My mother, Gabriela Hayes, was infamous throughout our town. She had been married 18 times, and each husband had met his demise. The fortune teller claimed she was cursed with bad luck in marriage—that any man who wed her was doomed to die. When she fell gravely ill, she had a double coffin constructed before her death. At her funeral, every man in the village competed for the empty space beside her, each desperate to be buried alongside my mother. ***** Funeral music echoed through the mourning hall when someone broke the silence. “Gabriela prepared a double coffin before she died. She must have feared being alone and wanted a companion in death.” I had been grieving in a daze, but these words snapped me to attention. Looking up in disbelief, I saw the massive ebony coffin where my mother lay, with half the space conspicuously empty. When my mother had commissioned this coffin, I hadn’t thought much of it—I’d assumed she was longing for one of her former husbands. But now someone was suggesting she wanted a living sacrifice to accompany her. I shuddered and was about to protest when another voice called out, “Poor Gabriela died so tragically. How could I bear to let her rest alone? Let me be buried with her!” I recognized the speaker as Ryan Murray from our village. He was 35, two years younger than my mother, and they had barely interacted during her life. Why on earth will he volunteer for burial with Mom? His declaration was like striking a match in a room full of gunpowder. Arguments erupted instantly. “If anyone deserves to be buried with her, it’s me! You’re far too old—do you honestly think Gabriela would want you?” “You all losers! I’m the only one qualified to accompany Gabriela!” “Nonsense! Gabriela always favored handsome men—my son is clearly the best choice!” I watched this unfold with mounting horror, my jaw hanging open. My mother, Gabriela, had earned her reputation as the town widow. She had married 18 times, and each husband had perished. I was her daughter from her first marriage. For as long as I could remember, I had cycled through calling different men “Dad.” Yet over 18 years, each of my 17 stepfathers had died unexpectedly within six months of the wedding. Healthy men succumbed to sudden illness. A woodcutter slipped from a cliff while working. A lifelong snake handler died from a venomous bite. One even inexplicably jumped into a well in the middle of the night—a well that remained sealed to this day. They died one after another. When I was 15, a traveling fortune teller passed through our village and declared that Gabriela was born under a curse—that any man who married her was destined to die. The villagers beat him mercilessly, calling him a fraud. Yet after that, no one dared ask for Gabriela’s hand. Now at her funeral, these same villagers arrived in apparent grief. They had eagerly helped me prepare her body and arrange the memorial. Then, to my shock, they began fighting over who would be buried alive beside her. The quarrel intensified, voices rising until punches began to fly. The verbal dispute transformed into an all-out brawl—men punching faces and kicking groins in their desperation. I backed away, terrified of being caught in the violence. Yet oddly, despite their ferocity, no one fought near the coffin. They seemed to share an unspoken agreement to avoid disturbing Gabriela’s remains. I stood beside her coffin, gazing at her pallid face, speechless. Gabriela had never been particularly beautiful, nor was she a good wife. I had learned to cook by the age of five, fearing we might otherwise starve to death. Moreover, her reputation as a harbinger of death had only grown stronger with each husband’s demise. Eighteen men had died because of her. What madness has seized these men, making them so eager to join her in burial?
The brawl in the mourning hall was short-lived. Mason Boyd, the village head and funeral officiant, quickly intervened. He had been the first to arrive at our home after Gabriela’s death. “Enough!” Mason commanded. “There is only one space beside Gabriela. Whoever earns the privilege of joining her must be decided carefully.” I kept my head down and remained silent, my thoughts in disarray. Even Mason wasn’t opposing the idea of filling the coffin with the living. Why? I spent the entire day in a daze, and finally, the mourners gradually dispersed. I thought I might finally find some peace, but late that night, a shadowy figure slipped into the mourning hall. Startled, I nearly screamed before recognizing Ryan’s face in the dim light. He thrust a bundle into my arms, then rubbed his hands together nervously, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling desire. “Esme,” he said, “your mother died too young and spent her final days alone. It breaks my heart.” He leaned closer. “To be honest, I’ve admired your mother for years. My only wish now is to be buried alongside her.” He clasped my hands. “You’re her daughter—surely you’ll help fulfill my request? Don’t you want her to have a companion on her journey to the afterlife?” Goosebumps spread across my skin, and I couldn’t bring myself to agree. “Mr. Murray, you’re still young. Why sacrifice yourself for my mother?” His expression darkened. “How could you say such a thing? Being buried with your mother would be my greatest honor—a blessing beyond anything I could hope for.” I was speechless. If he hadn’t been speaking so lucidly, I would have suspected he’d been brainwashed. After nearly an hour of his persistent pleading, I gave a vague, noncommittal response just to end the conversation. Little did I know, Ryan wasn’t the only one with this macabre intention. Throughout the night, my house became almost as busy as it had been during the day. Nearly every man in the village returned secretly, each begging me to support their bid to occupy the empty half of Gabriela’s coffin. One woman even brought her sixteen-year-old son. “Esme,” she insisted, “though my boy is young, he fell in love with your mother at first sight. He was too shy to express his feelings because of his age, but he’s the perfect candidate to join her in death!” I was terrified. After sending them away, I locked the gate