Buried Alive

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: July 07, 2019

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 07, 2019



JOE WOKE UP and struggled to move.  His right hand went up and banged into hard wood.  He moved it to the side and banged into more hard wood.  Suddenly a jolt of panic went through him and he tried to reach up and found that he was in pitch blackness surrounded by wood.  Joe suddenly began to wail in loud screams as he felt wood all around him and the dull silence told him he was under ground.  He wailed for several minutes then as gasps of desperate fear gnawed at him, Joe stopped for a moment and his mind began to spin.

He felt around and realized that he was in a wooden box under ground.  He started to choke in panic and realized that if he expected to survive he had better get a grip, and he began to shake and shiver as he tried to calm himself.  Joe then felt his clothes and realized he was in his own clothing. 

For a moment he flashed back to the last thing he remembered and realized he had been in a parking lot about to go to work when he had seen someone rush up on him and he had been hit with a jolt of electricity.  He had landed hard on the ground then a needle was stuck in him and a voice had said "I don't think so."  The world had gone black and now Joe woke up here.

He checked his pockets but his wallet was gone and his other pocket was empty.  He still had his belt on though and with great effort he reached into the pocket hidden on the inside of his belt and pulled the knife he had there for emergencies. 

As Joe got the knife out and franticly began to open it and cut at the lid of the wooden box, he began to think.  He could hear his heart pounding in his head as terrible fear gnawed at him.  The knife slipped twice and cut his hand as he struggled shakily to get started damaging the casket enough to get out of it.  He had been buried alive, but someone wanted him dead without a funeral. 

With a shot of anger, Joe realized it had to be Stewart.  Stewart hated him ferociously and glared at him with venom every time he looked at him.  Stewart owned some old wooden caskets he had made for the fall season and this had to be one of them. 

Joe hacked and cut hard at the top of the casket and he thought of his business, successful, making money and catching on around town.  Stewart hated him for that and he knew it.  He glowered so fiercely each time he was close to the place Joe was surprised he had not had a stroke.

The knife began to dig gouges out of the wood and Joe felt sweat soaking his clothes as he cut and sliced at the wood of the lid, hoping he had not been buried too deep.  He felt the slices of wood falling in his face and he shook them off his face as he kept cutting and sweat went down his neck.

Stewart was especialy angry since his girlfriend had died.  She had had a bunch of antiques that she inheritted and along with them came a few hundred thousand dollars.  She had sold some of the antiques and was worth around half a million dollars.  But she didn't trust the banks.  Stewart had had plans with her, but she was dead now and he was devastated, scarred for life, unable to recover and filled with anger.

Joe felt a chunk of wood come loose and dirt fell in his face.  He had made a hole!  Now to make it bigger.  He coughed for a second and felt his heart pounding like a hammer.  Joe cursed because he could not calm himself down more.  He cut too deeply and the knife kept jamming and so he had to force himself to slow down and cut smaller pieces. 
He tried to preserve his air by holding his breath but he was so terrified in the dark under ground that he could not hold it for more than a few seconds at a time.

Stewart had been silent, standing over the casket at Sheila's funeral, and Joe walked by and saw Stewart look up and follow him with his eyes.  Joe just stared back and didn't say anything.  He walked up to the casket and looked at Sheila laying there in her dark blue dress with her white gloves, then he turned and walked away so he would not get into a conflict with Stewart who was obviously not happy he was there.

Joe had gotten in his car, waved to Stewart and drove away.  He had gone out to get his business license and his location then began picking the equipment he needed.  Life went on.

Stewart seemed to go deep into a depression and he withdrew from the world.  He stayed to himself and did what work he needed to get by.  He never spoke to Joe and he never went anywhere near his new business, "Joe Crabbe's Place." 

The hole was large enough now for alot more dirt to fall into the casket and so Joe began to take fistfulls of it and push it toward the bottom of the casket to get it out of the way.  He could smell grass and his hands got wet from the dampness of the dirt.  He dug upward franticly as dirt fell in his face and he coughed as some of it went in his mouth and his teeth felt gritty.  He spit and tears began to go down his cheeks both from dirt falling in his face and from growing fear that he would not get out of the casket.

