It was a warm summer evening when I first heard the cries. Soft, mournful wails that seemed to come from the very depths of the earth. I was sitting in my study, absorbed in my work, when the sound interrupted my concentration. At first, I thought it was the wind, but as I listened more closely, I realized that the cries were too distinct, too human, to be attributed to the elements.
I was filled with an overwhelming sense of sadness and loss, and I knew that I had to find the source of the cries. I stepped outside and followed the sound until I reached the cemetery where my beloved daughter, Lily, was laid to rest. As I approached her grave, I saw that it was glowing with an otherworldly light.
I fell to my knees and called out to my daughter, begging her to stop crying. But the cries only grew louder, more intense, and I felt as though my heart was being torn from my chest. I spent many sleepless nights in the cemetery, trying to ease the suffering of my daughter’s restless soul. But nothing I did seemed to help.
Desperate for answers, I sought out the help of a wise old woman who lived on the edge of town. She was known for her knowledge of the supernatural and her ability to communicate with the dead. I told her of my daughter’s cries, and she listened with a sad, knowing look in her eyes.
“Your daughter’s soul is trapped in this world,” she said. “She is seeking the peace and comfort that she was denied in life.”
The wise woman gave me a series of rituals to perform, and I did as she instructed. I lit candles, recited incantations, and made offerings to the spirits of the dead. But still, the cries continued. They were more persistent now, more insistent. And I felt as though I was slowly losing my mind.
I turned to the local priest for help, but he was skeptical of my claims. He told me that I was simply suffering from grief and that my mind was playing tricks on me. But I knew what I had heard, and I refused to be dismissed.
One night, as I knelt by Lily’s grave, I heard a voice whisper, “Help me.” It was the voice of my daughter, and I felt a sudden surge of hope. I searched the cemetery, tearing up the earth and disturbing the graves in my desperation to find her. And finally, I stumbled upon a hidden chamber beneath the ground.
In the chamber, I saw Lily, her soul trapped in a cage of bones and thorns. She was wailing and screaming, her cries echoing through the darkness. I reached out to her, but the cage was locked, and I could not free her. I searched for the key, but it was nowhere to be found.
And so, I sit here, beside my daughter’s grave, listening to her cries and trying to find a way to ease her suffering. I have written this account in the hope that someone, somewhere, may have information that can help me. For I am a desperate father, torn between this world and the next, searching for a way to free my daughter’s soul from its eternal torment.