Chapter 1 - The Man Who Was Declared Dead
A man inside the coffin gasped: "Please… don't call them."
I was holding the emergency phone when the billionaire funeral director's missing patient file fell from the coffin.
On the back of the file were four words written in red ink:
"They buried him alive."
I realized this wasn't a morgue accident.
At 2:17 in the morning, I was alone inside the private morgue beneath the Hawthorne Estate, finishing the last section of marble floor before my shift ended.
I had worked there for eight months.
Eight months of cleaning rooms where nobody spoke.
Eight months of walking past expensive coffins carrying names of people whose families paid more money for silence than most people earned in years.
I was a maid.
Invisible.
That was what people like me were supposed to be.
Invisible when we cleaned their floors.
Invisible when we carried their secrets.
Invisible when powerful people decided something was better left buried.
That night was supposed to be no different.
Until I hit the coffin.
The sound was small.
Just a soft wooden knock.
But inside a room where every sound disappeared into the cold walls, it felt like a gunshot.
I stopped moving.
My mop slipped slightly from my hand.
The coffin sitting near the far wall was one I had been warned about.
Everyone had.
"Never touch the black walnut coffin in the east room."
That was the only instruction my supervisor gave me on my first week.
No explanation.
No reason.
Just a warning.
I had asked why.
He looked at me for three seconds before answering.
"Because some doors stay closed for a reason."
I remembered those words as I stared at the coffin now.
The lid had shifted.
Only half an inch.
I told myself it was nothing.
Maybe the floor was uneven.
Maybe I bumped it harder than I thought.
Maybe the old wood expanded from the cold.
I stepped closer.
My heart was already beating faster.
I reached out and placed my hand on the lid.
That was when I felt it.
Warm air.
Against my wrist.
I froze.
The morgue suddenly felt smaller.
The flowers surrounding the coffins.
The marble statues.
The candles burning beside the walls.
Everything became distant.
Because dead people didn't breathe.
I pulled my hand away.
"No..." I whispered.
My own voice sounded unfamiliar.
I grabbed the emergency phone hanging beside the wall.
My fingers barely touched the button.
Then something moved.
A hand shot out from inside the coffin.
A pale hand.
A living hand.
It grabbed mine.
I screamed.
The man inside opened his eyes.
Not fully.
Just enough.
Enough for me to see fear.
Not confusion.
Not pain.
Fear.
Like he knew exactly where he was.
Like he knew exactly who had put him there.
His grip was weak.
But desperate.
"Don't call upstairs," he whispered.
I couldn't move.
The phone was still in my other hand.
"You're alive," I said.
The words came out like a question.
The man struggled to breathe.
His face was pale beneath the cold lights.
His expensive black suit was perfectly arranged.
Someone had prepared him to look dead.
Someone had wanted everyone to believe he was dead.
His eyes moved toward the ceiling.
Toward the offices above the morgue.
Then back to me.
"They're the ones who put me here."
I stared at him.
I wanted to run.
Every instinct told me to drop his hand and call for help.
But something stopped me.
Maybe it was his eyes.
Maybe it was the fact that a dead man was begging me not to save him.
Maybe it was because I had worked around powerful people long enough to know something.
People with money rarely needed to hide ordinary things.
I slowly lowered the phone.
"Who are they?" I asked.
He closed his eyes for a moment.
Like even saying their names could kill him.
Before he could answer, footsteps echoed outside the morgue door.
Both of us heard them.
The man inside the coffin immediately tightened his grip.
His fear changed.
It became panic.
"No."
I looked toward the door.
The footsteps stopped.
Someone was standing outside.
The man whispered:
"If they see me awake, you won't leave this room alive."
I stared at the door.
My mind raced.
This was impossible.
A dead man was warning me about being killed.
And somehow, I believed him.
The door handle slowly moved.
Someone was coming inside.
I stepped back.
The coffin lid was still open.
The man inside looked at me.
Not like a stranger.
Like I was his last chance.
Then the door opened.
But nobody entered.
A white envelope slid across the floor.
My name was written on it.
I had never told anyone my name at Hawthorne Estate.
I slowly picked it up.
The man inside the coffin saw the envelope.
And his face changed.
Because he knew who sent it.
He whispered one name I had never heard before.
"Elena..."
I turned the envelope over.
The seal was broken from the inside.
And before I could open it, a voice came through the hidden speaker above us.
"Miss Elena Carter."
The lights went out.
May you like
"Put the coffin lid back."
And then I heard the lock on the morgue door click from the outside.
