I tried thinking back to any experiences I’d had with coffins. I’d been to two funerals in my life. One was my grandfather’s on my dad’s side, and the other was for an old neighbor who used to yell at me for stealing raspberries off of his prized plants. Both funerals had one thing in common, other than the fact I had to borrow ties from my dad that were too long: the lids on the caskets were split across the top. The bottom half remained closed, concealing the legs, while the other half was propped open, revealing the deceased from the waist up. So I changed gears and searched for the seam that divided the lid into two sections.
As my hands searched through the darkness like a blind person reading braille, the decayed silk ripped free from the lid with the slightest effort, and I had to keep pushing is aside to reach the wood. It made me wonder just how old the coffin really was. But, as much as I felt around the lid above me, I still didn’t find a seam. Apparently, the lid on this coffin didn’t split.
An ache settled into my shoulders from the cramped quarters. My muscles were so rigid and tight, it felt like boulders were tied to the base of my neck. I started rotating my shoulders as much as I could in the limited space. Over the next couple of minutes, I relieved some of the stiffness, but the soreness stayed behind.
As I carefully stretched, a thought occurred to me. I don’t know where the thought came from, but I wondered if, back in the day, grave robbing was really as much of a problem as old horror movies suggested. Because this coffin had “back in the day” written all over it. If it was indeed a problem back then, there had to be some way of securing the top of the coffin to the bottom in order to prevent it from being easily opened again once it was sealed. A locking mechanism of some sort.
As much as I could, I wiggled and scrunched my body against the back of the coffin and tried to look down the length of the slit where the light was coming through. Around the middle of the coffin, I saw it. Or, at least I saw something. I didn’t know if it was exactly what I was looking for, but there was a darkened area, the break in the strip of light I was looking for. My heart rate rose and I could feel my blood start to pump faster in anticipation. It’s strange how something as little as seeing that dark spot could have such an effect. But, when you’re grasping at straws, even the shortest one is a big deal.
Grabbing a piece of silk from above my head, I tore it free and ripped it into a thin, narrow strip. I carefully tried to slide the flimsy cloth into the narrow crack between the coffin and its lid. I quickly found it to be like trying to thread a needle. It took a few moments, but when I finally got it in, I continued to feed the cloth until I figured there were at least a couple of inches hanging outside the coffin. Like a thief using a credit card on a doorjamb, I slid the piece of silk down the length of the coffin toward the dark spot.
Just as I had hoped, the silk caught on the blockage and wouldn’t go any farther. My heart was pounding so loud I had to plead with it to be quiet. It was irrational, I know, but my fear that someone might hear it was real. Before getting too excited, I slid the cloth back away from the dark spot and tried again. It caught just as before. After trying a couple of more times just to be sure, my eyes grew damp and a lump of joy formed in my throat. Maybe, just maybe, I was on the upside of this roller coaster ride. But I steeled myself against being overly optimistic. I wasn’t free yet. I’d found what was keeping the lid secure, keeping me locked inside the musty and cramped prison, so at the very least, I was headed in the right direction.
I drew the cloth back inside the coffin so it wouldn’t draw any unwanted attention if anyone should happen to walk into the room. I hadn’t heard any sounds for awhile, but I was sure the girl and her twisted father were somewhere in the church. At any moment, one or the other could come around. What they would be coming for, I tried not to imagine. But, I knew they weren’t keeping me locked up for something as innocuous as a tea party.
He harvests their bones.
I ran my hand along the area where the locking mechanism held the lid closed, hoping to find something made of metal, a casing of some kind that I’d missed earlier. But, just as before, all I felt was wood, nothing different.
Just as doubt crept back in, taunting my growing optimism, another idea formed, and I searched around me for the pliers. After extricating them from some stale clothing or twisted silk—I wasn’t sure which—I tried to stick the needle noses into the slit itself. I figured if I could wedge them in, maybe I could use them like a pry bar. The bare edge of the point went in, but slipped right back out when I applied any real pressure. The point was just too big to do what I was asking of it. Damn it!
