The intense, blistering heat radiating from the open furnace blasted against my face, singing my eyebrows. The smell of burning gas was overwhelming. The coffin was already halfway inside the chamber.
I lunged forward, grabbing the edge of the wooden casket with both hands. The wood was already scorching hot to the touch, burning the skin of my palms, but I didn’t care. I planted my boots against the concrete floor and pulled back with everything I had.
“Help me!” I screamed at the workers. “She’s alive! My baby is alive!”
The workers looked at each other, terrified, but neither moved. They were too afraid of Helena Vale.
“Arthur, override the manual pull!” Helena shrieked from the back of the room. “Increase the conveyor speed!”
Dr. Crane’s hand hovered over a bright red button on the control panel. He looked at me, tears streaming down his face, then looked at Helena. With a trembling finger, he slammed the button down.
The conveyor belt violently jerked forward. The sudden force ripped the coffin from my burned hands.
“NO!”
The coffin slid completely into the furnace.
Before I could even process the horror, the heavy, insulated iron door of the incinerator automatically slammed downward with a deafening, final THUD. The deadbolts slid into place, locking Clara and our unborn child inside the fiery tomb.
Through the thick, heat-resistant glass viewing portal of the furnace door, I could see the flames immediately engulfing the pristine white wood of the casket.
“You monsters!” I screamed, throwing myself against the iron door, hitting the glass with my bare fists, completely ignoring the agonizing heat burning my flesh. “Turn it off! Turn it off!”
Behind me, Helena let out a long, slow breath, her posture relaxing back into its cold, aristocratic perfection. She calmly dabbed at the corner of her eye with her dry handkerchief. “It’s over, Daniel. It’s a tragic accident. A grieving husband had a psychotic break and interrupted a peaceful service. Sadly, nothing could be done.”
Marcus wiped the blood from his nose, a sinister, victorious grin spreading across his face. “Goodbye, sister. Thanks for the inheritance.”
I fell to my knees in front of the roaring furnace, tears blinding my vision, my hands blistered and bleeding. I had failed her. I had failed our child. The heat behind the glass was reaching temperatures over 1,500 degrees.
But then… the thundering roar of the gas burners suddenly changed pitch.
From inside the locked, burning steel chamber, a sound began to rise. It wasn’t the sound of cracking wood or burning fabric.
It was a frantic, desperate, rhythmic thumping.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Someone was frantically hitting the inside of the coffin.
The crematorium workers gasped and retreated to the far wall. Helena’s triumphant smile froze instantly. Marcus stiffened, his eyes widening in sheer, unadulterated terror.
Clara was awake. Inside the fire.
And as the thumping grew faster and more violent, a sharp, metallic screech echoed from inside the furnace—followed by a sound that made everyone’s blood run cold.
It wasn’t a woman’s scream.
It was the high-pitched, muffled cry of a newborn baby.
