Have I mentioned that I’m incredibly claustrophobic?

I thrashed and flailed and screamed as Foster and Mortimer grabbed my legs, and Stan grabbed my arms. I struggled with every last bit of strength I possessed, but I couldn’t get away as they lifted me out of the wheelchair and held me over the coffin. Daniel was saying something, but I couldn’t hear him over my own screams.

Then they gently lowered me into the coffin.

On top of the corpse.

I could feel it giving way beneath me, the flesh of its chest splitting under my bare back. The smell was so far beyond putrid that I can’t even explain it. My screams faded to an abrupt gasp as my head pressed into the corpse’s face.

I could feel cold teeth against the back of my neck.

I struggled to get free, but the lid slammed shut, giving me about an inch of room above my nose. As I worked my hands into a position where I could pound on the lid, I heard the click of padlocks snapping shut.

Things were squirming underneath my back.

I pounded and pounded as I felt the coffin being dragged forward. Then lifted, then lowered…dropping the last couple of feet with a jolt that drove me further into the corpse.

Then I heard a sound that could only be dirt being tossed onto the lid. Moments after that, my mind couldn’t cope with the horror anymore…

…and I found myself thinking of my parents…

…and school…

…and the first time I met Helen, at the movies when she had to rush out of the theatre during a special screening of The Exorcist…

…and Theresa being born…

…and Kyle…

…and…

WHAT A cheap piece of junk. Who made this thing? You can’t even tell if it’s recording or not.

Ladies and gentlemen, I do believe we’ve heard the last of Andrew Mayhem. It’s too bad the special guest thing didn’t work out, but I’ve got only myself to blame for that. My lovely wife and my not-so-lovely associates warned me, and they were right. Oh well. Live and learn.

Hey, Mortimer, say something for posterity. C’mon! Oh, don’t be such a chickenshit, just talk into the recorder! You people are so paranoid it’s not even funny! Fine, fine. For those of you who are only listening to this, Mortimer has just made an obscene gesture and left the room.

I guess healthy paranoia is good. You can’t be too careful. Foster is convinced that Andrew is gonna break out of his grave like some flesh-eating zombie, so he’s hanging out in the burial area with a paperback, just in case. He’ll miss out on some of the fun, but hey, whatever floats his boat, right?

What? Oh, you can barely see it! It’s not blood, it’s water. Yes, I used the peach shampoo. Nag, nag, nag.

Again, for those of you who aren’t really here, my lovely wife is getting all bent out of shape because my hair is dripping. If it were up to me, I’d still be covered in blood, but she’s like “No blood in the house!”

Hey, knock it off! [Laughter.] My lovely wife is now grabbing for the tape recorder, but she’s far too short and weak to succeed at such a task. Back! Back, you cur!

Uh-oh, she seems to be trying a new technique. Don’t let the youngsters listen to this! So we’ll finish up here, and then head back to the operating room! I can’t wait to see what Stan has in store for the chick that gave Andrew that ass stabbing!

This is Daniel Rankin, of Rankin Bloodbaths, signing off.

Chapter 18

MINUTES LATER? Hours?

My eyes flew open and took in only darkness.

Calm down!

Forget being calm! I’m buried alive with a rotting dead guy!

I began to scream.

If you don’t control yourself, you’ll run out of oxygen!

Do I even WANT to stay alive down here?

The stench was so awful that I could barely breathe. I pushed up on the lid, knowing fully well that it wasn’t going to open. The corpse’s ribs had broken away and I’d sunk into it deeply enough that I could feel its spinal column digging into my back.

And I could still feel its screaming mouth against my neck. I stopped pushing on the lid and brushed off the writhing maggots that were crawling up onto my stomach.

The coffin felt like it was shrinking around me, becoming smaller and smaller until it crushed me to death.

It was only my imagination, of course, but I also thought I could hear the corpse-Wesley-laughing at me, ready to bite down on my neck and rip out a huge mouthful of flesh.

“ We’re gonna die together Andrew, you and me together forever so let’s make the most of it, shall we Andrew? ”

Hell no!

I began pounding on the lid with both fists, screaming and blubbering like a child.

Stop it! Stop it! Control yourself!

I was not going to die down here! If I had to rip the lid of the coffin apart splinter-by-splinter I was getting out of this thing! I’d figured out a way to keep Charlotte alive, and I could sure as hell figure out a way to keep myself alive!

“ Didn’t do so well with Susan or Trevor, though, did ya? ” asked Wesley. “ And what about Thomas?He’s in worse shape than I am! ”

I continued pounding on the lid.

Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!

My situation wasn’t hopeless. It was bad, it was really bad, but it wasn’t hopeless.

Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!

I wondered what was happening to Roger. Were they killing him now? Was he strapped to the operating table at this very moment?

Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!

Crack.

I instantly ceased my pounding. Had I broken part of the lid?

I slid my hands along the top of the coffin, and then raised my legs to what little extent I could and began to slide them along the wood as well, gathering splinters but searching desperately for an imperfection. There didn’t seem to be one.

I braced both hands against the lid and pushed up as hard as I could, pushing until my arms felt like they might snap in two. I could feel blood trickling from the cut in my shoulder.

Crack.

The lid had definitely split somewhere. The maggots and decaying flesh soaking my skin were abruptly forgotten. I continued searching for the break in the wood.

Then I found it. It was directly above my navel. I tested it with my index finger-it was small, but definitely there. Daniel should’ve invested a bit more of his fortune into the coffins.

I continued pushing on the lid.

No good.

I wished I had some kind of tool, but that didn’t matter. I’d claw at that break in the wood until there was no skin left on my fingers, and then I’d keep clawing at it with exposed bone, if that’s what it took.

Bone!

I felt along the corpse until I located its right hand. I tested each finger. They’d all been partially devoured by the maggots, but the middle finger was the closest to being completely skeletal. I wrapped my own fingers around it tightly, and then tried to bend it backwards. After considerable strain, the finger snapped off.

After a moment of blind panic where I was unable to locate the crack in the wood, I did find it and pushed the finger bone against it. As a kid, I’d broken my arm once when I’d been standing too close to the batter while playing baseball, but this pine lid was nowhere near as sturdy as a wooden bat.

I pushed the tip of the bone against the crack, desperately hoping that the wood would break first.

The bone snapped in half.

I stared at it in dismay, even though I couldn’t see anything in the darkness.

Don’t scream!

I didn’t scream. There were other bones. I had all the time in the world. Until I suffocated.