Chapter 17: The Coffin of Roots

Though the tombstone looked grand, there was no grave mound—just a solid stone slab behind it, covering the ground. Perhaps from years of neglect, a piece of the slab was missing, exposing a pitch-black hole.

The weeds nearby were brittle and yellowed, as if nothing wanted to grow too close. A crow cawed somewhere overhead, breaking the silence.

I cleared away the dirt and wedged the crowbar under the slab. As the noon sun shone down, I pressed hard and pried the slab up.

“Ah—!”

Lisa hurriedly covered her daughter’s eyes, but couldn’t help screaming herself.

Her cry echoed, bouncing off the gravestones and rolling down the hill. Megan whimpered, clinging tighter.

I pushed the slab aside and looked down, instantly horrified. There were no remains under the slab—only a dense tangle of tree roots, knotted and twisted, piercing through a redwood coffin. Where the body should have been, the roots had formed a human shape—head, neck, body, and limbs all there, only the facial features still indistinct.

It was the kind of sight that crawls under your skin—a nightmare made real. The smell of damp earth and rot was overwhelming. I gripped the shovel harder, telling myself this was just wood and dirt, nothing more.