I pushed against the wood in frustration, willing it to give way. It didn’t, but a slight cracking sound made my eyes widen. Either the wood of the coffin was thinner around the latch, or there was a void. That cracking sound told me that area wasn’t solid like the rest of the coffin and that was a very good sign.
With the pliers held against the thinner wood with one hand, I hit the end of the tool as hard as I could with the palm of my other. The tip dug into the wood like a chisel. After a couple of strikes, the hardened steel point found its way deeper into the softer, dry-rotted wood. The wood splintered, making way for steel. On the fourth try, the nose of the pliers hit something hard and a distinct ping rang out. It was an unmistakable sound.
Metal striking metal.
I’d found the locking mechanism. Whether it took minutes or hours, I wasn’t sure, but I chipped away a hole about the size of a man’s wallet from around the metal box in the wall of the coffin. The mechanism jiggled a bit when I pushed on it, but it was still held in place by the lid. There was a pin or something coming from the top, engaging it to the bottom.
I worked the metal box back and forth with my fingertips, loosening it a little more each time. Eventually, the box was loose enough to fit the tip of the pliers behind it. I pried with the aid of more leverage. With a vicious jolt, the metal box jerked away from the wood where it had been embedded for probably a hundred years. It still hung from its engagement in the top, but the mechanism itself was free.
My heart was pounding from my success as much as the exertion, and I struggled to lie still, just to make sure I hadn’t been heard. As my tiny world grew silent once again, I feared that everyone in a three county area had heard my pounding, including the menacing occupants of this church. In comparison, the silence here was so dense, so complete. I allowed myself no other movement but to breathe.
Those were the longest moments of my life. Every second my work went undetected, I debated how long to wait. How long was long enough, and how long was too long? I was so close to busting out of jail, I sure as hell didn’t want to miss the opportunity. Nor did I want to burst headlong into a psycho and his hammer.
As the stillness remained, I determined enough time had passed. I placed my palms on the top of the coffin and, with my heart in my stomach, gave it a push. The low groan from the old metal hinges was the sweetest sound I’d heard in a long, long time.
Chapter 29
The sanctuary was awash in shadows that all blended together to form the darkness. The candles in the makeshift classroom had been snuffed out, reducing the visibility inside the sanctuary to an all-time low. I would need to use my cell phone to get around at all, though I worried about how much longer the battery would last. It could be awhile before I got somewhere with service, and I damn sure needed to have enough power to make a call when I did. Still, I needed to make it out of this room before I could even think about making a run for the safety of civilization.
I stuffed a hand in my pocket for the phone, but found what felt like large granules of sand under my fingertips when I pulled it out. What the heck had gotten into my pocket? When I pressed the power button on the side of the phone, the screen came to life and I saw the source of the sand. Turns out, it wasn’t sand at all. The screen was crackled, shattered like the veins on a leaf. Lines crisscrossed the glass in all directions, with small pieces of it miss
ing entirely. The screen was beyond repair, and there still was no signal, but at least the phone wasn’t a complete loss. It still provided the soft blue light I needed.
Risking everything, I took a deep breath, then cast the tinted light out into the room. As far as I could tell, neither the man nor his daughter were anywhere in the sanctuary. Not knowing where they were was unsettling, but quite frankly, seeing that creepy girl or her father anywhere near me would have been far more unsettling. I had no idea what I would’ve done. Or what they would have done. I didn’t care where they were, just as long as they weren’t standing between me and the back door. They could be in the classroom drawing more pictures in crayon and singing duets for all I cared. I was getting the hell out.
I took a deep breath, neither relaxed nor frightened, and prepared myself to escape this hell-hole.
