Posted: October 31, 2011 in Zombie short story
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Tom opened his eyes.

He saw nothing but darkness. He blinked.

Still darkness.

Tom waited for his eyes adjust to the lack of light but still nothing.

Where am I? Tom thought. He moved his arms but he wasn’t able to move them very far before they struck something solid.  He was in some kind of container. A sensory deprivation tank perhaps? No, thought Tom, they have water in them and he felt completely dry. But he was in some kind of container. He felt around him once again. He felt silky material on all sides. Then he realised where he was.

Inside a coffin. He pounded at the side then paused. He was hoping for some kind of response. The sound didn’t echo and then he pounded all sides of the coffin. He heard the same dull THUD as he thumped the sides.

The coffin had been buried.

Tom thought about the air situation but realised that he had no idea how much air was left and decided to concentrate his efforts to getting out.




Tom pounded at the sides but to no avail. Tom stopped for a moment then had an idea. He pulled at the lining material until he heard it tear. He felt behind it and felt the cold wood behind but this was not what he was looking for. Sliding his hand along the wood, he finally found what he was looking for; hinges. Tom then went to work pounding the area where the hinges were with the heel of his hands. He decided that if he was going to expire here, he would do it trying to escape.




After what seemed like many hours of pounding at the sides, Tom heard the change in the sound of the strikes, he was making progress. He ripped the material from the inside of the casket and wrapped them round his hands and continued. Shortly after he felt the wood split.

Tom continued pounding and pounding, occasionally pulling at the split in the wood, trying to prise it wider. Some dirt spilled in, making a rat-a-tat sound as it landed on the wooden base of the coffin. Tom had to work quickly to prevent himself from drowning in dirt. He positioned himself so that there was some space where he could shovel the dirt and as this area filled, Tom used his feet to pack the dirt and to give him leverage to squeeze out of the opening. He felt the material of his trousers tear as they caught on the splintered wood. Tom carried on tunnelling upwards, hoping that the surface wasn’t too far.

He found it easier to move the earth as he continued digging until, at last, his hand broke through the surface. Tom was about to give a whoop of joy when his mouth filled with mud. If he didn’t get his head above the surface soon he would suffocate. This thought drove him onwards and using every ounce of strength he broke the surface. Although it was night, what little light there was hurt his eyes. He closed them as he spat out the mud then pulled himself free from the grave.

Tom didn’t know how long he had been there but he knew he was hungry. It was an aching hunger, one that started from the gut but permeated through the body. Tom didn’t know how he knew but the hunger he had could only be satiated by one thing.

A human brain…


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