**THE EMPTY TOMB** — *An Interactive Story by Jesse Koepke*
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You run, sandals slapping against cobblestone. Beside you runs your friend, his eyes wide with the same fear and wonder and hope that you feel. Sweat chills your forehead in the morning cool and your breath is ragged, but still you run.
She said the tomb was open. Impossible. You watched the guards seal it yourself, listened to the massive stone grind over granite. It rolled shut with a *boom* that echoed in the graveyard, sealing more than just a dead man behind its shadow.
You enter a courtyard. A well sits at its center, and the rising sun reflects off the water.
She said the tomb was not just open. *It was empty.* Impossible.
[[Do you stop running?]]
[[Do you keep running?]]You stop at the well. Your friend runs a few steps farther before realizing it. He turns back to you.
"It's not possible," you say. "We all saw him die."
"But remember his words," your friend says.
"Yes, but how? How could it be possible?"
Your friend steps closer, puts a hand on your shoulder. He looks into your eyes with an excitement so intense you can't hold his gaze.
"Were you not the one who said he was the Christ?" he asks.
You nod. "But we watched him die. I watched the guard spear him in the side."
Your friend grips both of your shoulders. "Yes, but do you believe?" he asks, a wild look like hope in his eyes.
[[Do you believe?]]
[[Do you doubt?]]The water looks inviting, but you can't pause. Not now, not after all you have seen and heard for the last three years.
"He said he would rise!" you shout to your friend. "What if this is it?"
Through the streets you both race, past vendors setting out their wares and flocks of sheep baaa-ing and people just waking up. How can they be so calm on such a morning? If he rose, it changes everything.
You reach the graveyard. Sunlight cuts between leaves and scatters on the ground. It is quiet garden, a holy place, but you can't slow to a respectful walak. You must reach the tomb.
Gravel churns under foot and you round a tree and—
The stone is rolled away.
[[Do you enter the tomb?]]
[[Do you stay outside?]]
You look away from those eyes, the eyes of the man called beloved. Of course *he* would believe. Surely it's easy for him to believe.
"I don't know if I can," you answer. "It... it would be too hard if he didn't rise. If—"
Your friend steps closer. "If he wasn't who he said he was?"
You nod.
His hand grasps your arm. "Belief is scary," your friend whispers. "Faith is a step into the unknown. But with it we find *him*. The Christ."
You turn away. Sunlight warms your face, the dirt gritty beneath your sandals. You want to believe. But can you take that step?
[[Do you believe?]]
[[Do you still doubt?]]You take a deep breath. "Yes, I believe. I must believe."
Your friend grins and you are off again. Through the streets you both race, past vendors setting out their wares and flocks of sheep baaa-ing and people just waking up. How can they be so calm on such a morning? If he rose, it changes everything.
You reach the graveyard. Sunlight cuts between leaves and scatters on the ground. It is a quiet garden, a holy place, but you can't slow to a respectful walk. You must reach the tomb.
Gravel churns under foot and you round a tree and—
The stone is rolled away.
[[Do you enter the tomb?]]
[[Do you stay outside?]]You shake your heard, turning back to your friend. "No... I can't believe. He is dead, John. We saw him die."
But John is shaking his head now. "Don't deny him again, Peter."
But you are already walking away. You hear footsteps behind you as John continues onward to the tomb but you go back the way you came, and still farther on. Past the house where the other disciples are gathered, past the courtyards and temple, past the merchants and their wares, until at last you reach the shore.
This is what you've known, and to this you return.
The days pass. You hear more stories of the Christ appearing. You see John and your friends go before kings and judges, but still you fish, always fishing till your hands are weathered and old and unable to throw or pull your nets.
The sun sets over Galilee and you struggle to pull your boat ashore. You slump down beside the meager catch of the day and wonder, with a familiar sickness in your heart, what would have happened if you had believed.
**THE END.**
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<span style="font-size:medium;">**Note from the Author**
Thank you for reading *The Emtpy Tomb*! I wanted to write an interactive story that put you in the center of the action on Resurrection Day, and I hope you got to experience it in a fresh way. I'll be working on more interactive stories in the future, so if you'd like to know when they come out, sign up for my <a href="https://risingsignals.us14.list-manage.com/subscribe?u=57f0922821b39ac8d1219a792&id=c1f89b48cb" target="_blank">newsletter</a>, or find me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/jessekoepkeauthor/" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/jessekoepke" target="_blank">Twitter</a>.
— Jesse Koepke
</span>The others come out of the tomb, their faces pale and eyes searching back and forth. It must be true, then. The Pharisees have taken his body.
The tomb's entrance gapes open, an invisible pull on your heart. You watched them gently carry Jesus inside. You watched them roll the great stone in front of it. You watched the seal be placed upon it and the guards encamp around it.
Yet they are all gone. Twice now they have taken away the only man who showed you true love. The cruelty is too much to bear and you sink to the ground and weep.
Finally, you wipe tears and look in the tomb.
In shock you pull back, then force yourself to look again. Two white beings sit on the pedestel. Their faces shine somehow, brightening the tomb's deep shadows.
"Woman," one of them says, "why are you weeping?"
The voice is calm and inviting, so you answer. "They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have lain him."
You are about to say more when feet scrape the dirt behind you. You turn to see a man standing in the garden. He smiles at you, a warm smile that invites your tears.
"Woman, why are you weeping?" the man asks. "Whom do you seek?"
He must work here, he seems so at home near such a place as a tomb. You hurry to him, hands outstretched.
"Sir, if you have carried him away," you say through your tears, "tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away."
