Agitated.
        Suffocated.
        That’s how I feel.
        This place smells of roses and mothballs. It’s black dark.
        “Yay, though I walk through the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,” the minister says,
monotonous, undramatic.
        Light lies along the long top edge of the casket. Where does that light come from?
        As if to answer my question, a dull pink lamp glows into view in front of me. But it
illuminates nothing other than the casket.
        I cannot see the minister or any of the people around. But I can hear them: a slight rustle
of material, a sniff, a crinkle of paper.
        I have no idea how I got here or whose funeral this is.
        The pink lamp fades out and once again, the only thing I can see is that streak of dim
light along the edge of the casket.

​

        The minister’s voice stops, leaving me in dark and quiet, except for the sounds of people
around me breathing.
        I stare hard at the casket, directing my agitation at it. Who’s in there? I can’t think of
anyone I know dying recently. Then again, I can’t think of what I was doing yesterday or the day
before or the day before that. Or even today.
        I don’t even know what time of day it is.
        Movement in the light along the top of the casket. The light has broken.
        How?
        The light breaks in another place, and another. The breaks come together. A wide black
space now between two streaks of light.
        The pink light glows again, and I realize what I see on the casket: a hand enveloped in a
black glove. Now a black arm appears followed by the rest of the body and the head. All black,
faceless. The person must be in a black bodysuit.
        The person crawls out of the casket noiselessly. My heart trembles.
        No one around me makes a sound. The minister stays silent.
        The person in the all-black body suit steps out of the casket.
        This is the scaredest I’ve ever been in my life. I don’t know how I can be this afraid and
still be alive.
        Am I alive?
        I watch the black faceless figure. It makes no noise as it moves. It does not seem to know
I’m here. It’s walking back behind the casket into the darkness. Out of my view.
       Shaking, I think to myself, You will get out of this

​

        The figure reappears out of the darkness close to me. I shout, but no sound comes from
my mouth. I must be dreaming. Wake up! Wake up!
        The minister starts again but now he speaks only one word, “ok,” repeating it with
increasing speed and volume,
        “okokokokokokokokokokokokokokokokokokokokoko”
        The black figure breathes in my ear. I hear the liquid sound of it sloshing its tongue
        around in its mouth. I smell rotting lettuce.
        You will get out of this, you will get out of this, you will get out of this
        “okokokokokokokokokokokokokokokokokokokokoko”
        The breathing grows more intense in my ear.
        I feel it touch my flesh. Smooth like rubber.
        I recoil.
        You will get out of this, you will get out of this, you will get out of this
        “okokokokokokokokokokokokokokokokokokokokokokok”
        That rubbery sensation surrounds me, grabs me, envelopes me.
        You will get out of this, you will get out of this, you will get out of this
        I feel it squeeze, powerful, deadly.
        “okokokokokokokokokokokokokokokokokokokokokokokok”
        A warm wetness encircles my head like something swallowing me.
        You will get out of this, you will get out of this, you will get out of this