Mr. Mathias was a a respectable citizen of a small French town, married to a woman less than half his age. He knew that his wife had married him out of duty to her uncle, and after three years of marriage, became convinced that she actually hated him. In fact, Mr, Mathias suspected that his wife loved another. So he did what any man in such a position would do -he faked his own death. The funeral was a fine one, and eventually everyone left him alone in the cemetery.
Two hours after the ceremony, any one who might have been in the vault where the coffin rested would have certified to the truth of this statement. Two sharp clicks, like the snap of a spring-, resounded, and the coffin opened like a closet. Mr Mathias sat up, stretching his limbs just like a man waking up. Through a grating in the ceiling a little light entered. Mr Mathias stood up, slowly rubbing his slightly benumbed knees.
Taking all in all, he felt comfortable, quite comfortable. The dose of the narcotic, which he had carefully measured himself before taking, had had the effect he desired. People had supposed him dead and buried, so much the better.
Since a long while Mr Mathias had made his preparations. The vault had been fitted up with great care. In it were suitable clothing, food, and a few bottles of good wine. As nothing stimulates the appetite more than a funeral, even if it is one’s own, Mr Mathias seated himself comfortably on his coffin, broke his fast and drank good luck to the future.
Mr. Mathias had a plan to surprise his young wife, possibly with her lover. What could possibly go wrong? Find out what went wrong in this tale from French author Jules Lermina at The Victorian Book of the Dead. -via Strange Company