I lifted myself up and out of the coffin, setting my feet on a splintered wooden stage. I could tell by scanning my cell around that pathways were worn in the tired varnish from a long-departed minister who paced over the same area for years. The gaps between the floorboards were wide and the entire platform had definitely seen better days.
As I let go of the side of the coffin, my knees buckled, and I grabbed onto it again to steady myself. I must have spent more time in the wooden box than I’d thought. I shook one leg, and then the other, enduring the unpleasant tingle as the circulation returned. Once I thought I could do it without falling, I took the first wobbly steps toward the mudroom.
Where was Garrett?
I tiptoed across the stage, my thoughts turning to my friend. I should have asked the girl about him when I had the chance, but I’d been too busy with my own problems at the time. I would have felt better if he was there with me. He was the go-to guy in difficult situations. Not me. His escape seemed unlikely. Garrett had been standing right beside me when my life took the turn toward Shitville. There was a chance he’d been spared the same fate, but it was a slight one. There was, after all, only one coffin. Maybe he’d made a run for it and escaped this forsaken place. Or even, it he’d been captured too, there was a chance that Garrett had broken out of his prison before I did. He could very well be on his way to get help.
Before that spark of hope could become a flame, the doubting Thomas in me pointed out just how remote this location was. We had walked for what seemed like miles without coming across a house, car or anything else that might be of assistance. And unless the wind had changed directions one hundred and eighty degrees, blowing toward the docks instead of away from them, he wasn’t getting that broken down boat back to the launch ramp anytime soon. So at the very least, even if he did get away, I was looking at some serious wait time before any help would arrive. That thought shot what little hope I had remaining all to hell.
The most likely scenario was that Garrett hadn’t gotten away, which would mean he was still somewhere in the church. That presented me with my own twisted version of “Would You Rather?” Run for my life and save my own ass, which was my first instinct, or stick around and try to find my best friend?
As I passed through the doorway and down the two steps into the mudroom, I found the decision had already been made for me. The hammering I’d heard earlier was explained as well. Six thick planks of mismatched wood stretched across the doorframe like bandages on an ugly wound, blocking any route of escape through the door we’d entered through.
Still, I grabbed ahold of one of the planks and pulled. It didn’t give at all, just as I expected. Holding up my cell to look closer, I counted at least six large nails in each end of the planks, holding them securely in place. My scrawny arms didn’t have the strength to get these boards to budge. I considered finding something strong enough to pry on them until they buckled, splintered apart or stripped out the nails. But, with six boards to get through, that would make way too much noise not to bring someone running. I’d be lucky if I got through the second one before I had company. This was a dead end. We may have come into the church that way, but it sure as hell didn’t look like we’d be getting out the same way.
And if things weren’t bad enough, my cell phone started blowing up.
Chapter 30
My heart rate shot through the roof as I fumbled for the button to silence my screaming ringtone. My hands trembled so badly, I nearly dropped the phone. Twice. I had to tuck it in my armpit to muffle the tinny, whizzing sound of fishing line flying out of a reel. It reverberated through the mudroom, as I cowered down beside the grimy washer.
I flipped the cell phone open just as it stopped ringing. What I saw on the screen came as no surprise, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.
Missed call: Mom.
Sonofabitch! She’d probably started to worry when I hadn’t made my requisite phone call and decided to call me instead. And with that thought rattling around my head, my heart broke. For me. For her. For the fights we’d been having. Because for the first time in weeks, I actually wanted to talk to her. I mean, really wanted to talk to her.
I hid beside the filthy appliances, feeling sorry for myself and once again waiting to find out if anyone else in the church had heard anything. The seconds ticked by slowly, but my heart rate didn’t match their pace. The urge to call my mother back gripped me, and I decided the risk would be worth it as long as I was able to let her know where I was. She would be on the phone with the cops seconds later, and they would be on their way.
Except I didn’t know where I was.
