This story, however, added nothing to Aubrey’s nightmares compared to her grandmother’s tales about being buried alive. She’d say, “In the old days, some of the corpses that had been exhumed were discovered to have fingernail marks clawed into the coffin’s interior lid. Asleep in their deep temporary comas, these poor souls weren’t dead at all when they were committed to the ground!”

Aubrey remembered being terrified by her Grandma’s pre-wake stories; the barbaric days when medicine was primitive, embalming fluid was never heard of, and families held wakes within their own parlors. She remembered being scared to death over the tales, and that she thoroughly enjoyed listening to each spooky word. For years, Aubrey imagined the same horrid fate for herself. The chills of it always woke her, panting and covered in sweat.

This time was different, though. Aubrey opened her eyes to a pitch so black that she had to question whether she was alive or dead. And if it was death she now experienced, that sick sense of being alone left no mistake: She was in hell. The sadistic silence, unforgiving and eager to punish, forced her breathing to quicken, while terror struck her racing heart. She was still alive!

Fragmented memories raced back, but the puzzle was too complex. Fear had brutally awakened the senses, as the fight or flight push of adrenaline rushed through her veins. She was too restricted, however, too confined to move an inch. Amidst the thousand spiraling thoughts, she made a mental note to run through the checklist. Her extremities tingled from the lack of circulation, and her head throbbed as if it had been placed in a vice. Her throat ached with the natural neglect of a cracked desert. She screamed at the top of her lungs, but heard only a demented whisper return. Tears began to well, old stinging tears. She was suffocating on a bank of stale air that was emptying fast, while six feet of earth covered her. The weight of the world was literally resting upon her constricted chest. As if it weren’t horrid enough, reality hit: She was sharing the burden with those who had long decomposed. Her childhood nightmare had come true. She’d been buried alive!

Those few on earth above her; those who might have even cared enough to unearth her, weren’t ever going to search. They had already mourned the loss of her life, experienced closure with her soul, and were now longing to move on from the memory of her face. Left alone to panic in the bowels of the earth, Aubrey quickly reached the realization that there was no way someone would ever hear her plea, no matter how loud she screamed. And even if they did, there wasn’t nearly enough time to dig her out.

It was cold, very cold, and the dampness seeped into her bones the way small parasites soon would to feed on her flesh. Breathing had become more difficult; reality, too unbearable. She prayed hard, but the despair was so consuming, so evident, she doubted her words were heard. There certainly was no response.

In a tragically comical sense, she recalled that on earth, she often wondered what she would do if she only had minutes left to live. Would she feel sorry for herself that it was over? Would she embrace the opportunity to pass over? Or would she simply rejoice in the miracle of life she had been given to experience? What would be the last thing she’d feel?

In the tight quarters, she felt nothing but the cold, and shivered violently. “Make it quick,” she muttered through the sniffles.

“Make what quick?” answered a mysterious voice.

Aubrey’s body convulsed, but the casket’s lid stopped her from completely jumping out of her gray-tinged skin. She was shocked that her heart hadn’t given out yet. “Please God…NO!” she screamed.

But the voice returned. This time the tone was more firm. “Open your eyes,” the disembodied voice demanded.

Aubrey dreaded the sight of the demon and clenched her eyelids tight. She wept sorrowfully.

“Come on, Sweetie,” the voice beckoned more gently. “It’s time to wake up.”

Aubrey’s mind took off at a sprint. It sounded just like her father, or more precisely, someone who was trying to sound like him. She held her breath.

And then the thing kissed her. Gently and with real love, it kissed her forehead.

She took a deep breath, drummed up all the courage left in her tiny body and forced open her eyes. It was her Dad! Somehow, from her prone position, she still jumped into his arms. “Oh Daddy,” she cried, “I really thought I’d been buried alive!”

He grabbed her face and peered into her traumatized eyes. “No, Princess. Dad would NEVER allow anything like that to happen to you, EVER!” After another kiss, he winked. “Your grandmother, on the other hand, better pack a shovel if she ever tells you her bedtime stories again!”