As business had gotten better, Joe remembered the woman who started coming in regularly and he had gotten very interested in her.  He began to give her free meals as his place picked up more business and the profits had gotten big, which seemed to infuriate Stewart all the more.  He had lost everything and Joe, whom he had always hated, was getting more and more money in his bank account as if slapping him in the face.

When Stewart had lost his job and this had been followed by loss of his home, he seemed to have lost all hope and Joe was surprised he had not committed suicide or something, but something kept him moving forward, a gnawing, bothering something that made him just keep getting out of bed each day and moving forward...somewhere.

The hole was getting bigger and the casket bottom was filling with dirt and Joe began to cry out as he grabbed fist fulls of dirt and dug straight upward.  Handful after handful of dirt came down and Joe's chest began to hurt with searing pain as he ran low on oxygen.  He was drenched in sweat and his fingers were torn and bleeding from digging.  He gasped and gagged, grabbing more dirt and throwing it down, desperate, panicing fiercely as he just kept grabbing more dirt. 

Joe cried out in terror as he just kept grabbing dirt and he finally let out a loud shreik and jerked his head in rage, screaming "STEWART!  YOU FILTHY SNAKE!  YOU INHUMAN GARBAGE!  STEWWWARRRRT!

Joe then felt something, cool air, on his finger tips.  He pushed upward a bit more and realized that his hand was out in the open.  He clawed with desperate, renewed fury as he pulled handfulls of dirt out of his way and squirmed and wiggled, twisting every way and tearing his clothes to pieces to force himself into the thin hole he had dug as air seeped down and he gasped it in. 

Joe ripped the dirt down into the hold and he felt his muscles cramp with agonizing aches and spasms as he clawed upward, panicing, out of control, desperate to get out of the wooden box and out into the open.

His shirt ripped longwise and cought on the jagged edge of the wood and he tore it loose as his hand, then his arms, then his head came up out of the ground. 

Joe struggled till his muscles were spasming and knotting from forcing his way up till he drug himself all the way out of the hold and into the open, out into the night where the hole had been dug for his box.

He found himself in a clearing in the woods with no idea where he was as he came out and stared up at the stars and fell to the ground, his entire body knotted in pain from the struggle through the small hole.

Joe turned over and forced himself to stand up, his legs shivering from the hard work they had been through and he looked around, trying to figure out which direction to go in.  There was a bit of a trail illuminate in the moonlight, and Joe began to walk toward it and into the darkness.  He could barely see, but he could make out the trail enough to follow it.

His hands burned from scraping and his fingers were on fire from being made raw and filled with dirt.  He could not wait to get Stewart for this and to watch the look on his face as he was arrested for charges that had to include kidnapping and attempted murder.  Joe pictured himself sitting in court laughing as Stewart faced the last of his life being destroyed.

The sun was starting to come up and Joe was surprised he had been out for so long.  But then he had no idea how long it had taken Stewart to put him in the box, bring him out here and stick it in the hole and cover it.  He wondered how he had done it considering it had to have been about four hundred pounds worth of dragging.  He had to have had some way to do it which meant he must have been planning this for a long time. 

Joe moved along the trail as the sun began to come up and he saw a truck sitting in the distance.  It was some old beater and he wondered if there was some hippy or something that would give him some water or something.

As his legs jerked from strain, Joe walked toward the truck.  He saw a figure in the back sleeping and he approached the truck. As he got to it, the figure turned over and looked at him.  It was Stewart.

Stewart got up and cursed and drew a pistol, aiming it at Joe who cursed also and clenched his fists.

"I wondered if you might get out of that box, you dog!  You cursed offense to humanity!"

"You stuck around to make sure I died in the box you put me in?"

Stewart got out of the truck, shaking in rage.  "YOU PUT MY GIRL IN THE GROUND, IN A BOX AND YOU HAD THE GALL TO COME MAKE SURE SHE WAS DEAD AT THE FUNERAL!!"  Stewart screamed.

  Joe stood for a moment.  "What makes you think I killed..."

"Quit playing me or a fool Joe, you killed her and took the money she had hidden in her house!  Then you go out days after the funeral and buy a building and start a business!  You mocked me and laughed in my face because I couldn't prove it!"

Joe stood and looked at Stewart.  He started to chuckle.
  "You were always the pathetic family loser, Stewey.  Then you go and get a girl who doesn't believe in putting a ton of cash in a bank and instead hides it in a locker in her closet.  It was just too easy.  Take money from the family scewup and his sick girlfriend. I'll do more with it than you would have. Go off to la la land with your female."

