Buried Alive! (HHWC)

In the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and eighty five, I solemnly swear, henceforth, my life for not if not in service of our Lord and Savior. I am not a man of many possessions; I have not a thing to my name any longer, not since that fateful night a fortnight ago.

The ghastly and frail hand of an elderly man begins to shake, forcing him to remove his fingers from the dusty typewriter, lest he accidentally press a key in his frantic manner and have to start over yet again. A single tear falls onto the base of the typewriter, followed swiftly by another, and another. The man grabs onto his shaking hand and takes a minute to gather himself, then continues on, the only sound in the cold, dark room in which he resides is the tapping and clicking of the typewriter.

Sarah Elizabeth Ashe, the name of an angel sent down from the Kingdom of Heaven by the grace of God. She became my world one score and a fortnight ago; the Devil be damned, she was the most beautiful woman in all of the Confederacy. The night we met, I shall never forget, I asked her to dance the night away. Her gentle face lit up like the starry night that guided our feet as we danced together to nothing but the sound of Mother Nature. The war had ended and I, the lone survivor of my clan, was feeling rather lonesome and melancholy-like. That sweet ol’ girl washed my troubles away like the tides on a white, sandy beach, and for one night, at least, I was at peace with the world. That peace would last twenty years from that night onward.

Then, one morning, my sweet Sarah Elizabeth didn’t wake up. Oh, I shook her something fierce, cursing her name and the name of our Lord that I would kill her if she were making fun. But after a good half-hour of trying to wake her, a chill ran up my spine. I rode down to the Sheriff’s office and we rushed back home, with the town doctor in tow. They examined her for quite sometime, but they both seemed to come to the same conclusion rather quickly. ‘She is dead, Mr. Ashe. I am terribly sorry,’ said the doctor and the Sheriff both. As they were packing her up and ready to take her away, I begged them on my hands and knees that they were wrong. I knew, as God as my witness, that she had not passed. ‘We have been married for twenty years,’ I said, ‘Her and I are one! She is not dead!’

All my pleas and cries, alas, were in vain. They took her away that night and I returned to my quarters, without a taste of supper in my belly, and rested uncomfortably on the bed we once shared not even a sunset ago. It was many hours before I finally fell asleep that night, but well-rested I would not be in the morning. The moment I closed my eyes, I saw her face, frantic and more alive than I have witnessed in years. I could hear her crying for help, crying out my name! I could see her clawing away at the wooden coffin she had been imprisoned in, her screams of agony and fear grew terrifyingly real. I woke up that night in shock and in tears. She was alive.

A week had past, every night the same nightmare, every morning the sheriff assured me that she was gone and that what I was going through was understandable. Curse him and his family, he was talking out of his false teeth. Finally, though, I had bothered him to a point where he gathered a party to dig her up. When we reached the grave of my beloved, my heart sank to the bottom of my stomach. I could hear her cries, she was crying my name still. Without a word, I jumped onto the grave and started to dig with my own two hands. I clawed for what seemed to be an eternity before the Sheriff pulled me away. They dug her up. I didn’t watch. I had my eyes closed until I suddenly heard a collective gasp and shrieks of horror. Her nails were bent backward and the top of the coffin had frantic streaks engraved into them. She was buried alive.

The old man leaned back in his rocking chair and pondered for a moment. His face was blank and his eyes were as cold as the room he was in, but he seemed to have a determined aura about him. He closed his eyes and began to rock back and forth, the chair creaking with each movement. The sound of his wife crying his name still ringing in his head, his whole body tenses. The nightmares no longer wait for him to fall asleep, they haunt him every hour of the day. He could see his beloved lying enclosed underground, with time running out. Her eyes suddenly open, but there is nothing but blackness. Her beautiful blue eyes had been replaced by two dark holes, maggots making her their home. He opened his eyes and shook away the terrifying image, leaning forward to finish his note. A cold sweat runs down his cheek.

She was alive and I didn’t answer her cries for help. My whole world is now rotting under the earth that once gave her life. It is with a heavy heart that I must bid this world a not so fond farewell. I have nothing to my name, no children to carry on my legacy. I am the last of my clan, and I have lost all faith in God. I am at wits end, and it will all end soon. Sarah Elizabeth Ashe, I will dance with you again soon. I will follow you into the dark.

Signed,
Theodore Ashe

Without a thought, he tears the paper from the typewriter and places it on the bed where his wife once rested. He then steps onto a table with a noose prepared and waiting for him. With the noose now around his neck, he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. To his surprise, he doesn’t see his wife’s crying soul any longer. No, she was smiling and holding out her hand as if asking him to dance under the moonlight. A single tear rolls down his cheek as he leaps from the table, forcing the rope to tighten around his neck. His neck snaps as his body hangs limp and sways back and forth, hitting the table violently before coming to a stop. His vision goes black.

The next morning, the very room he had been in the night before typing his final words was filled with loved ones. They crowded around his limp body in shock and awe, not wanting to believe their eyes. The Sheriff, cold and undisturbed, grabs the limp old man and carries him away. He was buried that night, next to his beloved.

Many hours had passed and his loved ones were long gone from his freshly covered grave. Underneath the soil and earth lies a coffin with a man with nothing to his name. Quietly he lies, finally able to rest without nightmares. A man stands over his grave with a shovel and a dirty face. He smiles and shakes his head, thinking of the good times he had shared with the man right below him. He blows him a kiss and nods his head in respect, slowly walking away into the moon-lit night. Underground, Theodore lies next to his beloved. His eyes suddenly open to nothing but blackness, a cold sweat running down his cheek.

The night goes on without a sound.

That's a great story, really disturbing. I liked it a lot. Keep up the good work.

GOOD ONE! Really well written and I love the "period atmosphere" (saved by the bell?) you really converyed the feelings of despair and dread in a short composition!
Impressed and shivering,my deepest "fear" had been brought to the surface in your wrods!

thats a really good story, S+F for you, and im hoping to see more stories from you

Thank you for reading and leaving feedback, you guys

I loved your story! I read everything I can get my hands on, and in my opinion, this rates right up there with the best of them. From the plot to the writing style, I was truly impressed. From all of the stories entered in this contest so far, this would be my pick for a winner!

reply to post by peewee1263


That means a lot to me thank you!

reply to post by Modern Americana


You have an old sense, I like that. The agony here was well construed. (written)
I think you will do well in the contest.

Good story. Very well written. I won't comment on who should be the winner because I suppose I have a bit of bias.

Starred and flagged.

reply to post by Modern Americana


What wonderful articulation! I loved the artistic style you brought to your words. My heart weeps for the tragedy! Wonderful writing

reply to post by Modern Americana


S&F What a grim fate to awake beneath the sod with no hope of rescue. This story definitely has the shiver up the spine factor. Well done.

You did a great job and I would never call this inadequate! S&F for you! Good luck in the contest.

Thanks again to everyone who gave me feedback. It is for people like you that I force myself to write this crap and to hope people read it

I hope the judges find my story in the midst of the dozens of other great ones. Oh, and if you don't vote for me... I'll bury you alive