and hid in the backyard. The following day, while sorting through Gabriela’s belongings, I discovered her suicide note tucked away in a drawer. Gabriela had said little before passing, and I’d assumed she died without concerns. Yet here was evidence she’d left me one final message. The last two sentences of her note would ignite chaos throughout our village. [Esme, if anyone wishes to be buried with me, show them this note. Let them spend the night in my cemetery—whoever survives until dawn may join me in burial.] Mason read the note silently before passing it to the other mourners. The village cemetery lay in the wilderness, untended and crawling with venomous insects, snakes, and ants. At night, even predatory beasts roamed there. I couldn’t fathom Gabriela’s intentions, but her instructions provided a solution to the burial dispute. The mourners exchanged glances, their expressions varied, but no one objected. “Simple enough,” someone remarked. “But what happens if more than one person survives?” Another man sneered, “Go or don’t go—I’ll be the only survivor anyway.” As I observed their confidence, my heart raced with growing dread. Nevertheless, the selection proceeded. As sunset approached, nearly 20 men gathered at Gabriela’s chosen cemetery. The grave had already been dug, awaiting tomorrow’s burial. Sleep eluded me that night. I lay awake until dawn, thinking of those men risking death in the cemetery. The villagers shared my concern. Before daybreak, a crowd gathered at the village entrance, and together we journeyed to the cemetery. The metallic scent of blood reached us before we even approached the cemetery grounds. Upon arrival, we discovered bodies strewn everywhere. Some victims bore wolf bites, clearly attacked by predators from the mountain. Some showed no visible wounds but had purple faces and blackened fingernails—telltale signs of poisoning. Several displayed distinct marks on their necks. Most, however, had been killed by their fellow contenders. Bright crimson soaked into the soil, staining the entire cemetery red. Suddenly, a figure emerged from among the corpses. It was Austin Murray, Ryan’s son. Blood-drenched and grinning, he announced, “Dawn has broken. I’ve earned the right to be buried with Gabriela.” I shifted my gaze and spotted Ryan’s body on the ground, his son’s dagger protruding from his heart.
I finally understood Gabriela’s intentions. It wasn’t a mere coincidence that only one person would survive a night in the cemetery. To be the sole survivor, they had willingly slaughtered one another, ensuring only one remained. The villagers ignored the corpses and rushed forward to congratulate Austin. “Young and full of potential. Good to see strength prevail!” “How fortunate you are to be buried alongside Gabriela.” They all wore smiles, some tinged with envy, but not one showed fear or disgust at the carnage. I watched this spectacle until I could bear it no longer and erupted in hysterical screams. “Enough! They had killed each other for a place in a coffin! So many people died, and now you want to sacrifice one more?” My voice cracked with desperation. “You’re all insane—burying people alive!” The entire cemetery fell silent as everyone turned to me with disapproving expressions. “Esme, you’re too young to understand what an honor it is to be buried with Gabriela.” “It’s their blessing to die for her. If they couldn’t secure a position, it’s only because they were useless.” I couldn’t comprehend their madness. To me, the corpses scattered across the ground formed one massive grave. I stumbled back home, the iron scent of blood still filling my nostrils. I sat before Gabriela’s coffin, my head throbbing with pain. By midday, still determined to stop Austin, I went to his house. When I entered, I found him admiring himself in a mirror, already dressed in a burial shroud. His face brightened when he saw me. “Esme, perfect timing! Tell me—does this shroud complement your mother’s? I spent hours selecting it. We’ll have matching burial clothes.” Matching burial clothes? I tried to smile but couldn’t manage it. “Austin, must you really be buried with my mother?” Austin and I were both 18 and had played together since childhood. I couldn’t understand why he suddenly yearned for a living burial—enough to murder his own father. Austin’s eyes gleamed with determination, and his face flushed with eagerness. “Esme, this is my life’s wish. Do you know how long I’ve awaited this day?” He leaned closer. “I’d do anything to be buried alongside Gabriela!” “Then wait decades until your natural death,” I pleaded. “Why must you be buried alive?” “Decades?” he scoffed. “That’s an eternity. I want to join her now,” he stated with frightening conviction. I gazed at him deeply, recognizing the futility of persuasion, then turned and left. Three days later, Gabriela was laid to rest at dusk. Austin reclined in the coffin with a serene smile, clasping Gabriela’s cold hand in his. He glanced at me reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Esme. Your mother won’t be alone. I’ll remain with her forever.” The mourners sealed the coffin lid, driving nails into it one by one. A procession stretched from my house to the cemetery, yet no sound emerged from within the coffin. I wondered if Austin had died the moment they sealed him inside. The corpses from the cemetery had long been cleared away, leaving only rust-colored soil. Several men stepped forward from the crowd, lowered the coffin into the pit, and covered it shovelful by shovelful. When they finished, everyone laughed as though relieved of a tremendous burden. “Austin is truly blessed to be buried with Gabriela.” I remained silent, but as midnight approached, my anxiety intensified. At the stroke of 12, I ventured out with a shovel and headed directly to the cemetery. I couldn’t allow Austin to die this way. I bowed respectfully before Gabriela’s grave and then began frantically digging away the freshly packed soil covering the coffin. It took every ounce of my strength to pry out the nails. However, when I carefully lifted the coffin lid, I saw a scene of unspeakable horror.
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