Thump, thump, thump. What was that noise? A steady beat. It sounded muffled, as if he were in a semi-soundproofed room, the thump, thump, thump coming from a thousand miles away it seemed.

Where the hell was he? His eyes opened a crack, but all he could see was darkness - total sensory numbing darkness. Frantically, his mind scrambled for an answer, and could find none.

Thump, thump, thump. Like a mother's heartbeat to an unborn infant. After each thump, came a smaller sound, a quieter sound - a crumbling? Like pebbles thrown against a hard surface.

Fragments of memory came to him then, peeking out from behind the curtain of fog; laughter and the chinking of wine glasses, children running around in circles on a wide and sweeping lawn that had the first moisture of night dew settling on it. Where had this been? A dinner party of some sort? Then the children were gone, replaced by dark skies and outside lamps illuminating the party of people that remained - all adults. The light cast a warm glow that sparkled as it found the dew on the grass, making it seem as though a million diamonds were strewn around, cast aside as though worthless.

There was a strange feeling in his chest, a tightening and he could feel sweat running down his face, the clothes he wore (expensive ones too) clammy and uncomfortable. It felt difficult to breathe and the tie around his neck loosened to make it easier. Still, the discomfort remained.

The world swam out of focus, and then back again, faces blurring out and the glow of the lamps darkening to a pinprick far into the distance. The pain intensified until he felt the pull of gravity as he fell face-first to the ground.

Lots of babbled voices and screams, urgency, and panic as he could feel himself being man-handled onto his side. After that, he could recall nothing - other than blackness.

Now he was here and confused. A little scared also. He tried to move his arms and found that they were laid out on his chest. Lifting them up, they found resistance in the form of something soft and yielding - perhaps six inches or so above. Alarm began to worm its way steadily in; what was this place? The noise from outside began to tail off, becoming quieter and further away. Now just the faintest of sounds, leaving behind the slightest of vibration that he could barely feel down his legs and arms.

Could he hear voices? It was difficult to tell but he was sure he had done. Then, just like the thump, thump, thump; they too faded away to nothing.

Now it was silence that kept him company, along with the dark. He felt along the edge of something with his right hand; it was smooth and soft, very much like the surface above. It was almost as if he was in a box.

It hit him. It all came crashing in with a suddenness that threatened to send him to the edge of crazy.

He knew. Perhaps he had from the start, but how? He was laid in a coffin and the noises he heard were the grave diggers covering him with soil. The voices, his mourners filing away after saying their final goodbyes, leaving only the men, or women, who were right this moment putting the final touches to his final resting place.

He screamed then; a scream so full of terror that he didn't realise it was him doing it. It came from a lunatic whose mind had been taken apart bit by bit over a short space of time. He clawed frantically at the coffin lid, ripping the velvet lining with nails that had grown long. Soon, they found wood, and they too were ripped from his fingers, leaving a gory mess on each one.

"Help meeeeeeeeee"

2

The dinner party had gone down a storm. Julia was really pleased with herself for organising it at such short notice. Now all the kids had gone to bed, the adults were still outside enjoying drinks. Daryll had been quiet all night, he seemed in a mood about something, so she left him alone, drinking himself into a stupor like he always did.

It was the crash of broken glass that caused her to look up from handing a sherry to Beryl, and elderly aunt of her Mum's. It looked like Daryll, fallen from his chair and was laid prone on the grass. "Goddammit Daryll," she muttered under her breath as she went across to scold him for being drunk.

The look on his face told her something was wrong, and she shouted for help. A few people came idling over, including one of Daryll's golf friends, who happened to be a GP in town.

After five minutes of trying to revive him, he was pronounced dead. No pulse, no response, no sign of life.

Heart attack they said. He was only fifty-two and relatively fit, although recently he had gained a bit of weight but who didn't in their fifties?

Here she stood now, some ten days later, alone by his grave after everyone else had left to give her some time to herself. She stared at the fresh earth, piled up in a pyramid shape - the fake grass surrounding it. She bent and placed her hand gently onto the soil and cried.

For a moment, she thought she heard someone shouting and crying out, but then it was gone. Her imagination playing tricks on her emotional and tired mind.

She stood, paused once more for a moment, thinking of the good times they had shared over so many years. She kissed the tips of her fingers and blew towards the mound of earth. She said her goodbyes and walked away, leaving only the leaves to swirl around on the breeze, settling, whipping up, settling back down. Silence descended.