Page 5 of Trapped: Until The Darkest Of Night

The words are not a threat. The man stands close behind him; his fat belly pushes the boy forward. With trembling hands, he opens the six metal clasps on the side with thick hinges that make it impossible to pry the lid open from the inside.

“Your mother did this quicker than you.”

The words are like electric shocks to the heart. With all his strength, the boy pushes open the wooden lid. His eyes are glued to the ornate embellishments on the front. Rose tendrils on ebony. Just don’t look inside.

“That’s enough.”

The coffin is only half open, but it’s enough to climb inside. The smell of cold sweat, urine, and feces wafts toward him.

“If I hear even just a peep from you, I’m going to push the coffin into the pit and dump dirt on it. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then you’ll die like your miserable mutt."

He clamps his hand over his mouth and tries not to think about Blacky’s whimpering when the monster tied his paws together and crammed him into the tiny box. He must not cry. Absolutely not!

The fist hits him again. “Do you want me to give you a beating first?”

“No, sir.” He tries desperately to think of something nice. Of his Little Miss Sunshine, of the blonde girl. There was something bright and happy about her that made his heart light. But Little Miss Sunshine is so infinitely far away. He doesn’t even know where he saw her. Knees trembling, he climbs into the coffin and lies outstretched, arms pressed to his sides. His big toes touch the wood. He must have grown in the last three weeks. The skin where his sock is ripped immediately gets cold.

“Look at me!”

The boy obeys.

The iron face above him is serious. The man doesn’t grin. That scares him. Even more than usual.

“I swear to God, I’ll teach you obedience, you little bastard.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” he hears himself whimper. Momentarily, he really does.

Now the monster is grinning. “You’re a pathetic weakling. Your father must have been a total loser!”

The boy clenches his hands. He would like to beat the man, but that would only prolong his punishment.

As the man lowers the lid, he narrows his eyes because he doesn’t want to see it getting dark. All he hears is the rubbing of the wood…the clicking of the metal clasps. Click-click-click. Three. Click-click-click. Six.

Then, all is quiet. So quiet. The only thing he hears is his breathing. His chest tightens as if he is crying, but he remains silent and his eyes dry. He blinks. There’s nothing but darkness and a putrid stench. He has to think of Blacky. Of his soft fur, his damp muzzle, his warm body. The only warmth he remembers. Blacky made it, he’s done with it—all the torment the man put him through for his sake. As if from a great distance, he hears him howling. He swallows. Blinks. If he cries, the man will kill him. Are his eyes wet?

He tries to think about nothing, but it’s pointless. His fear rears up like a spooked horse. How long is he going to stay locked up in here this time? A day? Three? One week? Will he be let out in between?

He can hear his hectic breathing, but eventually, his senses switch off. He no longer smells anything, no longer hears anything. Only darkness remains.

It is so vast that there is nothing left of him.

Why did you go away, Mom? Do you hear me? Why did you leave me?

The darkness is everywhere. Also within him.

Maybe that’s why his mom ran away. He’s a bad person. A bastard. A child whose father didn’t want him. Whose mother didn’t want him. The blackness is growing thicker. He can’t breathe anymore. He shouldn’t be breathing anymore. He cannot be loved. Who could ever love him if his mom and dad couldn’t? He is nothing. Ashes and dust.

The boy chokes back his tears. It takes all his strength, whatever little strength he has left. Suddenly, there is red fog everywhere, behind his closed eyes, in his head, in his ears and in his fists. Everything is red like blood. Something is happening to him, but he can’t say what.

“Step aside,” says a strange voice in the red haze, pushing him away. At that moment, everything around him explodes. The darkness, the coffin, his consciousness…

It’s like waking up without having slept. The high-pitched whistle I heard earlier fades. After a while, I recognize it as my breath. For a couple of seconds, I just sit there and try to capture some of the images, but it’s the same after each flashback. The memories fade before I can look at them. As if they weren’t part of me, but part of someone who’s gone now. Only vaguely I remember the boy as if I’d seen him in a movie—but I don’t recall a single emotion. There’s a wall separating us.

Dazed, I wipe my eyes and glance around. I lean against the wall, legs bent. A broken oil lamp lies at my feet. The kerosene has settled in puddles around the shards and next to it I find books scattered across the floor. It looks like a lunatic had pulled them off the shelf and stomped on them.

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