They say the dead find ways to speak. I never imagined the message would come from a horse.
The morning of my husband’s funeral dawned shrouded in mist, the kind that clings to the skin and presses down on the soul. Even the sky seemed to mourn, its silence heavy as the mourners moved in solemn procession through the cobbled streets of Halebrook. At the head walked Astoria—Tom’s beloved mare—her hooves steady, her head low with grief.
But then something changed.
She stopped.
Not faltered—stopped. Her entire body stiffened, muscles coiled tight, ears flicking back as if she’d heard something none of us could. And then she moved—not with fear, but fury.
With a shriek that tore through the quiet, Astoria surged forward. Her calm was gone, replaced by something primal, something knowing. The crowd scattered, too stunned to scream. I stood frozen as she reared high, eyes wild, and came crashing down—onto the coffin.
Wood exploded under the weight of her hooves.
Gasps. Screams. Silence.
Then—stones.
Not a body.
Just stones.
Rough, cold, and stacked crudely in the vague shape of a man.
My husband—gone.
My heart refused to understand, but my eyes could not deny it. The coffin meant to carry Tom to rest held only an imposter’s weight. A mockery of flesh. The final gesture of a deceiver.
Astoria stood beside the wreckage, no longer frenzied but still. Her gaze locked onto mine—not wild now, but calm, almost sad. As if she had done what she must. As if she had known all along.
And I—his widow—was left not with closure, but with questions sharpened into daggers.
Who had taken my husband’s body?
Why the deception?
And what secret did Astoria uncover that the rest of us had not?
The townspeople looked to me, their faces drawn in horror and doubt. But I felt something shift within—grief giving way to grit.
That was the day I stopped mourning.
That was the day I started hunting.
🔹 Conclusion: The Stones in the Coffin
What should have been a final farewell became the opening wound of a mystery far deeper than death. My husband’s body had vanished, replaced with a cruel token—stones where love had once lived. Only Astoria, his horse, refused the lie. Her rebellion shattered more than the coffin. It shattered the illusion.
Now, with nothing but questions and a horse who still listens for the truth, I begin the journey Tom never finished.
I will follow the trail—through shadow, through silence, through whatever darkness stole him away.
Until I find him.
Alive or dead.
