

They’re just waiting.