With trembling hands, she reached out and screamed as she grabbed a handful of earth. It’s just earth, not a spider. Wait – wasn’t that worse? She’d cracked the box and now it was filling up with mud and grit and… water. She could hear a drip, drip, dripping, as it seeped through the gap – the coffin would fill up and she’d drown.
Do something. Think, think. A whirl of thoughts flooded her mind in what felt like lightning speed. Do what? She banged on the roof and then came the thud, followed by muffled laughter. There was someone out there, watching and enjoying her misery. She’d already called for help and they’d done nothing. They were leaving her to die. Whoever was out there wasn’t there to help; they were enjoying the show far too much to end it. Running her fingers through her pockets, she pulled out a box and traced its contents with her fingers. A mighty shiver ran down her spine, causing her to jerk and kick the wood with her toes. She screamed out as one of her toenails pushed into skin with full force. The earthy smell in the little box turned into another smell she recognised. Matches – she fiddled around with the contents – there were three.
She placed a match between her teeth as she fumbled to turn the matchbox, getting the sandpaper in the right position. The match slipped from her mouth, and the other two spilled out into her hair. Why had she been so clumsy? She could barely feel around her shoulders, her fingers were too numb and it was as if the box was closing in on her. Calm down. It had to be there, she could find it, logic told her that. A few seconds later, she had the match that had fallen from her mouth and she wasn’t going to let it go this time. With one strike, she lit it. As she’d guessed, she was in a box. The hole she’d made was miniscule but that wasn’t stopping the filthy water and earth from getting in. If she pushed at it even more, would she be drowned in earth? ‘Ouch.’ The match had burned down and scorched her index finger. She inhaled the sulphur dioxide that filled the tiny space. She knew that fire burned oxygen; science was one of her favourite subjects. She also knew that the oxygen in the box was limited and she’d run out soon. What she didn’t know was how long it took to suffocate when buried alive. Seconds, minutes, hours?
She hyperventilated as the muffled laughter came again. Breathe in and out, slowly. She closed her eyes and thought back to before. She hadn’t been hit over the head. It was coming back to her. She’d been pushed, then she fell headfirst into a rock. From that point, she couldn’t remember anything. She rubbed her forehead with her gritty hand and flinched as she brushed the sticky wound. She let out a scream and hit the top of the box. Someone put her here. Who? She thought back to the evening but it was all a blur – only fragments of it flashed through her mind.
That was it. She’d been drinking some sort of blood red punch from a bowl. Everyone had been drinking it. The idea of the plastic floating eyeballs that had been bobbing on the top made her stomach turn as she thought about them.
Loud music.
A girl being sick in the kitchen sink while a group of boys passed around the funny smelling cigarette. They’d accused her of being a bore when she’d turned it down.
A neighbour wearing a dressing gown knocking, complaining about the noise.
People everywhere. Devils, witches, the Snow Queen, the skeleton-clad figures.
‘Don’t Cha’ by The Pussycat Dolls playing at top volume.
Falling up the stairs while trying to look for the toilet. Then stepping over a drunken sleeping boy who had lost his shirt.
A flash of a naked bottom-half sexy cat sitting on a vanity unit, being penetrated by Freddy Krueger. Her tail and leggings strewn across the bathroom floor and her cat ears were wonky. The girl telling her to shove off before throwing a hairbrush.
The sudden urge to get out. This wasn’t her scene. She’d tried, made an effort and now she wanted to go home, especially after everyone at the party had virtually ignored her, leaving her sitting alone in a corner. Her so-called friend had abandoned her as soon as they’d arrived.
Slipping down the stairs in her stripy leggings. She wished that she hadn’t dressed as a sexy witch, the outfit she’d chosen on the advice of her well-meaning newest friend. The one who’d ditched her as soon as they’d arrived at the house party. Her pointy shoes had long been discarded when she’d awkwardly tried to dance. She couldn’t find them. They’d gone.
A large tear began to well in the corner of her eye. Her lovely parents had told her to be safe and call them when she needed picking up. She didn’t tell them that she didn’t want to go to the party as she knew that she had to make the effort to fit in. Being a newbie to the area, that’s all she wanted.
Another image came back to her. It was when one of the boys was looking into her eyes just before he’d kissed her – her first kiss. Then he’d laughed at her with all his friends. She was nothing but a joke to them. Where had he gone? He’d left her, like all the others had.
Why had she left the party in tears? It would take more than a couple of people teasing her to make her cry. She had no trouble holding onto her sadness in a well-practised way, often letting it all out when she was alone in her bedroom. Maybe it was the alcohol in the punch.
She tried to swallow, then she coughed as her own saliva hit her windpipe.
There it was, the muffled laughter. The fact that she could hear them was good. She wasn’t buried too deep. It had to be a prank.
She let out a scream as a thud came from above. They were throwing more earth on the box.
She wanted to tell her family how much she loved them. She wanted to go back to their old house in Birmingham and talk to her best friend, Sasha, again; the same friend who’d since moved on and not answered any of her calls. She wanted to walk around the shops, breathe in the air, feel the rain dripping down her face; feel the frosty undergrowth crunching as she walked her terrier, Miffy, through the naked brambles. It was the little things she craved – even school. She wanted film night with her mum and dad, with popcorn and crisps. She didn’t want to die. She wasn’t ready. She hadn’t even had her first proper job or boyfriend. She’d never go to university or college or experience freshers’ week.
She felt the trickling earth that was now piling up on her tummy. She tried to bang again and again, barely getting any pressure behind her fists in the confines of the box. Would a group of partygoers all get her out and claim it was a Halloween prank? She forced her hand above her head and began to touch her surroundings again. Rough wood… and… wait— A piece of string was poking through the tiniest of holes. Her mind flashed back to how there used to be bells attached to string that led to the casket during historical outbreaks of cholera. That was it. This was a test, an initiation. Depending on how she handled this, she’d either be forever ridiculed or admired by her peers. The matchbox slipped from her other hand.
It was okay now. She knew how this worked. All she had to do was pull the string. A bell would ring and she’d be freed. The partygoers would be waiting for her and tell her it was just a joke.
‘Okay, I know what you’re doing. You can let me out now. Ha, ha, ha. It’s not funny any more.’ She’d play it cool, pretend it wasn’t a big deal, but it was. As soon as she was let out, she’d run as fast as she could, all the way home. She wanted nothing more to do with anyone she’d met at the party, or the one person who had claimed to be her new best friend.