The dead were going to return to life. By the "LIFO" method. That is: "Last in, first out" or, put another way: the last thing that went in would be the first to come out. The baker was the last to be buried. I remember it clearly. He was a man much loved in the village. It was a premature death, one no one expected. Heart attack. He was a man in his late fifties. Short in stature. Bald, with a thick mustache. He looked like some sort of police officer or firefighter. Only this policeman made bread.

  "Damn! I thought I'd never get out of there," said the baker, straightening up in his coffin.

  "Are you all right?" I said as I examined him.

  The man was dressed very elegantly. One might say he was in his finest attire. A black tuxedo with a matching bow tie. On his lapel he had a rosebud. The man sat upright.

  "What happened? Where am I? You are... the gravedigger..."

  "Mmm... Yes... You see... Emm... It's a long story."

  "What am I doing here? This is the cemetery. Where is my wife?"

  "Let me explain... Let's see how... Look at your watch."

  The man looked at his wristwatch. It was one of those expensive ones, gold with leather.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Look at the hands. They're moving backward."

  "Yes, it's broken," he said, without giving it much importance. "I was banging on the walls of the box and it may have been knocked."

  "No, that's not it. It isn't broken. All the watches are the same."

  "They all broke at the same time?"

  "No, listen... The watches aren't broken. It's the world that's broken, somehow."

  "Explain yourself, young man! You're not being very clear."

  I had not yet polished my welcome speech for the resurrected. With time I improved my explanation, so that the confused not-dead would understand as quickly as possible.

  "Look. Since you died three days ago, many things have happened. Time reversed. It began to move backward."

  "What? I died?"

  "That is no longer important."

  "What do you mean I'm dead? Am I in heaven?"

  "No, no. You're not in heaven. Time has stopped moving forward. Now it moves backward. We are all going to grow younger."

  "That makes no sense!"

  "I know! It makes no sense. But it's what we've been given to live through. Look at what you have on your lapel. A few days ago it was a rose. Its state has reversed."

  The man removed the rosebud and looked at it.

  "Is this a joke?"

  "I wish it were!"

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  The baker climbed out of his coffin and stretched his legs and arms. Like someone waking from a long and restorative sleep. He looked at his gravestone.

  "My name is written here."

  "Yes... I already told you... You died three days ago. I buried you myself."

  The man was visibly confused, looking in all directions.

  "This is my family mausoleum. This one here is my father," he said, pointing at a gravestone. "A great baker. The best."

  "Yes, I know."

  "And these are my grandparents. Also great bakers."

  I nodded. Like me, the man came from a lineage that probably went back to the invention of bread.

  "I don't understand anything," he said.

  "That's normal. We all go through the same thing..."

  "Have you all died?"

  "No, no. I mean we were all very confused by this phenomenon. It took us a long time to assimilate it."

  The man sat down on the ground, like a child, his gaze lost.

  "I still don't understand why I'm dressed like this."

  "Clothes for the dead."

  "Yes, clothes for the dead... And this watch... It was a wedding gift. Do you understand? It was kept away. I never wanted to wear it for fear of breaking it. And look at that. I've taken it to my grave."

  The baker stepped out of his family mausoleum. He raised his hand to his eyes, dazzled by the sun.

  "So... You're saying I'm dead."

  "Well, not dead, but you did die a few days ago."

  "Hello?" said a female voice in the distance.

  "Do you hear that?" said the baker, lifting his chin and sharpening his hearing.

  "Hello?" the female voice said.

  "Do you hear it? I heard someone," he said, gesturing with his hand for silence.

  "Is anyone there?" the female voice said.

  The baker walked toward the voice.

  "Damn," I said. "It's the witch."

  "What?" the baker said.

  I ran. I remembered that the day we buried the baker, we also buried the witch.

  "What do you mean the witch?" said the baker, running after me.

  I used my lever to break the gravestone. I grabbed the coffin and pulled hard. The woman flung the lid open. Startled, she exclaimed:

  "Fuck!"

  The woman climbed out of her coffin as quickly as she could. The baker saw the woman and understood what I meant by "the witch." That woman was "the medium" or the "tarot reader." She had devoted her life to predicting the future of others. But, for some reason, she could not predict her own death. She was a heavy woman. With abundant, graying, curly hair.

  "What happened? What am I doing here?"

  "You're the one who sees the future..." said the baker.

  The woman looked around.

  "What the fuck is this! Who put me in there?"

  The baker pointed at me.

  "You? What have I done to you?"

  "Yes... Well... It was me, but..." I said.

  "Why did you lock me in there?" the woman said.

  The baker pushed me aside with his hand, wanting to take over.

  "You're the seer... You can see the future. You'll know perfectly well what has happened here. Won't you?"

  "Emm... Yes... Well... My talent doesn't work like that..."

  "Of course..."

  The baker had had more than one argument with his wife. His sister-in-law had spent large sums of money on the services of that witch. She sold all kinds of products and services. From miracle stones to spells to attract love, ward off misfortune, remove the evil eye... The baker had always been skeptical and it annoyed him greatly to see his sister-in-law losing her money trying to find love. She was what some call a "spinster." Not one of those who enjoy themselves and live life. No, one of the desperate kind. She looked for a husband the way one looks for water in the desert. That witch gave her hope, charging her for all kinds of spells and enchantments.

  "Tell me..." said the baker. "What happened? Use your power."

  The woman was confused.

  "This man buried me. And I'm in the cemetery."

  "We all know that!" the baker said.

  The witch rubbed her eyes and looked at me.

  "You are... the one with the cat mask?"

  "What?" I said.

  "That's the last thing I remember. Someone, wearing a mask. Staring at me."

  The baker went pale, his eyes opening wide, as if they were about to leave their sockets, staring into the distance.

  "Now I remember... I saw the same thing... A man with a cat mask... A white mask. It looked like a porcelain mask."

  "With whiskers painted on," the woman continued.

  "Yes..."

  The baker turned to me.

  "What did this one die of?" he said, pointing at the witch.

  "The same as you. Cardiac arrest," I said.

  "I died?" said the witch.

  "Yes, well... You no longer need to worry about that," I said.

  "The cat man had a syringe in his hand... He came up to me and grabbed me by the neck... That's the last thing I remember."

  "Yes..." the woman replied. "A syringe..."

  Things had become "strange." As if anything could be strange in a world where time moves backward. It seemed we had a serial killer in the village. Had he killed more people? I would not have to wait long to find out.