Chapter Text
The first thing he noticed when he came to was the pressure enveloping his body.
There was a weight on him. No– all over him. On his shoulders, his legs, a hard, cold pressure touching his face… When he tried to move his fingers, he shuddered at the sensation of soil on his fingernails.
Soil.
The realisation of his situation took his breath away. His chest tightened with a hard pressure, as if the world had squeezed itself between his ribs. While his mind was still trying to understand what was happening, his body had already made up its mind.
He tried to move. At first he lost his bearings, unable to tell which way was up. He just tried to lift his arms and dig upwards.
The soil didn't move immediately; it resisted at first, clenching tight. This resistance sharpened the fear inside him. For a moment, he truly thought he wouldn't make it. He would die here.
This thought filled him with such dread that it spurred him into action. He flailed his arms wildly, dug at the ground, pushed, tore. His nails dug in painfully, his fingers throbbed, but he did not stop. Every movement was a raw outburst of the instinct to survive.
Every second, the oxygen in his lungs was decreasing.
Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God. Into your hands I commit my spirit. Have mercy on me a sinner. Please go easy on me...
Suddenly, he felt the pressure on his fingers disappear, the harsh cold of the wind on his fingertips. He tried desperately to pull himself up.
The pressure above him suddenly eased and a thin trickle of air touched his face. That tiny bit of coolness completely broke Dennis's control; he gasped for breath as if drowning, greedily drawing the air into himself. As he tried to breathe, he spat out the bits of earth that had entered his nose and mouth. This only made him cough more.
Finally, he opened his eyes. The sky was dark.
Dennis almost started to cry. Or perhaps he did cry. He wasn't even aware of it now.
His arms trembling, he pulled himself up. After pulling himself up to his chest, his whole body began to shake. He continued to breathe desperately, as if someone were going to take his oxygen away at any moment.
Praise be to God Almighty. I thank you for giving this sinful servant another chance.
He couldn't bring himself to move until his breathing steadied. The air he drew in just wasn't enough. The dizziness and trembling wouldn't subside.
The touch of the soil against his skin was beginning to turn his stomach. He had to get out of here. He had to get out and try to understand what was happening. With trembling arms, he tried to free the lower part of his body. When he collapsed onto his knees, the world seemed to spin for a few seconds.
He pressed his hands into the soil. He closed his eyes to focus on his breathing.
The darkness returned in an instant.
That narrow, suffocating darkness within the soil. He literally felt that damp sensation in his body again.
His eyes snapped open. His breathing quickened once more.
He was outside now. Whatever had happened to him, he had escaped it. He kept repeating this in his mind. But his body was not convinced. His muscles were still tense, as if he were running away, his chest still tight, as if there were not enough air.
Dennis slowly rolled onto his side, his back against the cold earth. His chest was still heaving, but his breaths were now a little deeper.
Exhaustion washed over him like a wave. A heavy fatigue that penetrated to his bones. As the adrenaline slowly faded, he began to realise his situation.
First of all, he was naked. He was so scared that he hadn't even realised he was naked. There were dried earth clumps all over his body. They were scattered over him like a blanket. He began to realise that his trembling was more from the cold than from panic. The damp soil on him wasn't helping much in this situation. Driven by the urge to cover himself, he wrapped his arms around his body.
He turned his head away from his own body and began to look around.
He was in a cemetery.
There were gravestones of various sizes. And lots of trees. A little further away, an iron fence could be seen. The wind was light; the leaves were barely moving.
He lifted his head slightly. He fixed his gaze on the place he feared most at that moment. The ground he had just emerged from.
In front of the place he had emerged from was a gravestone. Grey, its corners slightly worn. It wasn't very ornate. There was just a name and a date. Dennis's heart sank.
Dennis Whitaker
1925-1950