Riddle Coffin Novels & Stories

“Not yet, baby. Go with Grandma for a second, okay?” Victoria scoops him up without a word, carries him toward the playroom . The door clicks shut . Julian pulls a knife, slices the tape. I hold my breath. He lifts the lid . Inside, nestled in black satin, is a child-sized white coffin . Glossy. Perfect. Leo’s name carved on the lid in beautiful script. My scream is silent. The world tilts. Julian roars, pure animal, and flips the entire box. The coffin flies, hits the marble, cracks in half.

She could see their breath rising in pale clouds, the way the mound of dirt grew steadily beside the widening wound in the ground. When the first hollow crack of metal on wood rang out, it cut through her like a gunshot. She gripped the trunk beside her, nails biting into the bark. One of the men knelt, brushing away the soil with slow, reverent strokes. The coffin’s surface was damp and blackened, the brass fittings dulled to a greenish corrosion. She didn’t have to be closer to hear the groan of wood giving way. The air seemed to thicken as the lid creaked open.