Cemetery Songs

Your decisions shape the echoes that rise from the dead. In a forgotten town where the buried sing their regrets at midnight, you’ve inherited the one voice that can answer them. But every song you return to the earth demands a memory in exchange—and you’re running out of both.

Cemetery Songs

Your decisions shape the echoes that rise from the dead. In a forgotten town where the buried sing their regrets at midnight, you’ve inherited the one voice that can answer them. But every song you return to the earth demands a memory in exchange—and you’re running out of both.

I never wanted this gift. Or curse. Or whatever the hell it is.

It started the night Grandma died. I was holding her hand when her lips moved one last time—not speaking, but singing. A low, haunting note that vibrated in my bones. Then silence. By midnight, the cemetery echoed with the same tune.

Now, I stand at the gate again, wind tugging my coat. My phone shows a text from Lila: 'They’re louder tonight. All singing the same line.'

I step onto the frost-covered path. The air thickens. At 00:13, the first voice rises—a man mourning a lost letter. Then another. And another.

But beneath them, something new: a child’s laugh, cut short. My chest tightens. I don’t remember having a sibling.

My hands shake as I open my mouth. Do I answer? Every song costs me a piece of who I am.

But if I don’t… what happens when the dead start demanding instead of asking?