It's Just a Box!

Tammy had just finished another grueling shift as a midwife at Florida General in Jacksonville. They were short-staffed, as always, and things got hectic, crazy even, and as a result, Tammy had lost one of the babies born that day. It was on her shift. Her responsibility. She felt like shit. She was almost one hundred percent sure she had done everything she could. Everything she knew how to, and still...

She entered the locker room. She wanted to wash this shift off herself, get some food and maybe a bottle of wine, and then crash on the sofa in front of the TV. That's how she dealt with difficult days like this. She suspected a lot of her colleagues did the same. You just had to escape sometimes.

She opened her locker and was about to pull off her top with the cute storks with babies on it when her phone rang. It was her younger brother, Mark. She knew because of the ringtone, the annoying laugh of SpongeBob. She had chosen it for him because he could be just as irritating as that laugh.

"What's up, Mark?" she asked.

"Hey, Tammy. You working today?"

At twenty-eight, he still had that energetic excitement about him that was usually reserved for kids. Tammy wished she had some of that positive energy herself. Instead, she felt like a days-old party balloon hovering an inch above the floor instead of reaching for the sky. She tucked the phone under her chin and started to undress.

"Just finished a forty-eight-hour shift. What's up?"

"Listen, Jimmy and I stumbled on this estate sale on our way to the beach, and -"

Tammy sighed and rolled her eyes. She knew he would be asking a favor. Usually, it was money he needed to borrow or her car.

Mark paused for a second. "You're rolling your eyes, aren't you?"

Embarrassed to have been caught so quickly, she stopped undressing, straightened up, and listened.

"Go on," she said.

"This sale was lit; they had some killer stuff."

"And..." she said, still waiting for that favor to drop.

"Well, we bought some stuff. Oh my God, I can't believe it. Seriously! Amazing, and the most expensive thing we bought was just twenty-five bucks!" he sounded very excited.

"And..." she repeated, now getting impatient as well.

"Well, since we're heading to the beach, your place is on our way, so we were thinking we could store this stuff at your house until we drive back home on Sunday."

Really, was this the favor? Tammy felt relieved.

"Sure. No problem. Put it in the garage. I don't want a bunch of junk inside my house."

She was sure it was all junk. What could you possibly get for that kind of money that was actually worth something? It was probably more stuff that he and Jimmy would use as props in one of their endless film projects.

"You're the best, Tam!"

"Yeah, yeah. I gotta go. Enjoy the beach."

"Love you, sis!" Followed by kissing noises.

Tammy cringed but couldn't help but smile at the same time. Annoying as he was, she still loved him. She put her phone inside the locker and continued to undress.

It looked like autumn outside. The clouds were dark and heavy and scudded across the sky as if late for an appointment. A balmy breeze accompanied them, playfully tugging at the early yellowing leaves. Despite the calendar insisting on cooler weather, the temperature was in the eighties. A tropical system was pushing in from the Gulf, lending a deceptive warmth to the air. Tammy liked it. It was like fall without the cold.

She felt a comforting familiarity driving through her neighborhood -- a quaint enclave built in the 1940s with modest homes canopied by old Live Oaks. Her own home was a rust-red cottage with a detached garage added years after the original house had been built. Now, it served as a temporary storehouse for their late mother's belongings, still untouched ten months after her passing.

She parked her Subaru on the cracked driveway in front of the garage, grabbed her bag, and stepped out into the warm, muggy air. To Tammy, the mild and humid air felt like a soothing hug. She passed by the potted asters she had planted just last week and climbed the four steps to her porch. Each step creaked softly, like whispering a familiar "welcome home."

Tammy opened the door and stepped inside. The dwindling daylight left the living room shrouded in shadows. Locking the door behind her, she flipped on the light switch and kicked off her shoes. When she turned around, her heart jumped, and she gasped. In the middle of her comfy living room stood a large black wooden casket. She stared at it as anger grew. She wasn't scared of death; she saw it every day, but this was different. This was an intrusion. She whipped out her phone from the bag, fingers trembling with fury. If this was Mark's idea of a joke, he had another thing coming.

"Siri, call Mark."

The phone obeyed, and after a few rings, Mark answered. She could hear people and music in the background. They were obviously at a bar somewhere.

"Hi, Tam."

"What the fuck is this? Are you kidding me? A goddamn casket? In my living room?" Tammy's temper flared. She could hear in his voice that he'd been drinking. Typical, she thought, forever the frat boy.