"Oh I see, so you were not only overtaken by the greed for money but you were jealous as well.  Nice combination, and you call me the family screwup."

Stewart shook his head and the gun shook in his hand.  "I wanna know how you killed her.  They said she had a stroke."

Joe looked around.  No sense denying anything.  "She did. 
I put a powder substance known as cyclohermaphylidine on the edge of a drinking glass she was using one evening when we were all together, that night you were mad because she wasn't all stand offish like you and you kept disappearing because she wouldn't leave the club with you.  The stuff is easy to carry and you need just a tiny bit to start a chemical reaction that causes a stroke.  It isn't tracable unless you know what to look for and with her health history it was easy to believe she had a stroke."

"So you just saw your little opportunity and took it, caused her a painful death and wrecked both of our lives.  And you seem so totally fine with all that, you monster, not a drop of remorse or feeling."  Stewart hissed.  Joe laughed again.  "I'm sorry man, but as much as I hate to admit it I have hated you all these years and I could do most anything to you and not feel anything.  It's not like we had an ideal family life, one parent, totally disfunctional and me having to watch over you like a shadow.  I got so sick of that.  Then who meets the girl with the money?  You do.  I deserved it, not you.That was a lot of money and it just didn't bother me to set myself up with it.  Yeah Stew, I came to the funeral to just make myself feel comfortable that everything was cool. There was nothing you could prove and I was safe with that locker full of cash.  It was alot of money man. I'm sorry, I should feel something but I don't.  All I feel is happy to have my money and my business."Joe said casually.

"It's not your money or your business, your whole life is a lie, and standing there like that is just what you deserve, except you should be dead."

"Not like you didn't try, wow.  A stun gun and some tranques.  Not bad.  You must have planned this for a while."

Stewart glared.  "I was overwhelmed at first, then after a while I thought about it and realized I could get you back.  I've known about this place for years and it was just an investment of time to dig that hole and stick the box in so I could nail your ass in.  No one ever comes out here, you'd have been a dig for archaeologists in a thousand two hundred years."

"Yeah well, you almost succeeded, brother man.  If I hadn't carried that pocket knife in my belt pouch for years you'd have gotten your wish, then what?  You can't have the money now."

"It's not about money, I don't care about the money I care that my girl and my life are in the ground and that was where I wanted you."

"Well I guess you were a smart boy to stick around, but I don't feel a thing."

Stewart stared at him for a moment and pulled the trigger on the gun.  "How bout now?"  He asked.  The bullet slammed through Joe's right leg and he fell, cursing Stewart in more anger than pain.  He rolled over and as Stewart stepped close, and as he tried to aim again, Joe grabbed the gun hand and they wrestled.  Joe was much stronger than Stewart had ever been and he threw him down on the ground, then emptied the gun into him.Joe looked down at Stewart and looked at the bullet wound, passing through his upper leg.  Joe stumbled to the truck and took the blanket out, cut a strip and tied it on the bullet wound.  He also noticed that Stewart had tools in the truck, including the shovel he must have dug the hole with.

He then looked in the truck cab and found water and food, a basic campout waiting.  Joe cleaned the wound and tied it shut again, then he put Stewart on the blanket and slowly drug him into the woods.He then returned to the truck, filthy dirty and covered with sweat, and after a rest he took the shovel back to the hole and began to dig.  He was tired and injured and it took him till close to sunset to open the grave up again, and when he finally got the top off the box he kicked Stewart into it, and as he saw him lay there he spat into the hole.  "Well you be happy now Stewey, you get to be in the ground where your girlfriend is and I'm going to go back, clean myself up, make up an excuse for where I've been and resume my life."  Joe bent down to the hole as Stewart lay there with his eyes staring blankly up into space seeing the sun low in the sky.

"I need to tell you some things.  First of all Stewey baby, you were never my brother.  Mom had you by a different father and I never thought of you as a brother.  I got sick and tired of that slow lame brain of yours and having to do for you over the years. 

"When you met Sheila it totally mad me madder than I had ever been. You met this cool girl with some health problems with all this money.  I am so thankful she was stupid and did things like some bank robber from the victorian days and kept her money in a box in the house.

