Silence.
Not peaceful silence -the kind that feels like something is waiting.
My breathing bounces back at me from the wooden walls. Heavy. Uneven.I don't know how long I have been staring into the dark, but the darkness stares back harder.
Then…
Bzzzt.
The phone vibrates against my leg.
"Okaaaay now, listen."The voice slips through the speaker like oil, slick and disgusting."You have a day to get ready. Use what you already have…"A low, amused hum."Or else."
A chill slithers down my spine.Or else what?
Before I can speak, before I can beg or curse or scream-
The call cuts.
The silence returns, heavier, like dirt on my chest.
"What… the fuck… is happening?"
My voice comes out cracked, unfamiliar.
I try to think - like really think- but every time I reach for a memory, I hit a wall. A blank, empty void. As if someone erased my life with a wet cloth.
Name.I remember my name.
Rick.
That's it.
No birthday.No friends.No face.
Just a name floating in the dark like trash on dirty water.
I press my palms against the wooden lid above me. It doesn't move. It doesn't even creak. Sweat threads down my temples. My throat dries up despite the humid air, as if panic is drinking all the water inside me.
Calm… just calm down. One thing at a time.
I reach around with shaking hands until I gather what I have:
Flashlight.Water flask.Phone.And a Hammer? Why?
That's all.Four items and one coffin.
"Perfect," I mutter. "Just what every buried guy dreams of."
I take a sip of water - cold, metallic. It tastes almost unreal, like it shouldn't exist down here.
I switch on the flashlight. The beam hits the ceiling inches above my face.Wood. Old. Unforgiving.
Fine.
Hammer time.
I swing upward. The hammer smacks the wood with a soft, pathetic thud.
"…What the hell was that? A love tap?"
I swing again. Harder.
Thud.
Nothing. No splintering. No crack. Just a dull echo of how weak I am.
My chest tightens.I hit again.And again.
Thud.Thud.THUD.
My hands burn. The hammer slips once and bounces off my thumb. I hiss under my breath.
"This isn't working. Why isn't this working?"
I force myself to stop. Breathe. Think.
Use what you already have.
The voice repeats inside my skull like a sick nursery rhyme.
My flashlight beam slides down to the bottom panel beneath me. Dirt squeezes through the cracks in thin lines, like veins.
And then it hits me.
Not the lid. The bottom.
My heart lunges into my throat.
I reposition the hammer awkwardly in the tight space and strike down.
Crack.
The wood splinters.
I hit again.
CRACK.
The wood breaks and cold dirt rushes in, swallowing my hand, my wrist, everything.Suddenly the world tilts — dirt flooding upward, my lungs tightening.
I can't move.
I can't—
The last thing I hear, before unconsciousness drags me under, is the voice.
Close. Too close. Inside my ear.
"That's the spirit, Rick. Dig. Dig like she did."
Darkness closes in.Not around me.
Over me.