Being confined with limited air as one still lives, having one’s limbs restricted in such a place, this is a fear that surpasses that of death in the hearts of many people. I too share this fear; the fear of shallow breaths slowly slipping away as I lay in a dark padded box, fully conncious but with no hope of escape. Fortunately, I had no need to fear such a thing, for I was a daughter of a wealthy land-owner in England. I spent my leisure time strolling in the gardens, twirling a parasol in the warm summer breeze as my maids kept watch lest I should trip or injure myself in any minute way. I would have loved to go riding and strolling on my own, but father and mother would have none of it, for I was to be kept perfectly healthy at all times for I was pledged to the Duke’s son for marriage.
The Duke’s son, Oswald, was an odd fellow. He spent his time neither learning of political affairs nor versing himself in the modern sciences and mathematics. He spent his time in the cellar of his parents’ mansion working on something, but no one knew what he was doing. He had a deathly pallor yet strikingly dark hair. His face was long and thin and it seemed that a mere breath of air might dislodge him from his customary tea-time perch on the balcony. His eyes were sunken and pale from the long hours in the gloom of his damp, cold, miserable cellar.
But none of the miserable luncheons or parties with him at my side could dampen my spirits, for I was still free to roam the sunny hillsides and gardens as soon as he was gone. The dark thought of murder had never entered my wildest dreams; the horrors awaiting me upon my marriage to this miserable character were distant, like the echoes of the sea in a seashell. All these nightmares were far away until one day, quite to my surprise, the wedding was announced. I was but sixteen, he was eighteen, and I did not relish the thought. In the past few months I felt icicles of dread inching up my spine every time we had to sup together. He would stare at me when no one else noticed. Those dreadful eyes hid the thoughts behind them, but not well enough, for I discerned that his thoughts were of malice towards my person.
I begged my parents to prevent this awful union, but to no avail. After many failed attempts at averting the course set before me, I resolutely set myself to make the best of whatever may come. The wedding was a solemn affair for my brilliancy was dimmed by his pallor and broodiness. That night as I tossed and turned I heard many strange creakings in the house which set my nerves on edge. Exhaustion with the day’s enterprises, however, soon sent me off to a fitful slumber. The next night, the noises grew worse so I spent the night in the study of the mansion with a crackling fire and my stitching to keep my mind off the absurd occurrences. The next day I ventured to ask about the disturbances, but Oswald merely smiled a thin sickly smile and told me to stop imagining things and mind my own business.
Seven months passed with no further disturbances and I had grown quite used to Oswald’s erratic behavior. He never slept at night but spent his time in the cellar “working, and not to be bothered” as he would put it. Meanwhile I had full access to the extensive gardens and stables and I had great fun riding about the hills. I still dreaded seeing him, for as of late he had the same sunken look as during the few months before our marriage.
Lately as I was visiting a friend for tea, I overheard of some unnatural disappearances which had happened within the past fortnight. Three commoners had gone missing without a trace. The conversation quickly turned to the lighter subject of stitching, as it had grown too heavy for suitable tea-time conversation. I was curious to learn more of these disappearances, but I could not bring myself to ask of it yet.
The next week a maid came running over with news of my parents’ poor health. I went immediately to care for them, but within a few days both of them had died. With their death I grew moody and took less pleasure from riding the hills as I used to do quite regularly. I took to writing poetry and decided to keep a journal of my thoughts and to record the major events of my life. Today, I have finished with recording my parents’ sudden deaths. Also I endeavored to record as many details of the missing peasants who had yet to be found, but any evidence was lacking to say the least.
Due to the disturbances of late, I have decided to venture down to the cellar where Oswald keeps himself. Last night I heard the sound of muffled cries from that area of the house and it is high time I ventured down to see what he is up to. I must first prepare a candle and change into some old things for the little I have seen of it has shown me that the cellar is a dark and dirty place. I should not like to soil my dress and have the servants question my actions. I ought to be back in time for tea, so I needn’t bring any bread. Enough of this, I am off to see the basement now. I shall record what I find in this journal as soon as I return if there is anything interesting to note.
She changed into her riding pants and blouse and took a tall candle from the study and headed for the basement. It was just as dark as she remembered, but the passageways were different. They twisted and turned like the thoughts of a madman, but eventually she came upon a heavy wooden door. She put her ear to the door to listen for the sound of Oswald at work, but she heard nothing for Oswald was standing behind her, waiting. She screamed but it was to no avail, Oswald bound her tight and dragged her into the room. She wildly glanced around at a well-lit, half-finished cellar with slabs of rock missing from the walls. The holes were about eighteen inches high, two feet deep, and six feet long. She also saw that three of the holes had been plastered over.
A deep dread began to creep into her bones. There had been three villagers missing. Was she the next to be entombed? She wondered if the other victims were still conscious when they were buried, but after one look into Oswald’s eyes she knew. She struggled with all her might, but nothing could be done. An agonizing death of suffocation was to be her fate. She struggled wildly; the force of raw fear rushing through her veins. He forced her into one of the holes and began to cover the opening with a thick plaster. Soon it was too late, the plastering was complete and she lay there in complete and agonizing darkness. No! It was not as dark as she imagined! She realized with horror that he had left a hole for air! Her fate was not to be suffocation, no, worse. She was to starve to death, trussed up in a tomb, with no way to move. The fear of death by quick suffocation was surpassed by the fear of a slow, agonizing starvation. There was nothing to do but wait until the worms of death began to nibble away at her corpse.
