The coffin was always sitting there, like it was bolted to the ground, reluctant to move. No matter what anybody said, no-one would go near it. “It’s haunted!” They would shout at the prospect of going too close.

But not me.

I wasn’t scared of “ghosts” in fact, I thought it was all a bunch of stupid rumors that people had created long ago to frighten their children. Nonetheless, I needed to see that coffin. I needed to run my fingers in the interlocking crevices in between the worn stone.

It was calling me. I just knew it. Everything happened so fast. One minute, I was in my four-poster bed lazily reading the boring book our professor had assigned, and the next I saw a bluish-white light out the window.

The coffin.

I hoisted myself out of bed and trudged over to the window, it was pitch dark outside aside from that light. I had checked the clock, but I don’t remember how late it was. Slowly, I had crawled across the damp grass, trying to make my way silently to the coffin.

Once I had made it, the first thing I saw was roses. Beautiful roses, none were wilted, they were alive as if each one had been tended to carefully every day. That when I saw her. A long white trailing dress. It shimmered against the ground, the little droplets of water illuminated by the glow that was emanating from her body.

That was when she noticed me. She reached a hand out, I felt my hand instantly start pulling towards her. I didn’t try to stop it. She was beautiful, even though I couldn’t see her face.

Once my hand was in hers, she looked up. A horrible ghastly sight. You couldn’t even call it a face. I was revolted. Before I had any time to ponder this grotesque thing before me, she yanked me closer.

The coffin swung open and I was forced into it. I was being buried alive.

This letter, I’m writing this from the coffin. I had a folded piece of paper and a pen in my left pocket. The light from the women is shining in through the cracks and holes in this dark and damp place.

My hope is that someone finds this letter, even if I’m dead by the time anyone reads it.

Beware of the lost bride.