I leaned down, placing my hand on Max’s head. He immediately stopped barking but continued whining, looking at me with eyes full of panic and urgency. His nose kept pressing against the edge of the coffin.

And then I felt it. A vibration. Faint, but real.

The Coffin… was moving.

My heart leapt into my throat.

I turned to the mortician, who had finally stepped forward. “Open it,” I said.

He blinked. “Sir, the viewing is over—”

“Open. It.”

A pause. Then he nodded.

The lid creaked as it opened. Slowly. Carefully.

Inside, Lily lay with her hands folded, her skin pale but untouched. Peaceful.

Until her finger twitched.

I gasped. “Did you see that?!”

Max began barking again, ears perked.

“She’s moving!” I shouted.

Gasps echoed through the church.

“Call an ambulance!” someone cried. “NOW!”

The next moments blurred. EMTs burst through the side door in under ten minutes. A woman checked Lily’s vitals, froze, then yelled for assistance. They pulled her from the coffin, laid her on a stretcher, and began working.

She was breathing.

Faintly. Shallow. But alive.