Chapter 2

Ava' s hands were shaking so badly she could barely hold her phone steady.

The live stream was still running. Thousands of eyes were on her, on the open coffin, on the horrifying scratches inside the lid.

Liam grabbed the coffin, his face twisted with disgust. "Let' s just get this over with."

He tipped it on its side. My bones, wrapped in the tattered remains of my best suit, clattered onto the muddy grass. A sickening, hollow sound.

Ava flinched, a small cry escaping her lips.

The comments section went wild.

user8871: He' s desecrating the body!

LiamIsAnAngel: No! Liam is cleansing it! The body is just a vessel for the evil spirit!

TrueCrimeJunkie22: This is a crime scene. Someone should call the cops.

SpookyGurl666: Burn it! You have to burn the bones. It's the only way to be sure. Let the fire purify everything.

That last comment caught Liam' s eye. A cruel smile spread across his face.

"She' s right, Ava," he said, his voice low and intense. "We can' t just scatter the ashes. We have to burn him. Erase him completely."

I screamed in my silent, ethereal way. No! I' m not haunting you, you bastard. You' re the reason I' m trapped here. You put me in the ground.

I wasn' t haunting his dreams. I was stuck in my own nightmare, forced to relive the last terrifying moments of my life every single night. The darkness. The lack of air. The splintering wood under my tearing fingernails.

Liam pulled a small can of lighter fluid from his duffel bag. He had planned this. He had come here tonight intending to do this all along.

He began to douse my remains, the chemical smell sharp and sickening even to me.

"You thought you could get away with it, didn' t you, Daniel?" he sneered, kicking at my skull. It rolled a few inches in the mud. "Thought you could ruin my life and then just die. But you couldn' t even do that right. You had to come back. You had to haunt me."

Ava just stood there, clutching the diary to her chest, her face a mask of conflict. Part of her was horrified, but another part, the part that had been fed Liam' s poison for five years, was screaming that this was justice.

"Say goodbye, you pathetic loser," Liam snarled, pulling a lighter from his pocket.

It was then, in the stark glare of the floodlight, that Ava saw them clearly for the first time. The scratches. Not just on the lid, but everywhere. The inside of the coffin was destroyed.

Her breath hitched.

Those weren' t the marks of a restless spirit. They were the marks of someone who was alive. Someone desperately trying to get out.

My final moments flooded back to me. The crushing weight of the dirt. The taste of soil in my mouth. My lungs burning, screaming for air that wasn' t there. My fingers breaking as I clawed, clawed, clawed at the lid, hoping someone would hear me. Hoping Ava would find me.

But no one came.

The only person who knew I was down there was the one now standing over my bones with a can of lighter fluid.

As Liam flicked the lighter, the small flame casting dancing shadows, Ava' s gaze fell from the scratches to the diary in her hands. Her thumb brushed against the worn leather.

Something clicked. A connection. A doubt so profound it made her stomach clench.

"Wait," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Liam didn' t hear her. He was too caught up in his performance. He lowered the flame toward the soaked bones.

"Liam, wait!" Ava screamed, launching herself forward.

She knocked the lighter from his hand. It sputtered and died in the wet grass.

"What the hell, Ava?" he yelled, turning on her. "I was about to set myself free!"

"The scratches," she said, pointing a trembling finger at the open coffin. "He was... he was alive."

Liam laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "Don' t be stupid. He died in the car crash. The coroner said so. He' s just a ghost, a powerful one. He' s trying to trick you."

He reached for the lighter, but Ava was faster. She scooped it up and backed away, holding the diary in front of her like a shield.

"No," she said, her voice gaining strength. "No more. Not until I read this."

She looked down at the diary, at the familiar scrawl of my name on the cover. For the first time in five years, she was going to listen to my voice instead of his.