The graveyard should've been quiet.
But Bramwell's graveyard hadn't been quiet for a long time.
The survivors of the well attack gathered there for a burial, trying to honor the dead. Lanterns flickered in the mist, weak against the weight of silence.
Lira stood in the back, shifting nervously. "Uh… you sure we should be burying people right now? I mean, statistically speaking, in this town, the ground's just a waiting room."
"Shut up," Finn hissed.
The priest began the rites. His voice echoed strangely. Too loud. Too hollow.
And then—
DONG.
The church bell rang again.
Every head turned toward Black Hollow, where the broken tower still leaned crooked in the distance. The bell hadn't worked in years. And yet it rang.
The priest froze mid-prayer. His candle sputtered out.
Then the graves split open.
---
Wood splintered. Soil burst upward.
Coffins were dragged out from below—not by living hands, but by the corpses inside. They came crawling, clutching their own coffins like grotesque toys, pulling them across the ground.
Some were missing jaws. Others had worms pouring from eye sockets. Some still wore wedding dresses or soldier uniforms, all rotting and shredded.
The air filled with the stench of death.
One corpse's skull split open as it screeched, worms spraying onto the priest. He screamed as they burrowed into his flesh, writhing under his skin until his face collapsed inward like wet clay.
The villagers panicked, scattering.
But the dead didn't chase.
They began to sing.
A low, droning chant, in perfect unison. A funeral hymn, twisted into something alien.
The coffins creaked as the corpses slammed them shut in rhythm, bang, bang, bang, like drums.
The ground shook with every note.
Lira clutched Finn's sleeve, eyes wide. "…I think we just crashed the wrong funeral."
---
The chant grew louder, vibrating through bone and blood.
One of the villagers bolted for the gates, only to be snagged by skeletal hands bursting from the ground. His body was pulled down in a spray of gore, swallowed by the soil itself.
Another woman fought desperately with a shovel, smashing a corpse's skull in. But the broken head split into two smaller, snapping maws, which clamped onto her arms and ripped them clean off.
Blood painted the headstones.
The choir sang louder.
The coffins banged harder.
The mist thickened into a wall, trapping everyone inside.
---
Finn swung his torch desperately, shoving back corpses. "We're not getting out of here—we're trapped!"
"Okay, okay, think, think—" Lira muttered, frill twitching. Then her eyes widened.
"What if… we out-sing them?"
"…WHAT?!" Finn shouted.
Before he could stop her, Lira stepped forward into the aisle of death. She puffed out her frill like a giant mane, took a deep breath, and—
Started singing.
Terribly.
Awfully.
A screeching, off-key wail that cracked halfway through every word.
The corpses actually faltered. Their hymn stuttered, as if her voice was breaking the rhythm. The coffins slowed their pounding.
Lira grinned nervously. "See? I knew karaoke night would come in handy!"
She tripped over a gravestone mid-verse, landing flat on her face. But somehow her fall knocked loose a lantern. It rolled across the ground, spilling oil over several coffins—then caught fire.
The flames spread instantly, igniting the corpses like grotesque candles. Their hymn turned to shrieks. The coffins cracked open, spilling burning worms and bones as the dead collapsed into ash.
The mist cleared.
The chanting stopped.
And silence fell once more.
---
The survivors stood trembling among smoking graves.
Finn collapsed against a headstone, staring at Lira. "…You… sang the undead to death."
Lira brushed ash off her frill, shrugging. "Guess they just couldn't handle my range."
But as the last flames died, one coffin in the far corner rattled.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Not random, not instinct.
As if something inside had been waiting.
And with one last toll of the distant bell, the coffin lid creaked open.