Chapter 5 - The Knock from Within
“What was that?”
The crematory operator’s voice was sharp, laced with sudden, nervous confusion.
Inside the casket, sweat poured down my face in blinding sheets, burning my eyes, but I didn't dare stop. I positioned the ring again and drove it upward into the mahogany with all the strength my trembling, poisoned muscles could muster.
Thud-thud.
“Did you hear that?” the operator demanded, taking a step back from the control panel. “The box... something shifted inside the box.”
“It’s just settling,” Mason’s voice rang out instantly, sharp and defensive, though a thin edge of panic had suddenly crept into his tone. “Mahogany expands when it hits high ambient heat. The pressure differential inside the sealed compartment creates popping noises. Everyone knows that. Just finish the cycle.”
“I’ve been running this crematory for twenty-two years, mister,” the worker snapped back, crossing his arms and eyeing the half-inserted casket with deep suspicion. “Mahogany doesn't settle twice in rhythm. That sounded like... like someone hitting the lid from the inside.”
“Don't be absurd,” Olivia chimed in, her voice cold as ice, though her footsteps clicked rapidly across the concrete as she hurried toward the platform. “My husband died of a massive cerebral hemorrhage this morning. He was embalmed by the mortuary at noon. He is dead, Mr. Henderson. Now, please, execute the transfer before I report your incompetence to the city council.”
“Lady, I don't care about the city council,” Henderson muttered, reaching out to hit the manual retraction button on the control console. “I’m not sliding a box into a twelve-hundred-degree furnace if there’s a chance—hell, even a weird noise—coming from—”
“Don't touch that button!”
Mason lunged forward, his hand slamming down onto Henderson’s wrist with brutal, professional force.
“Get your hands off me!” Henderson roared, shoving Mason backward against the brick wall. “You crazy son of a bitch, what are you playing at?”
While they argue, my chest feels like it is caving in. The heat inside the chamber is becoming unbearable; the wood beneath my back radiates a dry, scorching warmth that blisters the fabric of my suit.
If they don't open this box right now, I’m going to suffocate even if the fire doesn't touch me.
I grip the signet ring tighter, raise my arm, and strike the lid again—harder this time, putting every ounce of my remaining life force into the blow.
THUD!
The sound resonates through the entire metal frame of the incinerator housing.
Henderson freezes mid-sentence. He turns his head slowly, staring directly at the casket protruding halfway into the furnace opening.
“That wasn't wood settling,” Henderson whispers, his face draining of all color. He looks at Olivia and Mason, his eyes narrowing into slits of pure, cold realization. “Open the lid.”
“No!” Olivia screams, her composure finally shattering completely as she lunges toward the control panel herself. “Push the button! Burn him now!”
“Get away from the console, bitch!” Henderson roars, grabbing Olivia by the arm and shoving her hard against the metal railing.
Mason reacts instantly, his training as a physical therapist translating into brutal, calculated violence. He steps inside Henderson’s guard, driving a vicious, hardened elbow straight into the operator’s ribs. Henderson gasps, doubling over, but manages to hit the manual emergency lever before collapsing to the concrete floor.
With a deafening hiss of compressed air, the hydraulic rollers reverse.
The casket shoots backward out of the furnace chamber, rolling across the iron table and slamming hard against the metal stop at the end of the line.
Before Olivia or Mason can reach the box, the heavy brass latches on the side of the casket click loose.
A crowbar, left by Henderson on the nearby tool cart, is snatched up by the groaning operator from the floor. With a furious grunt, Henderson wedges the iron bar beneath the lid and throws his entire body weight upward.
The wooden lid cracks open with a deafening splinter of mahogany and torn brass.
Blinding, fluorescent overhead light floods into the interior of the box, stabbing into my dilated, tear-filled eyes like a cluster of needles.
I gasp.
It isn't a normal breath—it is a ragged, violent, tearing intake of air that burns my scorched throat and floods my starving lungs with oxygen.
I blink rapidly, fighting through the blinding glare, until two pale, horrified faces swim into focus above me.
May you like
Olivia and Mason.
Staring down at me as if they were looking straight into the eyes of a resurrected corpse.
