A boy wailed aloud while sitting at his mother’s grave. A passerby noticed something horrible 
A gloomy morning. There’s a little drizzle on the marble headstones. There is a mist over the graveyard.
At the far end of the path, amid fresh wreaths and the still-wet, dark mud, is a small boy. No older than seven. Wearing a frayed jacket, she was thin and had tear-streaked cheeks. He kneels by a grave, cradles the stone and lays his cheek to the cold slab.
He weeps quietly and softly, without shouting or shrieking. His lips tremble and his shoulders shiver. As if he were talking something to the earth, to his mother, to the land, he strokes it.
On the other side of the cemetery, a man is strolling. He is tall, well-dressed, and clothed in a formal suit. He recently buried his wife. His eyes are vacant and his face is weathered. He suddenly turns to look at the child as he gets closer to her grave.
There’s a strange stirring in his heart. The man slows down and approaches the child.
He says, “I’m sorry,” as he stops beside him. – I’m truly sorry. Was your mother present?
The boy says nothing. He just pushes himself in the direction of death.
— I Recently, my wife was buried. It’s difficult. Losing a loved one you value more than life itself — The man leans over and places a soft touch on the boy’s shoulder. — You shouldn’t be here alone. Is someone helping you? Do you have a place to go?
Slowly, the boy’s head rotates. He has agony and terror in his blazing eyes. He looks at the man for a long moment before whispering:
— Sir… My mother is still living here. She was buried alive. I heard her. However, no one listens to me. Please help me.
The man winced.
— Could you elaborate?
She’s still alive. No one heard her scream. The adults just held me and said I was sick when I tried to inform them. She is still alive, though. The boy’s voice had a strange calmness to it, despite its tremors.
The man stepped back, a cold, inexplicable panic rising in his chest. He couldn’t think of anything to say. A bit later, he nodded:
I’ll talk to someone, so pay attention. I promise. But for the time being, you shouldn’t be by yourself. Allow me to go with you.
Quite quietly, the child stood up. He didn’t smile, but there was a ray of optimism in his eyes.
Later that evening, the man told a friend about the encounter. The boy’s remarks deeply resonated with both of them, and they were enthralled.
“His name is Matthew,” the friend said after conducting some research. — His mother did indeed die. Sadly, too. a heart attack. He was at home with her. They struggled for a long time to understand what had happened. Trauma, stress. He’s in foster care right now. He has reactive psychosis brought on by shock. In some circumstances, people may believe things that don’t seem plausible. especially a child. especially someone who has lost the one they care about the most.
The man sat and there was stillness. He remembered the boy’s frantic voice and said, “I heard her… she was screaming.”
