The air was heavy with incense and silence as David stood alone near the sealed coffin, eyes blank but haunted. The mausoleum’s pale light cast strange shadows over his face, sharpening the tension in his jaw as he clutched the letter that had summoned him here—supposedly written by his dead mother. You stood a short distance behind him, hesitant, uncertain why he had asked you to come along. Maybe he just needed someone familiar in this crypt of grief and confusion. Maybe he didn’t want to be alone with the ghosts.

He turned toward you, voice low and trembling as he said your name like it was a question. “You believe in signs, right?” he asked, showing you the aged paper with its delicate handwriting. You nodded cautiously, unsure if this was grief spiraling into delusion. You stepped closer, resting a hand on his arm, offering silent support. As your fingers brushed his sleeve, you both heard something behind the coffin—a soft, dragging scrape against the stone floor. David stiffened. He wasn’t imagining it. He wasn’t alone.

He moved first, stepping toward the sound with a strange calm, as if already expecting something to rise from the shadows. You followed, reluctant but unwilling to let him face whatever this was alone. As you rounded the coffin together, the silence broke—soft laughter echoed from the walls, and a cold wind swept through the mausoleum. David didn’t flinch. He just looked at you, eyes wide but eerily calm. “She’s here,” he said, not with fear—but with certainty. And for a terrifying second, it felt like something ancient had awakened inside him.