Chapter 16: 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 were thick here, and the smell of damp earth was strong enough to make me cough. I brushed away some of the moss and dust, running my fingers along the cold stone.

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.

The effort made sweat drip down my back, shirt sticking to my skin. The sound of stone scraping against stone was loud in the stillness, and Priya started chanting the Hanuman Chalisa, voice thin but steady.

“Arrey Ram—!”

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

Her voice echoed through the cemetery, and even the birds fell silent. Sneha whimpered, burying her face in her mother’s shoulder. My own hands were shaking as I forced myself to look down into the pit.

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.

The sight was enough to churn my stomach. The roots pulsed as if alive, the air thick with the scent of neem and something rotten. For a second, I thought I saw the outline of a mouth forming in the roots, lips twisted in a silent scream.

My hands trembled. I wiped my palms on my jeans, the rough denim grounding me for a moment.