A boy was sitting by his mother’s grave, crying loudly: a passing man approached him and learned something terrible 😨😱
It was a gray morning. A light drizzle lazily streamed down the marble tombstones. A fog hung over the cemetery.
At the far end of the path, among fresh wreaths and dark, still damp soil, stood a small boy. No more than seven years old. Thin, in a worn jacket, his cheeks streaked with tears. He was kneeling at the grave, hugging the stone headstone, pressing his cheek to the cold slab.
He wasn’t shouting, not calling out—just crying softly, silently. His lips trembled, his shoulders quivered. He caressed the earth as if whispering something to it, to the ground, to his mother.
A boy was sitting by his mother’s grave, crying loudly: a passing man approached him and learned something terrible
From the other side of the cemetery, a man was walking. Tall, stately, in a formal suit—he had recently buried his own wife. His gaze was distant, his face weary. He was headed toward her grave when he noticed the boy.
A strange feeling stirred in his heart. The man slowed his pace, then walked toward the child.
“Excuse me…” he said, stopping beside him. “I’m so sorry. Was this your mother?”
The boy didn’t answer. He just pressed closer to the grave.
“I… I recently lost my wife. It’s hard. To lose someone you love more than life itself…” The man bent down and gently placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t be here alone. Is anyone helping you? Do you have somewhere to go?”
The boy slowly turned his head. His eyes were red, full of pain and fear. He stared at the man for a long moment and then, almost in a whisper, said:
“Sir… my mother is alive. She was buried alive. I heard her. But no one would listen to me. Please… help.”
The man recoiled.
“What did you say? 😱😨”
Continuation 👇👇
“She’s alive. She was screaming… but no one could hear. I tried to tell the adults, but they just hugged me and said I was sick… but she’s alive…” The boy’s voice trembled, yet there was an eerie calmness in it.
The man took a step back, feeling an inexplicable fear rising in his chest. He didn’t know what to say. After a moment, he nodded:
“Listen, I… I’ll talk to someone. I promise. But right now… you shouldn’t be here alone. Let me walk you home.”
The boy silently stood up. He didn’t smile, but there was a flicker of hope in his eyes.
Later that evening, the man told a friend about the encounter. They both became intrigued—there was something about the boy’s words that struck a chord.
A boy was sitting by his mother’s grave, crying loudly: a passing man approached him and learned something terrible
“His name is Matthew,” the friend later reported after some investigation. “His mother really did die. Very suddenly. A heart attack. He was at home with her… didn’t understand for a long time what had happened. Trauma, shock. He’s with a foster family now. He suffers from acute reactive psychosis caused by grief. At times like this, a person can believe in the impossible. Especially a child. Especially when he’s lost the most precious person in his life.”
The man sat in silence. He couldn’t shake the memory of the boy’s desperate words: “I heard her… she was screaming.”