"I sat on that secret for a long time and it was finally like, you know, this fortune is there, easy taking, all I need is the right opportunity, got myself the powder and waited, then boom, one night we meet by chance in a club, and there it is, fifty thousand drunks who wont remember a thing and I know how to use that powder.  I got it quick and the deed was done.  It was so sickeningly simple.

"She takes a drink and thrity minutes later it's all over.  No one ever suspected a thing.  Now all they're gonna say is poor Stewey ran off and vanished.  Wow, you made my life so much easier.  I should thank you.  Here is your thanks, half brother."

  Joe threw the lid on the box and began shoveling the dirt, which was easy this time.  In no time every trace of Stewart was gone.  In a few hours his truck would be crushed at the scrap yard and that would be the end of Stewart.  Joe began lumbering back toward the truck through the woods, now dark and illuminated only by the glow of the moon,  the trees shifting in the wind. 

Joe got to the truck and threw the shovel in the back.  Old Craig at the salvage yard would be glad to get the truck and smash it, then run it through the shredder and destroy the evidence.  Joe started the engine and turned on the lights.  He put it in gear and was about to back up when he saw a figure behind the truck walking toward him slowly.  It was a woman in nice clothes.

Joe could not believe his eyes.  He put the truck into gear and turned around, shining the headlights on the figure.  He was speechless.  It looked just like Sheila, in her blue dress and white dress gloves. 

With a huge sigh, Joe cursed himself.  "Sheila is dead, down the road fifteen miles in a cemetery.  I'm not going to go on some guilt trip and start seeing things." 

Joe put the truck in drive and took off.  He saw the truck bear down on the figure and it faded away.  He sped down the old trail to a dirt road and ralized where he was, a spot mom used to take them on "family outtings" thinking she was making them bond.  He hated those outings. 

As the truck sped up Joe became aware that he was not alone in the cab and he glanced to the right.  Beside him was the figure of Sheila, her face ghastly pale, her eyes sunk and black glaring at him from the passenger seat.  Joe swerved off the road and stopped, shook his head and blinked his eyes, then looked back.  She was still there and her pale, dead eyes stared at him as he shook his head.

Joe would not believe his eyes and he reached out a hand and touched her.  His hand felt ice cold and he sturck something soft, as if it was not there, but was there at the same time. 

Joe shreiked in terror as he realized that she had indeed caught up to him and he felt her hand reach out and grab his throat in ice cold fingers as her mouth opened and she hissed at him in rage.  Joe fought to tear himself free from her grip.  Her ghostly fingers were not strong enough to hold him and Joe dove out of the truck seat and spun around to hear a horn and see the headlights of a pickup truck.

Joe felt the guard smash into him, and his head hit the steel cross beam.  He heard the bone connect and he felt the ground strike him. 

Laying on the ground where he fell, Joe could not move at all and realized his neck must have snapped.  His head hurt beyond imagination and he saw a long haired man with a hat and torn old clothing bend over him.  He had a thin fellow chewing tobacco with him.

"He's dead, bro, aint no way he survived that."
"You saw him, he got outta that truck without looking and stepped right in front of me!"

  "I know, I know, it weren't your fault."
  "The law will get me for killin this stupid idiot."
  "No they won't.  Gimme a hand."

The thin man grabbed Joe by the hand and drug him off the road out into the sticks.  He dropped his arm there and the other man started the truck and drove it down the hill into the trees and shrubs.

The thin man waited for him, looked at Joe, who could not react and as the thin man spit, he talked to his friend.

"By the time they find this hick, we'll have great grand childern."

  The big man looked at Joe, who felt terror grip him, but could feel no part of his body.  "Dumbass."  The man said, and the two of them got in their truck and drove away.

Joe lay on the ground, filled with panic, but unable to move, unable to make a sound, just endure the pain in his head and for a moment he wondered if that was how Sheila had felt.  He lay watching the moon and a tear dribbled down his face as he thought of his money, his business, his new car and all the things he would never see again.  It was almost as bad as being in the casket hours ago, only a bit worse.

Joe lay on the ground and as the night grew black when the moon went behind a cloud he saw Sheila standing over him, pale, white, bending down slowly till her ghostly face was right over his.  He saw her eyes, colorless, looking deep into his.  She said nothing, just gave a little smile, and Joe saw the world fade away.

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