Box

Short horror story

   You know when you abruptly awake from dreaming because you dream your falling? That's precisely what just happened. 

    When I sit up, my head hits a ceiling and it's so dark I can't tell if my eyes are really open. When my head makes contact, it reverberates within it. It feels like when you hit a bucket full of water- the contents slosh back and forth, then settle. Imagine this, but include the contents of your head, and you understand why I throw up. I feel groggy, like if I just woke up from a thousand year nap.

    "How did I get here?"

    The last thing I remember was lying on the beach on sunny Jax Beach in Florida. I walked there with my younger sister, Kate, because she shouldn't be around my family when they fight. What they were fighting about, I can't quite place my finger on. Something not worth fighting about, I'm sure. We slashed in the water, constructed sand castles, and absorbed the sun's light. I don't remember falling asleep, but I apparently had. 

    Kate!

    I hope she's alright. It'll be my fault if anything happens to her. 

    With daydreaming, I completely forgot about my current situation.

    "Help!"

    "Help me! I'm stuck!" I yell. I get discouraged from the lack of response and discontinue.

    I grope the inside of the container I'm in. The metal is frigid and I realize how cold I am. The cold creeps into my bones and chills my blood. I've never been this freezing. 

    I measure the height with my forearms and I come up with about two feet. The width is wide enough for my hips, plus a hands length on either side. The length is as long as my legs and feet outstretched. I think this box is for smaller things than me, as my neck is forced to bend slightly to accommodate the box.

    This is the dimensions of my casket.

    My initial thought is to wait for help, but I can't just sit here. I'll die from the amount of CO2 my body is producing by breathing. Or maybe I'll die from hypothermia. Or maybe I can kick through the material near my feet. It's an awkward movement, but I manage to thrust with my legs. I use my heels and they vibrate with pain as they hit the solid wall. This isn't going to work. I'm going to die in here. 

    I'm going to die in here and if Kate is in the same situation, she will die too.

    I have to keep trying, for Kate. I continue to kick the wall. It doesn't budge. I feel around the corners of box. They come to a rigid point. I feel along the smooth metal on the sides of the box. I hit the side of the box with the palm of my hand with a thud. I slump back the best I can and listen. It sounds like wind moving past the box. I hit the other side with the same result. I raise myself up and slam my butt on the bottom of the box. I don't hear the sound I assumed I would, It was more like a hollow wall. 

    Maybe there was something or something under me! I push my body weight onto the floor and I can feel a groove underneath me as I continue this movement until there are no more results. The dent I've made in the floor sloped down at least an inch. I slam my shoulders onto the part under them and my head. The flooring slopes downless than the floor in the middle of the length or the box. I must have hit something

    I go for one more stomp and put all of my force in it with my feet. After this I'm exhausted and flustered. I haven't made any perceivable progress. I don't know how long it's been since I've eaten. I could be days. I try to fold into fetal position, but my arms won't bend in front of me, so I put them above me. I stay here and think.

    I think about what my parents had always told my about letting your guard down. Don't go to the bathroom by yourself. Don't walk to your car by yourself. Don't eat anything a stranger gives you. If I had heeded their advice, I wouldn't be in this situation. I wouldn't be stuck in a freaking box. 

    I pull my hand to my cheek to wipe a tear and I feel a sharp pain on my index finger. I touch it with my other hand and it stings. I'm bleeding. 

    What the hell did I cut myself on?

    I delicately run my fingers over the top portion where my head is. When I dented it, a lip formed in the thin metal under me. 

    I curl my fingers under the sheet of metal and pull. This slices the inside of my hand open. There's blood freely flowing from my hands now. If I could see anything, I would assuredly faint. I wrap my long hair around my hands and try again. 

    The sharp metal bends up as I pull. I reach under the sheet metal and feel around. I only feel another sheet of metal, but there is an inch gap between the wall and the metal. It's also about an inch thick, but it won't budge as I try to shift it. It must be weighted, or a weight itself. 

    I'm in a box with another compartment below me with a weight at the bottom. You use weights to either make something sink. or something stay and not slide. 

   The box must be being shipped. 

    That's a perfect explanation- someone is trying to ship me somewhere. I don't know where, but I don't plan on finding out. 

    I think about those stories I hear about mothers lifting up entire cars to save their children, that humans are only as strong as they think they are. I have to convince myself I can kick through the bottom of the box where my feet are in order to escape this casket. 

    I muster up everything I have and put it into kicking the wall down. I imagine myself kicking the wall down and busting out as I do. I ignore the excruciating pain in my legs and feet and continue the motion. I can feel it budging and I imagine being free again. I imagine sitting on the sand with Kate tommorrow. 

    One more kick and I'll but out of here. I kick one more time and a corner of the box opens. 

    My ears begin to ring and I feel as though they will burst. 

    Water chills my feet.