At her sons funeral, the mother took an axe and struck the coffin lid repeatedly. When it shattered, the witnesses saw something terrible.
“I wont attend. Thats not my son.”
“Mum, what are you saying? Its your sons funeralmy husbands. How can you not go?”
“You dont understand. That coffin is empty. Theyre lying. Theyre hiding something.”
“But you saw the papers. They explainedafter the accident, his face was unrecognisable, but the DNA matched.”
“Thats not my boy. Id know.”
“Youre grieving. You cant accept hes gone.”
“My son is alive. Stop speaking of him in the past.”
No plea could sway her. Yet, hours later, she relentedbut refused black attire, wearing a blue coat instead. Clutching a thick black bag, she never let go. Her daughter-in-law said nothingat least shed come.
The cemetery lay under heavy clouds that day. As the pallbearers began sealing the coffin, the mother stepped forward, pale as mist. She set the bag down, drew out an axe, andbefore anyone could reactswung.
The crack of splitting wood echoed. One strike, then another. The coffin split near in two.
Silence. Hands flew to mouths; footsteps shuffled back. The vicar bowed his head, as if wishing to vanish. Thena gasp.
“Its empty!”
Chaos erupted. Men accosted the gravediggers; someone phoned the police. The daughter-in-laws purse dropped from numb fingers. The mother stood over the wreckage, knuckles white around the axe handle.
“I told you,” she whispered, clear as ice. “He isnt here.”
A thin man in a groundskeepers uniform pushed through the crowd. Hesitating, then confessing:
“The body it was taken. Last night. Two men cameofficial paperssaid it was for a second autopsy in another city. I I didnt know itd be like this.”
The words cut like winter air. Where was he taken? Who were they?
Police arrived swiftly, questioning witnesses. But the worst came later: no transport was logged at the morgue.
Instead of her sons name, the record read *”Disposalclerical error.”* Someone had erased all traces of his death or faked it entirely.
The mother sank onto a bench, gripping a splintered coffin plank. Not despair in her eyesresolve. Alive or not, shed find him. And if he was truly gone, shed unearth those who denied him even peace.
