One of the eeriest tales my uncle ever told me was about a flood so heavy it swallowed the roads. He said as the rain poured and the water rose, he stood watching the current rage across the wooden bridge near his home. Then he saw them—coffins. Real coffins, drifting through the flood like a grim procession. Some sealed, some cracked open, bumping against each other as the water carried them into the night. He never said what he saw inside—only that the sight haunted him forever.