"You mean the garage. We could barely get it in because of --"

She cut him off. "Don't be dumb with me. I'm going to throw this thing out to the curb! It's not staying in my house until Sunday."

"It's just a box."

"Just a box?! It's a fucking coffin. A secondhand coffin! Only a psycho would buy a used coffin." Mark's calm only served to fuel her frustration, her voice rising with each word.

"It was only twenty-five bucks." he tried.

"I don't give a shit if it was free!" she barked and ended the call abruptly.

Pissed off beyond measure, she stood with her hands on her hips and glared at the big black box dominating her living room. You're not staying in here, she thought defiantly. Her gaze shifted between the front door and the casket. It was a nice casket, suspiciously nice, heavy, and austere. Probably in the three thousand dollar range, she guessed. It reminded her uncomfortably of the time she had to choose a casket for their mother not so long ago.

She leaned in and took a closer look at it. There were faint scratches on the lid and sides -- hardly noticeable unless you were looking. She couldn't help but wonder why someone would sell a casket like this so cheaply. Was it used for a viewing and then swapped out? Maybe this was one of those? Whatever its story, it didn't matter, she was going to push it out to the curb. She pulled open the front door, the wind whipping up outside, carrying the smell of rain with it. She groaned at the thought of dragging this thing out to the street in the rain and dark, but it had to go. No way would she keep it inside.

Tammy bent down by the casket to shove it toward the door, but it did not budge, it was far heavier than she had anticipated. She threw her entire weight against it, but it might as well have been anchored to the floor. Frustrated, she stared at the stubborn thing. Then, a chilling thought slithered into her mind: What if it wasn't empty? That thought was so absurd she chuckled at the idea. That couldn't be. It would be illegal, too, so she decided it was just a heavy-as-hell fancy casket. She pushed once more, to no avail. How had Mark and Jimmy, hardly the epitome of physical prowess, managed this?

The notion that it could be occupied gnawed at her again. Even though death didn't bother her, especially not in a hospital setting, it was different here at home in her living room. She felt a shiver down her spine. She decided to open it. It was the only way to be sure, she thought. With a slightly trembling hand, she grabbed the lid and tried to open it. It wouldn't open. She looked for some kind of locking mechanism but didn't find one. No locks, no clasps, nothing. It remained sealed. The lid was as stubborn as the rest of it. Growing suspicious, she leaned in, sniffing along the seam, but couldn't detect any odor of decay.

Anger flared up again. She grabbed her phone and called Mark, but it went straight to voicemail. After the beep, she unleashed her frustration.

"What the fuck were you thinking, Mark? You guys thought this was funny? You better get here first thing in the morning to move this thing. You hear me? If you don't, I'm gonna make sure you both end up inside of it!"

She picked up her bag, then kicked the coffin in anger on her way to the kitchen.

Tammy opened the refrigerator and looked inside. It was well stocked, yet nothing appealed to her. She realized that she just wasn't hungry, likely a side effect of the evening's unsettling events. She was still mad, and besides, who would want to sit and eat with a coffin nearby? Her gaze settled on a bottle of Chardonnay, which suddenly seemed like the perfect companion to the macabre object in her living room. As she reached for the bottle, a faint knock interrupted her. It sounded like someone was at her front door.

Setting the bottle down on the counter, she went to see who it could be, wondering if perhaps her elderly neighbor needed something, or worse, if something had happened to her even older husband. As she passed the casket, she shot it a glare of irritation.

She peeked outside through the peephole but saw nothing. Opening the door, she was greeted by wind gusts and a drizzle, but no one was out there as far as she could see. The lights were on in her neighbor's living room, so she assumed the old couple were okay. She figured the wind might have been playing tricks, which seemed likely on a night like this.

She locked the door, returned to the kitchen, opened that bottle, and grabbed a glass and a box of Ritz crackers. Settling into the living room in front of the TV, she tried to ignore that creepy object in the middle of the room by turning on the television. She poured a generous glass of wine, sat back, and flipped through the channels, finally landing on the trivial Dancing With the Stars. After a rather big first sip, she waited for that initial feeling of a warm, comforting buzz to spread throughout her body and soften the edges of her frazzled nerves. She enjoyed watching the couples dance on the TV, thinking she would love to dance with a man like that. Someday, she thought...

