The Premature Burial of Richard Collins
“I’ve got to get out of these clothes—fast.” That was the thought going through Richards mind as he ripped his shirt off with determination. He could feel the chemicals burning his skin. He hadn’t been embalmed, but his clothes had been soaked in very strong chemicals to make him smell better. Now that he was stripped down to his boxers, he had to find a way out of the crypt he was buried in. He still couldn’t believe he had been buried alive. He might not even be alive if he hadn’t been able to get his casket to fall off the ledge it was on and break open for him to get out. And why did his family have to have this big stupid vault to bury people in? Breaking a coffin and digging his way out sounded so much easier than breaking out of this big stone building- thing. With what little light he had (which was practically none) he looked around. There was a small sliver of moonlight coming in through a crack in the wall, but the crack wasn’t big enough for him to even fit his finger in, so knowing it aided none in his escape, he ignored it. He was beginning to feel a bit claustrophobic. Maybe it was the fact that he was all alone in near blackness. Or perhaps it was that nobody even knew he was alive. But he knew what it really was, it was the dead people. The crypt had four other caskets in it, one of which he had knocked off when he was struggling to get his casket off the ledge. The decomposed face of a long-dead relative was his only company. He imagined it coming to life, grabbing his ankle, he would have no place to run, and no one would hear him scream. As these thoughts came to mind he realized he had to get out as fast as possible. He knew there must be someone guarding the graveyard, so he picked up a piece of his shattered coffin and started using it to bang on the heavy iron door. Sure enough, in less than a half hour the door was opened from the outside. A heavy built man in a brown Carhartt jacket and a wool cap stood outside the door. The rescuer stared at him with a look of shock on his face. But his expression changed when Richard stepped into the light. And suddenly the man was scrambling away, with the look of pure terror on his round aging face. Richard figured he must look awful with his shaggy hair going every direction and a pair of boxers as his only clothing. He had to see his wife. He was sure she would still be grieving over his death, and a grieving widow always attracts men. Fortunately, he lived only a few houses away from the cemetery. He practically ran there. Surprisingly not out of breath, he opened the door; he didn’t see any need in knocking since it was his own house. Richard looked around at the outside of the house before going in. Somehow, it looked different. The trees looked different, and the potted plants were in completely different places. He ignored it and stepped inside. The inside looked different too, the furniture was arranged differently and some of it was new. He saw the back of his wife’s head as she sat on the couch. And sitting next to her with an arm around her was… a man! He quickly rushed up and threw the man’s arm off his wife. She turned around and looked at him, then started to scream. “But honey, it’s me! I’m not dead!” Richard said, with a forced smile on his face. His wife now had her hand over her mouth, and the man sitting next to her was scrambling away. “It’s been four years Richard! Look in the mirror!” She finally managed. He turned to the mirror on the wall. And he saw a rotten skeletal face starring back at him, the dried decaying skin completely gone from half of his skull. He watched a bug scurry out of his skeletal grin and his heart skipped a beat, or would have if it had been beating. And he began to realize, he hadn’t been buried alive… he had been very dead.