Vivianne dressed quietly for her grandmother’s final wake. She hadn’t gone the day before—she’d been feeling unwell and haunted by the same disturbing dreams that plagued her every time she closed her eyes.

She sighed as she remembered Tashia’s stories. Vivianne never wanted to interfere with Sharlene’s relationship, but guilt gnawed at her. She could no longer ignore the things she had seen—especially between Sharlene’s husband and Sheila, the friend she once trusted.

Tashia had already gone ahead to help with preparations, staying overnight to rest. Vivianne studied her reflection in the mirror. She wore a plain white blouse and pants, her hair tied neatly back. Taking one last steadying breath, she stepped outside.

A strange sensation crept over her—as if someone were following. She turned, scanning the street, but found nothing. Brushing off the unease, she waited for a ride, torn between heading straight to the church or stopping by the house first.

I need to make it up to them, she thought. So she decided to go home and join the others on the way to the church.

The trip was quick; the streets were quiet. She paid her fare, and as she stepped down, she caught two people looking at her, whispering and raising their brows. Vivianne simply walked past them, clearing her throat as she did. Their faces shifted with surprise, but they said nothing.

Inside the house, the air was heavy with grief and murmurs. She spotted Sharlene at once—holding little Ashley in her arms. From a distance, Vivianne watched them quietly, waiting for the right moment to help.

Of course… there’s always a price to pay, she thought, her chest tightening.

She soon found Tashia and approached her.

“Good thing you made it,” Tashia said.

Vivianne nodded. “What can I do to help?”

“There’s nothing left. Everything’s ready,” Tashia replied. The ceremony was about to begin.

At the church, Vivianne was surprised by how many people had come. She quietly took a seat in a corner—but then froze.

Across the room stood a woman in black mourning clothes.

She smiled.

Not kindly—but eerily.

A shiver ran through Vivianne’s body. Goosebumps prickled her skin as she tried to shake off the feeling.

Tashia noticed. She sat beside her and whispered, “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Tash…” Vivianne’s voice quivered.

Tashia turned to her, worried.

“I saw her again—the woman in mourning clothes from my dream. She’s here.”

Tashia frowned. “Sis, we’re all in mourning clothes.”

“No, Tashia. This one… she’s in all black.”

Vivianne looked around again—but the woman was gone.

“Sis…” Tashia sighed softly.

Then Vivianne gasped. The woman was right beside her now—smiling with a strange, gentle expression. She lifted a finger to her lips.

Shhh. Don’t make any noise.

Vivianne froze. The woman’s face was beautiful, but bruised and torn. Her hands clutched a bouquet of wilted roses.

I’m only here to offer my condolences to your grandmother, the woman whispered, her voice thin and cold, carried by the wind.

Vivianne couldn’t speak. She knew what she was seeing wasn’t of this world.

Suddenly, the church doors opened. The coffin was being carried out toward the cemetery. When Vivianne turned back, the woman had vanished—leaving behind only the faint scent of wilted flowers.

Someone shook her shoulder gently.

“Sis, don’t push yourself,” Tashia said, worried. “You need to rest.”

“What happened to me?” Vivianne murmured, dazed.

“I’ve been talking to you, but you were just staring into space,” Tashia said softly.

“H-huh?” Vivianne blinked rapidly as the crowd began to leave.

“Come on,” Tashia said.

Vivianne nodded weakly. They joined the slow-moving procession, following the tradition of a solemn funeral march.

At the cemetery, grief hung thick in the air. Tears flowed freely as their grandmother was laid to rest. Though Vivianne hadn’t been especially close to her, the loss still felt heavy in her chest.

Then, by the coffin—she saw her again.

The same woman.

She placed the wilted roses gently atop the casket. Then, without a sound, she turned and vanished into the crowd.

Vivianne’s gaze dropped—and her stomach twisted. Muddy footprints trailed behind where the woman had stood. Dark red mingled with the dirt.

Blood.

Her breath hitched. Her body felt feverish, her head light. Still, she forced herself to stay composed.

Back at the house, Sharlene stood in her white dress, exhaustion and grief etched on her face. She held Ashley, who had fallen asleep after crying herself out.

Sharlene handed Vivianne an envelope and offered a tired smile.

“Just tell me if you need anything, Vivianne.”

Vivianne accepted it without counting. Tashia was handed one as well.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

She turned to leave, body aching with fatigue.

“I’m heading out,” Vivianne said softly.

Sharlene nodded. Tashia joined her as they stepped outside.

Halfway down the road, Vivianne turned back—and froze.

Through the open doorway, she saw a woman gently stroking Ashley’s hair.

The same woman in black.

She smiled.

Vivianne’s blood ran cold. She turned away quickly and kept walking—silent, trembling, her heart pounding against her ribs.