The Resurrection of Squire Tuckfield

On a chilly November evening in the year 1752, as the town of Crediton slept soundly beneath a shroud of mist, the dead refused to stay buried. Squire Reginald Tuckfield—scoundrel, gambler, and unrepentant rogue—had been laid to rest with all the solemnity a man of his reputation could expect. The earth had been packed, the prayers murmured, and the final brandy-fuelled toasts raised in his honour. But as the last mourner stumbled home and the graveyard fell silent, a sound broke the stillness—a muffled knocking, insistent and unrelenting. Then came the voice, wry and unmistakably alive: "Gentlemen, I do believe there’s been a mistake." What followed would haunt Crediton for years to come, for Squire Tuckfield had returned—but whether by trickery, fate, or a wager won against Death himself, no one could say for sure.