I’d have bet cash money Sarah Pickard wouldn’t be back for the funeral, but there she was, still carrying her suitcase, plopped down in the front pew.

It was a nice service, plain, like Ed would have wanted. At the eulogy, Hank laid it bare: Ed was a different man after Sarah left him. Everyone knew he kept a picture of her, saved all her letters, never found anything else to live for.

After that, the priest continued with the service. We’d just begun the Lord’s Prayer when there was a scratching inside the casket.

We all shut up right quick.

The scratching got louder, and the coffin lid flipped open. Ed sat up, eyes dull red, and began climbing to his feet. People howled. Kids shrieked.

And then Sarah yanked a long bamboo tube out of her suitcase and put it to her lips. A feathered Voudoun dart smacked right into Ed’s chest and stuck there. He slumped still.

The air crystallized into shocked silence.

Hank finally coughed and muttered, “Let’s hope this time the damn fool will finally get over her.”