Everyone thought the little boy was just overcome with grief, until he pulled an old hand saw from his coat and went straight for the brass latch.

While Arthur was shouting at Dr. Vance, his back turned to the catafalque, Toby acted.

With the terrifying agility of a panicked animal, the boy let go of the brass frame, grabbed the wooden handle of the hand saw from the carpet, and scrambled back to his knees beside the lock.

"Toby, NO!" Julian yelled, realizing what the boy was doing.

Toby didn't hesitate. He jammed the jagged steel teeth of the old hand saw directly into the narrow gap between the brass latch mechanism and the rosewood frame.

SCRAPEEEEE.

The sharp, terrible sound of rusted steel grinding against brass and hardwood echoed through the high-ceilinged chapel like a dying scream.

Arthur turned around, his face morphing into a mask of pure terror. "GET AWAY FROM THERE!"

Arthur lunged forward, reaching out his large hands to snatch his son away from the box.

CRACK-CLACK!

Toby threw all his small body weight against the wooden handle of the saw, using it as a crude lever. The rusted brass latch pin—which had been hastily screwed into the wood late the previous night—snapped under the sudden, leveraged pressure. The metal housing split with a loud pop, scattering tiny brass screws across the polished altar floor.

The iron latch fell open, hanging loosely by a single hinge.

Arthur froze mid-stride, his hands hovering in the air, his face draining of every single drop of blood until he looked paler than a corpse.

The heavy rosewood lid moved.

It didn't swing open wide, but it shifted half an inch upward, a faint gap appearing along the dark red velvet lining of the casket rim.

From inside the narrow dark gap came a distinct, shuddering sound.