But instead of pointing, the man steps closer. He takes your hands. They are gentle and warm. "Mary," he says.
And suddenly, as if between a blink, you see him. *Him*.
The tears gush forth now and you cling to him, but after a brief embrace he lifts you up. He tells you run and tell the others, and you do. You run, dirt pounding beneath your feet and joy beating with every breath.
**THE END.**
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<span style="font-size:medium;">**Note from the Author**
Thank you for reading *The Emtpy Tomb*! I wanted to write an interactive story that put you in the center of the action on Resurrection Day, and I hope you got to experience it in a fresh way. I'll be working on more interactive stories in the future, so if you'd like to know when they come out, sign up for my <a href="https://risingsignals.us14.list-manage.com/subscribe?u=57f0922821b39ac8d1219a792&id=c1f89b48cb" target="_blank">newsletter</a>, or find me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/jessekoepkeauthor/" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/jessekoepke" target="_blank">Twitter</a>.
— Jesse Koepke
</span>Together, you and your friend step out of the tomb. Mary stands to one side, arms wrapped around herself and tears dripping from her chin.
She stares at the tomb's entrance and says nothing, so you and your friend keep walking.
"Can it really be true?" asks your friend.
"He said he would rise, didn't he?" you reply. "I thought he meant his spirit, but this..."
You both pass into silence, trying to recall Jesus' words. Why didn't you listen more? His words had been life—you should have written them down.
"I don't know how yet," you say as you enter the narrow streets of the city, "but somehow this changes everything."
You go back to the room where the disciples are gathered. They jostle around you and ask question after question until all the facts are known. Then the discussion starts on what Jesus said, what he meant, and what they should do now. Flee out of the city? Surely the Pharisees who crucified and buried Jesus will come asking where the body is.
The debate continues for days, but no one knocks. You huddle in the room, someone only going out to get food at night. The doors stay locked. No one can get in unless their voice is known.
Until the day when suddenly, He is among you.
With no sound, no word, and nothing more than a smile, Jesus appears beside you, his hand on your shoulder. Everyone scrambles back with shouts and drawn swords.
Jesus laughs and lifts a hand. "Peace be with you," he says.
His voice! The one you heard teaching, talking, laughing, crying with you. It is warm and full of life, of friendship, of love. Oh how you have missed that voice.
Then Jesus holds out both hands. You see the nail holes where they spiked him to the cross. He pulls back his robe and you see the piercing in his side. He beckons you forward to touch them. Your hand shaking, you reach out and feel warm flesh.
You look up into his face. Jesus smiles, a twinkle in his eyes. "Peace be with you," he says again, and pulls you into a bear hug.
**THE END.**
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<span style="font-size:medium;">**Note from the Author**
Thank you for reading *The Emtpy Tomb*! I wanted to write an interactive story that put you in the center of the action on Resurrection Day, and I hope you got to experience it in a fresh way. I'll be working on more interactive stories in the future, so if you'd like to know when they come out, sign up for my <a href="https://risingsignals.us14.list-manage.com/subscribe?u=57f0922821b39ac8d1219a792&id=c1f89b48cb" target="_blank">newsletter</a>, or find me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/jessekoepkeauthor/" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/jessekoepke" target="_blank">Twitter</a>.
— Jesse Koepke
</span>Your friend stops just outside the tomb entrance. He peers into the cave's shadows, but then turns away. You can't read the expression on his face. Is it shock? Surprise? Fear?
The tomb lies open, beckoning you onward.
The air cools as you step inside. Your heavy breath echoes sharply against the walls of the tomb. One step of stone, still rough from the carver's chisel, leads you to a raised pedestal. But instead of a faceless body, wrapped from head to toe in white linens, you see...
Just the linens. They aren't bloody, nor do they stink, nor have they been ripped and cast aside. Instead they lie folded on the pedestal's right hand side. And to the left, where Jesus' head had rested, lies the cloth used to cover his face.
You hear footsteps outside and someone sniffs away tears.
"John," you say, barely above a whisper. The cave carries the echo up to the opening and your friend's shadow crosses the doorway.
He comes to stand beside you. "He is not here," John says.
"No," you say. "He is risen."
[[Do you stay?]]
[[Do you go home?]]You stare at the tomb, your skin prickling as blood rushes with adrenaline. How could that stone really be moved? Where are the guards?
The morning seems perfect: warm sun at your back, birds singing in the trees. Yet here in the middle of it all is the most surprising thing you have ever seen.
Your friend doesn't look inside. But someone has to, so you walk forward. With each step your heart pounds louder. You stretch out your hand to feel the tomb, to see if it is real....
Cold stone touches your fingertips. You lean down and peer inside.
It is freshly chiseled. Pieces of rock still linger on the floor. In the center is a pedestal—and instead of a body, you see burial clothes folded and empty.
The ground spins beneath your feet and you lurch away. He was here—you watched the others lay him to rest with your own eyes! And if he is not here, what does that mean? Him who you had spent three intimate years, him whose chest you had lain against just three nights before, him who you had loved and he had loved you.
Footsteps come from down the path and you look up, but it is only Mary. She told you and the others, but in your haste you ran ahead of her to the tomb. Her eyes are wet, her face wanting to believe but not willing to dare.
"John."
Peter's voice echoes out of the tomb, not with his usual boldness but quiet and full of wonder.
You step back inside, down the single step and to Peter's side as he stares at the pedestal with its folded linens.
"He is not here," you whisper in the shadows.
"No," Peter says. "He is risen."
[[Do you stay?]]
[[Do you go home?]]