As she indulged in another generous sip, a sense of relaxation began to seep in. A scratching noise interrupted her moment of relief. She snapped her head in the direction of the sound. The coffin. It came from the coffin. She muted the show and listened intently, but all she could hear was the rain on her roof. She turned the sound back on, convinced it must be her overwrought imagination. As she began to unwind again, the scratching returned, more distinct this time. With a mix of irritation and unease, Tammy rose and approached the casket, leaning in close. Silence.

I must be losing my mind, she thought, eyeing the scratches on the casket's surface. The idea of something or someone -- she shuddered at the thought -- being inside seemed absurd, yet the feeling of unease was hard to shake. She rapped lightly on the lid.

"Hello? Anyone in there?" she half-joked, half-hoped for no response.

There was no answer from the coffin. Convinced exhaustion was getting to her, she decided she needed a shower. She grabbed her glass and headed for her bedroom.

The water in the shower steamed up the mirror as Tammy took her clothes off. She drank the last wine in her glass and stepped in under the hot water.

What an absolutely horrible day it had been, she thought.

Earlier in the day, she had gone over and over the incident at the hospital, and there was no doubt in her mind that she had done everything she could to save the baby's life. She didn't want to think anymore about it. It was simply too depressing. Her mind shifted instead over to the evening's events. Now, with a big glass of wine inside of her, she couldn't get angry at Mark again. Instead, she began to see the humor in the situation.

"I bet I'm the only one in JAX with a giant coffin in their living room," she thought. "A used coffin!" She laughed aloud, the absurdity of it all catching up with her.

By the time she finished her shower, she felt refreshed and in a much better mood. She turned off the water, reached for a towel, and dried off when she heard a noise. Some sort of shuffling noise. She froze, suddenly on full alert.

"Was there someone in her house?" She wrapped the towel tight around her, stepped out of the shower, and grabbed her phone from the vanity.

There was that sound again. She peered around the doorway in the hallway into the living room, her phone ready to call 911 if necessary. Her eyes swept across the living room, searching for any sign of an intruder, but she didn't see anyone, nor could she hear anyone.

"Hello?" she called out. "Anyone there?" All was quiet. She reached in and flicked on the light.

She stared at the coffin. Maybe she was just imagining things, but she could swear the coffin had moved. Not much, but enough to notice -- it had definitely moved a few inches. She looked around the room again to make sure there was no one else in there with her, but she didn't see anyone. Her gaze darted back to that damned coffin. She walked up to it. Its ominous presence sent a chill through her body. She decided she needed to get rid of it, and the sooner, the better. But how? She looked at her phone and dialed.

"911, what's your emergency?" a woman said after just one ring.

Tammy hesitated, not knowing what to say. She should've thought this through before calling.

"Uhm... I have a casket in my living room and..."

"Is this an emergency?" the woman asked.

"Not really,I guess."

She started feeling like this was a bad idea.

"I was just wondering if I could get some help moving it outside?" Tammy asked hesitantly.

"Ma'am, this line is for emergencies, not for moving services,'' the woman replied, polite but firm.

Tammy could sense the conversation wasn't going to last much longer.

"Right. Sorry... never mind." Feeling embarrassed, she quickly ended the call.

A troubling thought wormed its way into Tammy's mind -- was she teetering on the brink of madness? The long hours had been piling up ever since Amy took a better-paying position in Gainesville, leaving her to shoulder a heavier burden. Could that be what was happening here? She didn't feel she was at that level yet, but after this evening, she wasn't so sure. She decided to go to bed. Maybe after a good night's sleep, she would feel better, and this whole situation would seem ridiculous to the point she would laugh it off until they came to pick up the stupid thing.

With her teeth brushed and sleep shirt on, she was ready for bed. She climbed in, reached over to the nightstand, and turned off the light. The curtains were closed, but the street light outside seeped through at the edges and made it almost possible to make out some of the shapes in the room. Especially the open doorway. Tammy peered at the dark gaping hole. Something that would normally not bother her at all, but tonight, it seemed menacing and dangerous. She told herself she was being silly and squeezed her eyes shut. After a few seconds, she opened them again. She knew she wasn't going to be able to sleep with that door open, so she got up and closed it. Back in bed, she felt better, and she settled into sleep.

