CHAPTER 1 — "DON'T OPEN THE CASKET!"
"Don't touch the coffin!"
My stepmother's scream echoed through the funeral chapel so loudly that every grieving guest turned toward me.
I froze with my hand only inches from my father's polished oak casket.
The room smelled of lilies, candle wax, and expensive perfume.
Rain hammered against the stained-glass windows while mourners whispered prayers they barely believed.
My father, Jonathan Hale, had supposedly died only forty-eight hours earlier.
The official story spread through town almost instantly.
A rare contagious disease.
A virus so dangerous that no one could see the body.
The funeral home kept the coffin sealed.
No viewing.
No goodbye.
No final kiss.
Just signatures...
Flowers...
And silence.
I was only sixteen.
I didn't understand medicine.
But I understood one thing.
My father had called me the night before he "died."
His voice had been shaky.
"Ryan... if anything happens to me..."
The phone suddenly disconnected.
When I tried calling back...
His number no longer existed.
Everyone told me I was imagining things.
Everyone...
Except my grandmother.
She hadn't cried once.
Instead...
She kept staring at my stepmother, Vanessa Hale, as though she were looking at a snake waiting to strike.
During the service, Vanessa stood in flawless black silk, her makeup untouched by tears.
She accepted condolences with perfect grace.
Too perfect.
Not once did she look at the coffin.
Almost as if...
She already knew what was inside.
The minister cleared his throat.
"Jonathan was a generous husband..."
Vanessa interrupted softly.
"We should finish quickly."
Quickly?
My father had built businesses that employed thousands.
Hundreds of people had traveled across three states to say goodbye.
Yet she wanted everything over in less than twenty minutes.
Something felt horribly wrong.
Then I noticed her left hand.
She kept rubbing her thumb over a thick silver ring.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Like she was nervous.
Or waiting.
When the minister invited immediate family to say their final farewell...
I stepped toward the coffin.
Vanessa instantly blocked my path.
"No."
Her voice cracked for the first time.
"The doctors warned us."
I frowned.
"They said the virus can survive after death."
I stared at her.
"Then why aren't you wearing protective gear?"
The room fell silent.
She blinked.
Just once.
Then smiled.
"It's... complicated."
No.
It wasn't.
It was a lie.
Because every doctor I knew wore gloves.
Masks.
Protective suits.
She wore none of them.
Neither did the funeral director.
Neither did the minister.
Neither did anyone else.
So why couldn't I say goodbye?
"I only want to see his face."
"No!"
She shoved me backward.
Hard.
My shoulder slammed into a row of chairs.
Gasps filled the chapel.
"Don't you understand?" she shouted.
"Opening that coffin could kill everyone here!"
Several guests immediately stepped away.
Fear spread faster than grief.
People began whispering.
Maybe she was right...
Maybe I was selfish...
Maybe...
Then...
I heard it.
Thump.
So soft I almost convinced myself it came from the rain.
Thump.
Again.
From inside the coffin.
My heart stopped.
Nobody else reacted.
Only me.
I looked toward the casket.
Vanessa's face had gone completely white.
She heard it too.
For one terrifying second...
Our eyes met.
Mine filled with confusion.
Hers...
With absolute panic.
She rushed toward the coffin and placed both hands on it.
Almost protectively.
Almost...
To stop whatever was inside from making another sound.
Then she looked directly at the funeral director.
He gave the smallest nod.
Two men immediately rolled the coffin toward the cremation exit.
"What are you doing?" I shouted.
"The burial isn't until tomorrow!"
"The schedule changed," Vanessa answered far too quickly.
"They're preparing the body."
"No!"
I ran after them.
But three security guards suddenly appeared from nowhere.
One grabbed my arm.
Another blocked the hallway.
Vanessa lowered her voice until only I could hear.
"If you love your father..."
She smiled.
"...walk away."
The coffin disappeared behind heavy steel doors.
And just before they closed...
I heard three desperate knocks.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Not random.
Not settling wood.
Three perfectly timed knocks.
May you like
The secret code my father had taught me when I was little.
"Three knocks means... help me."
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