The darkness was absolute and the cold penetrated my bones. I tried to move my fingers, but my body wouldn’t respond. Suddenly, the sound of dirt hitting the coffin wood filled me with indescribable panic. I was trapped at my own funeral. My mind fought to emerge from the abyss of paralysis as I heard whispers around me. It was then that I recognized the voice of Carlos, my husband, saying coldly: “Throw dirt on her once and for all, there’s nothing left to see here.” There was no grief in his tone, only an inhumane rush to bury me. I tried to scream with all my strength, struck by the horror of being alive, but only a sepulchral silence came out of my throat. My heart beat desperately as betrayal and death merged in the shadow.
That morning, the last thing I remembered was drinking a herbal tea that Carlos had prepared for me with unusual kindness. We had been distant for months, but that night he was strangely attentive. After drinking it, a lethal heaviness began to take over my limbs. My vision blurred and my breathing became so faint that my chest stopped moving. To the family doctor and everyone else, I was officially dead, victim of a sudden heart collapse.
However, my mind woke up inside the coffin. I was trapped in a deep catalepsy caused by a lethal substance. I couldn’t move a single muscle, but my senses were terrifyingly awake. I heard the crunch of shovels, steps on the fresh dirt, and the voices of the funeral procession. When Carlos uttered those cruel words ordering them to cover me with dirt, I understood everything: it was not a tragedy, it was a carefully planned murder to keep my inheritance and leave with his mistress.
Terror paralyzed me, but something miraculous happened inches from my coffin. Max, my loyal shepherd dog, broke funeral protocol. He began to bark uncontrollably and scratch the dirt in despair. Max knew I was still alive down there. The gravediggers, surprised by the animal’s violent reaction, stopped their shovels. Carlos tried to kick the dog away, shouting orders to continue with the burial, but Max’s persistence created enough doubt for the old gravedigger to approach the casket.
In a superhuman effort, fueled by pure survival instinct, I managed to move just a finger and utter a faint, stifled groan. The gravedigger, hearing the muffled noise inside the wooden box, suddenly opened the coffin lid. Fresh air rushed into my lungs and my eyes opened wide. The crowd screamed in horror seeing me alive, still wearing the outfit chosen for my burial. Carlos’s face turned pale as paper as he tried to escape, but those present stopped him immediately. My dog jumped to my side as the truth came to light. The nightmare of being buried alive was over, but the trial against my murderer was just beginning.
