I'm standing beneath a starry sky on the edge of a jagged cliff.

Ocean waves crash against a rocky shore far below, churning up swirling sea foam bathed in silvery moonlight.

My hair whips around me; the wind stings my eyes.

I stand for a long time, looking down at the raging seas.

Somewhere in that dark ocean, the bus is sinking, a metal coffin falling forever.

I can feel the cold interior slick with blood; I can hear my classmates calling me.

There's a tug in my chest, like an invisible string pulling me forward.

Somehow I know that if I look too long, I'll float out to sea, and I'll never be able to swim back.

So I focus my attention on the pale white ribbon of sand that stretches like a snake out along the base of the cliffs far below, glowing faintly with trapped moonlight.

A procession of figures in silver robes wind along the beach in a line, single file, as small as ants from this distance.

I lean over the precipice to get a better look, and a gust of wind knocks me right over the edge. I fall screaming.

Torrents of freezing air wrap me up, rake over me like cold fingers.

The ground rushes up to meet me; I try to close my eyes but I can't.

At the last moment, time seems to slow, and I drift down to the beach like a feather on a gentle breeze.

Sand billows into the air as I touch down, glinting and sparkling like a thousand tiny diamonds.

I look up and down the beach.

The silver-robed people are gone, but their footprints are pressed into the sand.

So I follow their tracks up the beach, until a dark mass looms on the horizon. As I move closer, it takes the shape of a huge cathedral of twisted metal, driftwood and sea-glass windows, tucked into the side of the cliffs like a bird's nest.

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I don't want to go in, but I've been following the footprints for too long, and I no longer have a choice.

An invisible force pushes me forward, and I stumble along the sand, through the open doors of the strange church.

It's pitch black inside, save for a single lit candle planted in the sand at my feet. I kneel down and pick it up, bathing the far end of the aisle in a halo of golden light.

I move forward slowly, past the empty pews. Row by row, empty seats covered in shattered glass and the stink of dried blood.

I reach the darkness at the end of the aisle.

Where the altar should be, there's a funeral pyre of worm-eaten wood and dried brown kelp.

I smell rot, salt, decay.

Blood and saltwater.

That's when I see her. Bea is standing next to me, staring at the pyre, her eyes monstrously large and glassy, like the eyes of a fish.

Her grey hair is wet and wreathed with slimy green seaweed.

She raises one skeletal finger, and points at the pyre in front of us. I raise the candle, casting the light forward. The pyre grows, stretching from one end of the church to the other.

Bea clicks her fingers, and a row of naked bodies on their backs appear, stretched out in a line, packed head-to-toe as tight as sardines.

I walk down the line, kneeling down and illuminating each face with the candlelight one by one.

I recognize them all.

Ana Edwards.

Payton Brown.

Oliver Chan.

Melanie Tyler-Jones.

Evan.

Mia.

His face hidden in shadows that even the candlelight can't dispel. Her face twisted in confusion, mouth open mid-scream, pale and drowned, a crown of blood soaking into the kelp. I watch as blood bubbles up around her dead blue lips, trickling down her chin, swirling into the shape of a single red rose, which unfurls out of her mouth, releasing a sickly sweet perfume into the air.

I feel a scream rising in the back of my throat, and I want to snuff out the light, return this scene to the darkness where it belongs.

Where I can no longer see it.

"That won't do any good," Bea whispers into my ear. "It'll always be there. The rot's burrowed deep, my sweet."

Suddenly I know what I came here to do. I touch the hungry candle to the bed of kelp. Tongues of flame leap up, devour the funeral pyre, twisting and tasting.

A deafening, thundering sound rings out behind me.

I turn around, and I see that the church is flooded with brilliant golden light, and the pews are suddenly full of people. They're dressed in dinner jackets and fancy suits, cocktail dresses and fine jewelry, as if they're enjoying a night at the opera.

They're clapping.

Horrified, I recognize Evan's parents, sitting next to Mia's mom and dad and brother and sister. The parents of all my dead classmates applaud me as their children burn.

They start to cheer, a babble of frantic sound.

Slowly, the words become clear.

"Into the fire. Into the fire. Into the fire."

They are all looking at me, expectant, waiting for the finishing act.

I look to my side but Bea is gone.

The inferno blazes before me, and I know.

I didn't deserve to live. I shouldn't be here. I belong with them.

So I turn back to the chanting, clapping crowd, and I bow low to the ground, flashing a triumphant smile before stepping backwards into the fire.

As the flames swallow me, I see a figure on the far end of the aisle, running towards me, arms outstretched.

He's screaming my name.

Too late.