🚨 HE THOUGHT HE COULD BURY THE TRUTH. BUT THE DEAD NEVER FORGET. 🚨

"HE HAS A PULSE! IT'S FAINT, BUT HE'S BREATHING!" Dr. Miller screamed, his hands shoved inside Henry’s wet coat, pressing hard against his carotid artery. "CALL AN AMBULANCE! NOW!"

The cemetery erupted into utter chaos. Sirens wailed in the distance, cutting through the storm as paramedics fought their way through the narrow dirt roads toward the gravesite.

Father Thomas lay face-down in the mud, spitting grit, his hands zip-tied behind his back by Ethan and two local farmhands. The priest wasn't praying anymore. He wasn't crying out for divine mercy. He just stared at the mud with hollow, coal-black eyes, a chilling smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

"You think you saved him?" Thomas whispered, his voice smooth, cold, and entirely devoid of his holy accent. "You haven't saved anything. The shepherd belongs to the dark now."

"Shut your mouth!" Ethan barked, kicking the priest’s shoulder.

Twenty minutes later, the emergency team loaded Henry’s freezing body into the back of the ambulance. Buddy refused to leave. When a paramedic tried to push the dog away, Buddy bared his teeth with such vicious intensity that the paramedic backed off.

"Let the dog in!" Clara demanded, stepping into the back of the rig. "He saved my brother’s life. He goes where Henry goes."

The ambulance sped off, lights flashing red and blue against the grey downpour, leaving the cemetery behind.

At the Blackwood County Hospital, Henry was rushed straight into Intensive Care. His core body temperature was a terrifying 84 degrees Fahrenheit (29°C). But as the medical team hooked him up to IVs and warming blankets, the chief toxicologist ran a rapid blood panel.

Two hours later, Dr. Vance walked out into the waiting room where Clara, Ethan, and Buddy were waiting. The dog was lying by Clara’s feet, his ears pinned back, resting his head on her shoes.

"What is it, Doctor?" Clara asked, standing up so fast she almost fainted. "Is he going to make it?"

"Your brother is in a induced coma," Dr. Vance said, his face grave. "Hypothermia almost killed him, yes. But that’s not why he appeared dead in the first place."

Ethan frowned. "What do you mean?"

"We found high concentrations of Tetrodotoxin in his bloodstream," Dr. Vance explained, leaning against the doorframe. "It’s a rare, potent neurotoxin found in certain marine life and specialized chemical compounds. It paralyzes the motor functions, drops the heart rate to near-zero, and lowers body temperature so drastically that even experienced coroners can mistake the patient for a corpse."

Clara gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth. "He was trapped inside his own body..."

"Worse," Dr. Vance added quietly. "While paralyzed, the victim remains fully conscious. They can hear everything. They can feel everything. They just can't move."

Ethan took a step back, horror dawning on him. "Henry felt himself being placed in a coffin. He heard us crying. He was waiting to be buried alive."

"Yes," the doctor confirmed. "And based on the chemical breakdown, the poison was ingested. It was mixed into something he consumed willingly shortly before he 'died'."

Clara’s mind raced back to the morning before Henry collapsed in his cabin. Father Thomas had visited. The priest had brought communion bread and home-brewed wine to comfort the aging farmer after the anniversary of his wife’s passing.

"The holy wine..." Clara choked out. "Thomas poisoned him."

Suddenly, Buddy sat bolt upright.

His golden ears pricked forward. His tail went stiff. A low, vibrating growl started deep in his chest.