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

There was that same sound again. She was sure it was just her mind messing with her. She pulled the blanket over her head and thought, "There's nothing there. You're stupid. There's nothing there. You're stupid. Stupid. Stupid."

Exhaustion finally pulled her into sleep. Not only did she fall asleep, but one of those deep sleeps that came with vivid dreams. Perhaps due to the morbid day she'd just experienced, she found herself in a dark disturbing dream.

She was in a small, tight space lying down. There was barely enough room to move her arms and legs. She could feel panic flooding inside of her. She reached with her hands and felt the sides of the place. It felt soft and smooth, like satin. She also noticed her phone was next to her and she turned its flashlight on. The sides were covered in red satin. "Oh God." She thought. "I'm inside that casket." Now, she was awash in panic.

"Where am I? Somebody? Help." She tried to yell, but the words felt stuck in her throat.

"Please. Where am I? Somebody?"

Then she heard something. Faint. It sounded like voices far away. An echo that was fading in and out but became more clear as it went on.

"The cord was wrapped around her neck."

"The cord was wrapped around her neck."

The voices were those of her coworkers. Tammy's breaths were rapid and shallow. She could feel her heart beating hard in her chest. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

"You should have known."

"You should've known." The voices continued.

"No! Stop!" Tammy yelled.

She could hear the words thick and stuck in her mouth as if her tongue was numb and wouldn't cooperate.

"She couldn't breathe."

"She couldn't breathe."

"She couldn't breathe." The voices were getting louder, more intense, more accusatory.

The walls around her were squeezing in. She was in a full panic. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

"Stop! Please! I can't breathe. Somebody. Please help! Get me out! Get me out!"

Tammy gasped, clutching her throat. Her eyes shot wide open. Heart hammering against her ribs. She looked around her. It was dark, but she could tell she was in her bed. She drew a big sigh of relief, but the nightmare lingered in her mind--a suffocating blackness, voices accusing her of failure. She told herself it was just a dream, just the echoes of a long shift and an even longer week. She rubbed her eyes and sat up. She reached over and turned on the lamp.

"Ahhhhh!" She screamed.

Next to her bed was that fucking coffin with the lid wide open as if it had been waiting. Terrified, she stared at the gaping hole as thick black smoke swirled inside, twisting and writhing as if alive. The room felt icy. She could feel the temperature plummeting, and her breath came out in small, visible puffs.

"No... no, this isn't real," she whispered, scooting back against the headboard, clutching the blanket.

Then something emerged from the smoke--a small hand, pale and fragile, reached out from the depths of the casket. Her eyes widened. She knew that hand, that impossibly tiny hand she had held earlier that day, the one that went limp despite all her efforts.

"You should have known."

"You should've known." The voices continued from deep inside the coffin.

Tammy tried to stand, but her legs felt numb. "It's not real, it's not real," she repeated, gripping the nightstand for support. But the smoke unfurled from within, twisting into tendrils that crept into her bed and coiled around her ankles like icy fingers, tugging her toward the open maw of the coffin.

"No!" she screamed, clawing at the nightstand and knocking over the lamp. The room plunged into darkness again. She kicked, trying to free herself from the grip of the smoky tendrils, but they held tight, pulling her inch by inch.

Desperate, she grabbed her phone. The screen flickered, glitching, then flashed images of the delivery room--her hands frantically working, the tiny face turning blue. The words scrolled across the screen: "You should have known."

"Stop! Please, I tried! I tried everything!" she sobbed, feeling the tendrils wrap tighter, crawling up her legs, squeezing.

The casket's lid began to close, slowly, with a creak that rippled through the room. Tammy thrashed, trying to pull free, her hand grasping for anything to hold onto. The cold was unbearable now, seeping into her very soul.

And then she saw them--faces in the smoke. The baby's, her own mother's, and others she couldn't recognize. All pale, all staring, their eyes hollow and accusing.

"You should have saved her."

Tammy's strength gave out. The smoky vine-like tendrils yanked her closer, her body halfway inside the casket now. The voices grew louder, overlapping, until they were a cacophony of whispers and screams.

"No! I can't--please, no!" She clawed at the edge of the casket. Her fingers slipped as the smoke squeezed tighter around her wrists, chest, and throat.

"Ahhhhhhh," Tammy screamed.

She was pulled inside the coffin and the lid slammed shut. The room fell eerily silent. The cold disappeared, replaced by a suffocating, oppressive darkness.

Then --

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch...

7