The abandoned road that led us to the church’s driveway was probably one of a hundred in the area. I could describe the church itself and offer up the name, but I wasn’t sure how long it had been abandoned. Maybe it would ring a bell with someone who knew the area. Maybe that could be enough.
But it wasn’t meant to be. Just as I raised the phone to make the call, the meter changed. The signal was gone. I hit the call back button anyway, but the phone did nothing in response. The tiny white X just sat there on the black screen where the bars had been moments before. The phone was mocking me, telling me to try again later. I could almost hear it snickering. The frustration nearly triggered a re-enactment of the tantrum I’d thrown in the coffin. But I refrained. I’d already dodged a bullet with no one hearing the phone go off. I didn’t want to tempt fate again. But my self-control didn’t make me feel any better.
I got to my feet and climbed back up the steps into the main room, shaking my head at how close I’d come to outside contact, and cursing myself for letting it slip away. I poked my head into the sanctuary to assess the situation. I needed to start doing more planning and less rushing into things. Impulsiveness had gotten us into this situation in the first place. The last thing I could afford to do now was take an already screwed up situation and make it worse.
After scanning the room to see if it was devoid of other humans, my gaze immediately turned in the direction of the front door. It was too far to see in the gloom, but it was there somewhere, and I needed to find it. When Garrett and I were outside, the locked door had kept us out. Now that I was inside, I hoped like hell it wasn’t going to keep me in. I didn’t think it would. It was a church door, after all, and the doors of most buildings opened from the inside, even when locked. Even if it had a deadbolt. It was quite possible that I could simply unlock it and walk right on out of the church undetected. Could it really be that simple? Had the genius who’d taken such extreme measures to block my exit through the back door really not thought of doing something more with the front? I didn’t know, but I was eager to find out.
My head still throbbed, a reminder of what had happened the last time I left the confines of the mudroom, but it didn’t stop me from taking the required steps. Despite the fact that it was too dark inside the sanctuary for anyone to really see me, I chose to stay low and concealed myself behind the pews as I crept along the outer edge of the room.
I was about halfway to the entrance, my heart pounding in my chest, when a sharp bang echoed off the sanctuary’s walls, dropping me to
all fours. Without a better alternative, I crawled to the nearest pew and slid myself underneath it. Except for the quickened rhythm of my heartbeat in my ears, I found myself completely engulfed in silence. And in that silence, it dawned on me just how quiet it was. The wind was no longer beating up the church, rattling its bones. Apparently, the storm had passed while I was in the coffin. That would easily improve Garrett’s chances of finding help – if he had indeed gotten away.
The yellowed pamphlets and mildew-stricken hymnals of a once-thriving church surrounded me while I waited. Waited for someone to come into the room. Waited for the sound to repeat itself. But, no one ever came. All I could think was that maybe an orphaned gust of wind had sent an errant branch against the outside of the clapboard building. It was as good an explanation as any, so I put my trust in that and slowly slid out of my hiding place.
In spite of the militarized voice in my head screaming at me to stay low, I risked a peek over the top of the pew. As far as I could tell, I was still alone in the room. At least it seemed that way. I couldn’t see very well in the dark, but my ears were working just fine. And unless someone else was cowering in the void somewhere, I was alone.
From my vantage point, I could just make out the stairway leading up to the loft. Like the rest of the room, the lower stairs were swallowed up by the near darkness. But, as they rose up toward the second story, each individual step grew increasingly more visible due to a faint light now coming from the loft. Even though Garrett and I had found candles burning in the classroom, I felt like the rules had probably changed since Garrett and I had been discovered snooping around. Lights and candles would surely only be used as necessities now, if for no other reason than to make it harder for us to maneuver around and escape in the unfamiliar pitch black. So if a light was on in the loft, I was willing to bet that it was only because someone was up there. As far as who it could be, I had no clue. It could have been either the daughter or the father. But, really, for all I knew, there were other people in the church that I wasn’t even aware of. Good or bad, I didn’t want to find out.
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