Elias Thorn couldn’t escape the voice of the dead. Abel Carter’s words—accusatory and chilling—followed him through the restless hours of the night, seeping into his dreams like a dark fog.


    By morning, the gray light filtering through the cemetery’s ancient oaks felt thin and insubstantial, offering no real reprieve. Elias stood at the edge of Abel’s grave, staring down at the turned earth as if expecting it to stir.


    “You’ve dragged me into something, haven’t you?” he muttered under his breath.


    The town of Hollowshade had a way of swallowing secrets whole, leaving them to fester in the silence. If Abel Carter’s death wasn’t an accident, then someone had buried more than just his body.


    Elias needed answers.


    The market square was alive with the hum of early-morning trade. Women haggled over the price of fresh bread, and men unloaded crates of salted fish from carts that smelled faintly of the river’s brackish waters. Beneath the noise, though, there was an edge—an unspoken tension that made the air feel heavier.


    Elias kept his head down as he weaved through the crowd. He wasn’t a familiar sight in the square, and his presence drew a few curious glances. The townsfolk whispered about him often enough—a man who spent his life among the dead couldn’t be entirely normal, after all.


    He pushed open the creaking door of The Rusted Anchor, letting the familiar scent of smoke and ale wash over him. The tavern was dimly lit, its corners filled with shadows that seemed to breathe. Marla, the owner, stood behind the bar, her sleeves rolled up and her sharp gaze flicking toward him as he approached.


    “Elias Thorn,” she said, leaning on the counter. “Not often we see you among the living.”


    He ignored the jab, lowering his voice. “What can you tell me about Abel Carter?”


    Her expression didn’t change, but her hands stilled, the rag she’d been using to polish a glass dropping to the counter. “Why are you asking?”Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    Elias hesitated. Telling her the truth seemed foolish, but lying wouldn’t get him far. “Let’s just say I have reason to believe his death wasn’t what it seemed.”


    Marla leaned in, her voice a low hiss. “Careful where you step, Thorn. Abel Carter had a lot of enemies, and not all of them are buried in your graveyard.”


    “Who?” Elias pressed.


    She shook her head. “Not here. Not now.”


    Before Elias could push further, a voice cut through the room.


    “Talkin’ about Abel again?”


    Elias turned to see Jonas, a fisherman with a permanent scowl etched into his weathered face. He was nursing a pint of ale, his chair tipped back precariously.


    “Something to add?” Elias asked.


    Jonas snorted. “Just that Abel was trouble, plain and simple. Drank too much, talked too loud, owed too many people. If someone did him in, I’d say good riddance.”


    “And if it wasn’t an accident?”


    Jonas shrugged. “Then you’ve got a lot of digging to do, gravedigger.”


    The words hit harder than Elias expected, and he left the tavern feeling more conspicuous than ever.


    Back at the cemetery, the shadows seemed longer than usual, stretching like skeletal fingers over the headstones. Elias stood before Abel’s grave again, the shovel in his hands feeling heavier than it should.


    “You wanted me to know something,” he murmured, kneeling beside the fresh earth. “So tell me.”


    The stillness pressed against him like a weight, and just as he was about to stand, the faintest whisper brushed his ears.


    “Look… beneath…”


    His heart stuttered. “Beneath what?”


    No answer.


    He hesitated only a moment before plunging the shovel into the soil. Each strike sent a jolt through his arms, but he worked with a grim determination. If the dead had chosen him, there was no turning back.


    After what felt like hours, the spade struck something solid. Elias dropped to his knees, his fingers clawing at the dirt until a small wooden chest emerged. It was simple, bound with rusted iron, but its weight in his hands felt monumental.


    Inside, wrapped in oil-stained cloth, was a journal. Its leather cover was cracked with age, and when Elias opened it, the pages released a faint, musty scent.


    The first entry was scrawled in a hurried hand:


    “They’re watching me. I know too much. If I disappear, it wasn’t the river that took me.”


    Elias read on, each line painting a darker picture of Abel Carter’s life. He had been embroiled in something far beyond debts and drunken quarrels—a web of smuggling, blackmail, and betrayal.


    One passage stopped him cold.


    “There’s a meeting tonight. I’ll confront them and end this. If I don’t return, this journal is my only proof.”


    Elias stared at the words until they blurred. Abel’s death hadn’t been a drunken accident or an act of nature—it was murder. And whoever was responsible might not be done silencing those who knew too much.


    A sudden rustle pulled him from his thoughts. He spun, his eyes scanning the gravestones. A figure moved between them, too quick to make out clearly, but its presence was unmistakable.


    “Who’s there?” Elias called, his voice breaking the stillness.


    No answer.


    He shoved the journal into his coat and stepped away from the grave, his heart pounding. The air felt heavy again, pressing against him as if the cemetery itself were alive and watching.


    By the time he reached the safety of his shed, Elias knew one thing for certain: whatever secrets Abel Carter had uncovered, they weren’t meant to see the light of day.


    But the dead had chosen him to uncover them—and the living might do anything to stop him.