As the first shovelful of dirt rained down upon the wooden lid, he began to stir. The sound of thunder crackled above. He could see nothing. His arms pinned to his sides. At first he thought it was rain, sleep paralysis. Then his hands found the satin lining. The darkness became suffocating. He worked his arms into motion and began pounding the cushioned ceiling inches from his face. His screams drowned out by the thunder as the dirt fell. Soon there was nothing but his labored breathing. The world went silent. Was it a dream?
“No,” an evil voice whispered.