C101 Dec. 24 —The Corpse That talked.

This can’t be.

My hands trembled around the photograph. The entire shopping mall seemed to blur into silence, the distant hum of voices and Christmas music fading until the only sound left was my own jagged breathing.

The photo in my hand was new. I knew how my mom looked when she died—late thirties. But here, she seemed older, late forties. The strangest part? A dried tear stain at the edge