I was invited to a funeral in the wee hours of the morning, and it was my name on the gravestone

I was sorting through my mother's things when I got the news.

A few days ago, an unexpected car accident took the life of my mother.

Today is her first seven.

I wore a necklace around my neck that contained a pinch of her ashes.

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I decided to stay with my mother tonight after I sent her away.

Because she's the only thing I mean in the world.

My mother's belongings were burned almost as well, but I kept the cell phone she used for personal reasons.

Even though the card number has been cancelled.

I sealed my mother's phone in a plastic bag and unscrewed the medicine I had prepared.

Just then --

My cell phone is ringing.

The room was quiet, and the sudden sound of the bell made my heart tremble.

My circle was small and my life was boring. Hardly anyone except my mother called me on a daily basis.

Curious, I took my phone out of my pocket.

The moment I saw the contact, my heart skipped a beat, and then it beat out almost uncontrollably.

The caller was none other than my mother.

But mother's mobile phone clearly in front of me, and the number has been written off!

The phone kept ringing and I felt nervous and suffocated.

After much hesitation, I decided to take the call.

But just as I was trembling about to press the answer button, the ring went away.

I don't know why, but I'm relieved.

Before I could think, I got another message on my phone.

The same number as the mother.

"Don't go to the funeral, live," the message read.

There was a chill behind me. My mother's funeral was over, and there was no mourning.

Wondering who was playing the prank, I deleted the message.

Just then, another unfamiliar message popped up on the phone.

"Please attend your funeral promptly at three o 'clock in the morning."

The details of the funeral home address and the good environment of the funeral home are also marked below the information.

I can not help but frown, now the unscrupulous business, in order to make a profit actually send this kind of junk advertising.

I was angry and deleted the message with one click.

Which know just deleted, and there is a barrage of news.

"Please attend your funeral promptly at three o 'clock in the morning."

"Please attend your funeral promptly at three o 'clock in the morning."

Getting bored, I took the medicine I had prepared and drank it in one gulp.

02.

The next time I opened my eyes, I was on the ground.

I clearly remember that I had taken pills to kill myself, how did not die.

Just then, the phone in front of me heard a message.

I picked up my phone, and it was the same message.

"Please attend your funeral promptly at three o 'clock in the morning."

I glanced at the watch on my wrist. It was 1 a.m.

I decided to know what it was like before I died.

I took a cab and gave the driver the address of the funeral home in the information.

I sat in the back of the driver's car as a matter of safety.

After walking for about half an hour, I couldn't help feeling that something wasn't quite right.

Yeah, the driver hasn't said a word to me since I got on the bus.

I tried to watch the driver in the rear view mirror, but it was dark outside and the Windows were down.

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I tried to watch the driver through the tiny rearview mirror.

I tried to sit up straight and look into the rearview mirror.

But suddenly four eyes to each other, the driver he has been staring at me!

I looked away in a panic, behind the rise of a trace of cool.

Why didn't the driver look where he was going, but kept staring at me.

The driver seemed unconcerned by my observation and still did not speak.

I tried to look cautiously in the rearview mirror, only to bump into the line of sight again.

The driver's eyes stared very large, because too hard, you can clearly see the white part of the red blood.

This time I didn't look away, and he just stared at me.

Looking ahead is the rugged mountain road, I was a little uneasy, finally angry to open his mouth:

"Driver, don't you have to watch where you're going? Do you know it's dangerous?"

But instead of looking away, the driver grinned grotesquely.

The look in his eyes made me so uncomfortable that I closed my eyes and rested against the window.

Just as I was beginning to feel sleepy, music started playing in the car.

I can feel the hairs on my body stand up.

For it is clear that this music is the music of the dead.

"What are you doing? How can you play a funeral song at this hour?"

I could not bear it, angry hammer hammer in front of the seat, shouted to the front.

The driver didn't seem to expect my reaction to be so violent and quickly slammed on the brakes.

Out of inertia, I lunged forward and hit my head on the back of the car.

"I'm sorry, ma 'am. It was a mistake."

It was a low, slightly husky male voice, and the driver spoke at last.

Without waiting for me to react, the driver reignited and drove on.

I'm a little restless, which is a pretty lame excuse.

After all, no one prepares dead people's music in a car.

I couldn't wait to get off. I checked my watch. It was 2 a.m.

I couldn't help urging, "Driver, please hurry up. I need to be there by 3 a.m."

I felt that cold look again. He was watching me in the rearview mirror.

For a moment, I heard his voice, cold and a little crying.

"Usually people who go to the funeral home at this hour, they die very badly."

I shuddered.

I don't know if he's talking about the dead or me.

It's been a bad ride, and I'm not going to talk to him again.

Before long, however, I felt a chill on the soles of my feet.

I took the opportunity to look down, there was a trace of fog.

It came from the front seat.

The air conditioning outlet in the front row is emitting a little bit of cool air.

I looked in the rearview mirror and said: "Are you very hot driver? The air conditioning temperature is too low."

The driver looked back at me, and then I saw what he was like.

The driver's face was white, without any colour, and even his lips were purplish.

My eyes widened and I felt a chill down my spine.

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After a while, he slowly turned back and opened the front passenger compartment.

The moment the storage box was opened, it oozed scarlet liquid.

It was clearly blood!

I covered my mouth in horror to prevent myself from making a sound because I was so frightened.

The clear bag in the storage bin, containing pieces of flesh that match the skin tone.

My first thought was that the driver was a murderer.

But before I could speak, the driver spoke again:

"Don't be afraid. That's my daughter."

"I'm afraid the body will melt. I turned on the air conditioner. Please bear with me more."

The driver's voice was cool and almost devoid of emotion.

I was already trembling with fear. My mind was blank. I just wanted to get to my destination.

This is all so weird.

I don't know how long after, the driver came to a halt.

"Here we are, you two."

As if I had been instructed, I scrambled to unbuckle my seat belt and rushed out of the door.

And the next thing I know, why did he say you guys.

I clearly came here alone.