The Coffin's Secret
Thomas ran.
The villagers' lanterns swung as they rushed toward the gate, but he was faster, bolting down the empty streets until the shadows of Hollow's End swallowed him. His lungs burned, his legs shook, but he didn't stop until he reached the inn.
He slammed the door, pressed his back against it, and waited. Silence.
No footsteps, no knocking. Just silence.
At Daylight, Thomas returned to the graveyard. The iron gate stood open as if welcoming him. The graves looked undisturbed, the earth smooth and heavy, as though nothing had happened the night before. But Thomas knew better.
He found one grave freshly stamped down, the soil darker than the rest. His hands trembled as he dug, pulling away dirt with he's fingers. After minutes of clawing, his hand struck wood.
The coffin creaked as he forced it open. Inside was not a body.
It was a mirror.
The glass was foggy, the frame carved with symbols he didn't recognize. He lifted it out, wiping away the dirt. For a moment, he saw only his reflection pale, haggard, his eyes wide with fear.
Then the reflection changed.
His mouth opened in a silent scream. His eyes bled black tears. His hands clawed at invisible walls, as though his reflection were trapped inside the glass.
Thomas stumbled back, dropping the mirror. It hit the ground but didn't shatter. The image of himself inside of the glass, desperate, panicked and very much alive.
A whisper rose from the coffin, into his ears like smoke:
"Your turn."
Thomas jolted to his feet, but when he looked around, the graveyard was no longer empty.
The villagers stood in a perfect circle around him, shovels in hand, eyes cold and hungry.
The old woman stepped forward, pointing at the mirror. Her voice was calm, almost tender.
". Every year, the ground drags one into the darkness. Tonight… it comes for you."