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Schk Thump.
The scrape of the metal shovel against hard-packed soil echoed down to him.
Dirt hit the top of the coffin. Sawdust and soil rained over him from above.
Schk Thump.
He couldn't move his hands. Duct tape cinched them together behind his back. His knees knocked into the bottom of the lid. He kicked out his legs, but he didn't have enough leverage to even make a dent in the sides of his wooden prison.
Schk Thump.
Sweat coated his skin. He couldn't breathe around the gag they forced into his mouth, and the air coming in from his nose just wasn't enough. He tried to scream. Nothing but a muffled whine passed his lips.
Schk Thump.
The sound was lighter, but that only made him panic more. Not even the bright light of his gravediggers' lanterns slipped through the slits in his coffin now. He screamed again but gagged on the spit that had collected in his mouth.
Thump.
The darkness swallowed him whole. The fuckers couldn't even give him the courtesy of a flashlight while they buried him alive? Just something to ward off the terrifying, endless night?
Thump.
Oh god, this was it for him, wasn't it? No one was coming for him. No one was going to find him. If he didn't die from the lack of air or starvation or dehydration, he was going to choke to death on the stench of his own waste. He squeezed his eyes shut.
Thump.
He was going to die.
Thump.
He was going to die.
Thump.
He was going to die.
Thump. Thump. Thump.