The earth was cold, heavier than it had ever been. Adam gasped as a mouthful of soil slipped between his lips. He coughed violently, the bitter taste of dirt and panic filling his lungs. It took him a few seconds to understand — he was underground. Buried. Alive.
His arms jerked instinctively, fingers clawing upward through the darkness. But the coffin was too tight, the lid too close. No space. No air. No light.
He screamed.
No one heard.
Adam’s mind raced, heart hammering in his chest like a wild animal desperate to escape. He remembered driving down the highway late at night. The flash of lights. The sudden curve. Then darkness. Maybe it was a dream. A coma. A sick joke.
Then — the whisper.
It wasn't his imagination.
It was right beside him.
In the coffin.
Inside.
A soft, slow breathing.
Not his.
He froze.
His chest rose and fell, trying to stay calm, trying to believe he was alone, that it was just the noise of dirt shifting above. But no — he could feel it. Another presence. Close. Too close.
"You're awake too..." came a voice. Low. Raspy. Almost a hiss.
Adam’s blood froze.
“Wh-who’s there?” he whispered, his voice trembling.
There was silence. Then movement. A slight shuffle, like dry skin brushing against wood.
“I’ve been here longer,” the voice said. “They put me here before you. You’re the new one. You’ll see.”
Adam’s throat went dry. “What... what do you mean? Who are you?”
“They don’t bury the dead anymore,” the voice replied, too calm. “They bury the forgotten. The cursed. The ones who should’ve never woken up.”
Adam tried to press his body against the side, but there was nowhere to go. “You’re lying,” he said. “This is a nightmare. This isn’t real!”
The voice chuckled. “Real enough. You’ll know soon. When the hunger comes.”
Suddenly, the coffin creaked.
Something touched his arm.
A hand.
Cold. Rough. Fingers with cracked nails and skin like old leather.
Adam screamed again, this time louder, until his throat tore. He kicked, thrashed, punched the wood above him. But the dirt weighed too much. No sound escaped the grave.
“It’s useless,” the voice whispered in his ear, too close now. “I tried. We all did. But you’re awake now. And you’ll stay awake. For a very, very long time.”
The hand slid up his arm. Adam jerked away, but there was no room. Their bodies were pressed together in the coffin now, skin against skin, breath against breath.
“I was alone for years,” the voice murmured. “But now... I have company.”
Adam sobbed. “Please... someone dig me out... please...”
No answer.
Then — scratching.
Above them.
Scraping against the wood.
Something... or someone was digging.
Adam held his breath.
Hope sparked in his chest. Could someone be trying to rescue him?
The thing beside him chuckled.
“They’re not digging you out,” it said.
The lid cracked open — just a bit — and a sliver of moonlight pierced the coffin’s suffocating darkness.
And then, he saw them.
Hands.
Rotting, torn, clawing from above.
More of them.
Not people. Not alive.
And they were crawling in.
“No! No, no, no, NO!” Adam screamed as dead fingers reached for him, pulled him, touched his face, his legs, his chest.
The coffin filled.
One.
Two.
Three bodies.
Then four.
Moaning.
Hungry.
Breathing the same foul air.
Their hollow eyes glowing faintly in the dark.
He wasn’t alone anymore.
And he never would be again.
---
THE END
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