The little baby keeps pointing at his father’s coffin, what happens next is stunning

Papa is crying inside. The cold room suddenly became suffocating. Clara felt the blood in her veins freeze.

No, it couldn’t be. But then, a faint sound echoed from the coffin. Thud! No one spoke.

No one dared to move. Was it just an illusion? Then, the sound came again. Thud! Thud! This time, it wasn’t just Clara who heard it.

The crowd started to stir. Madam Rose trembled, making the sign of the cross over and over. Dear God! She whispered.

Margaret stammered, Clara, we should open the coffin. Clara couldn’t breathe. But just as she was about to step forward, a voice rang out.

No one is to touch it. Everyone turned. Henry had returned.

He stood at the entrance of the church, his eyes burning with anger. Don’t let superstition cause chaos. This is ridiculous.

But Clara couldn’t shake the growing dread. She looked around. The villagers were trembling, their eyes shifting between fear and doubt.

Thud! Thud! Another sound. Clara’s face turned pale. Henry clenched his fists, his voice laced with a dangerous warning.

No one is opening that coffin. But his very words only made Clara more certain. He was afraid of something.

The St. Michael’s Church church was silent, but fear spread through it like a raging storm. The knocking from the coffin left everyone frozen in place. The flickering candles on the altar cast trembling shadows on the cold stone walls.

Clara felt her heart nearly stop. She stared at the oak coffin the place where Lucy had just said Samuel was crying. No one is opening the coffin.

Henry’s voice rang out, sharp and frantic. Everyone calm down. It’s just the wind.

Just the wood contracting from the weather. But no one believed him. Wood contracting makes knocking sounds.

Madame Rose whispered, her eyes haunted. An elderly man, James, a longtime friend of Samuel’s father, stood up, his voice firm and unwavering. Henry, why are you afraid of opening the coffin? If you have nothing to hide, let us check.

I’m not afraid of anything. Henry nearly shouted. But Clara noticed how his hands were clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Matthew stepped forward, his eyes sharp as a blade. Then let us open it. Thud! The coffin knocked again.

Several women in the village shrieked, clutching on to one another. The somber funeral had transformed into a living nightmare. Lucy clung to her mother’s dress, tears welling in her big eyes.

Mama! Papa is calling you. Clara trembled, but something inside her was burning. She looked up at Henry, her unease turning into a deep, unsettling certainty.

What are you hiding, Henry? she demanded, her voice rough with emotion. Henry’s eyes widened. Are you insane, Clara? You want to open a coffin just because of a child’s nonsense.

And what about the knocking? Clara shot back. The wind! I told you, it’s just the wind, he nearly roared. Then let us open it and prove you’re right.

Matthew interrupted, stepping forward. No one spoke. The entire church held its breath.

Henry swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on the coffin as if it were a monster. No, he screamed, his voice cracking. No one is to touch it.

But his outburst only condemned him further. James stepped forward, his old yet commanding voice cutting through the tension. Henry, if you keep resisting, you’re only making yourself look more suspicious.

Henry glared at him, his lips pressed into a tight line. Sweat began to bead on his forehead. Suddenly, Lucy let out a piercing scream…