Rain by Trix-Nico Gebele

I always loved the rain. The overcast clouds of light gray shading the world with listless breezes and chilling drops of morning dew falling from the sky. 

My eyes were shut as I basked in the sound.

The fabric cocooning me was soft. Not in the way of fleece, but in the same way as my decade-old moon phases tee-shirt with a small hole by the collar. If it weren’t for the cover over me, I’d probably be cool rather than stuffy.

If I were home, I’d have a record playing. One of my 1970s rock records. Or maybe something classical. I’d put the kettle on, grab the nearest notebook, and settle on my favorite gray armchair by the window to write. 

Perhaps I’d have continued my latest mystery novel. Maybe Eleana would have made it out of her prison and into the woods. Maybe she would’ve made it all the way to the nearest town, only to realize no one there is safe, before I stopped for the day. 

Or perhaps I would’ve jotted down a short story. Something to give myself a break from Eleana.

God, I wish I was home right now.

Maria was the one who first suggested we visit haunted sites—the cemetery, a funeral home, the Glore Psychiatric Museum, Warren’s Occult Museum. She was determined that seeing these would help our writing. So Caroline and I agreed, if only for the experience.

It had been a joke at first. Maria laughed when she said that one of us should get in one of the caskets so they could better write the experience later. Caroline agreed, but said we should make it a more realistic kidnapping scenario. So I drove out to the little supermarket in town, where Maria bought rope and Caroline a couple clearance tee-shirts. 

“So the ropes don’t chaff,” she said.

When we got back to the funeral house, neither Caroline nor Maria seemed to want to go first. I’d volunteered, if only so they wouldn’t be so nervous later. I’d figured it wouldn’t be much different from the times I’d play hide n’ seek with my sisters in the basement’s empty boxes.

So I let Caroline wrap my wrists and ankles in clearance tee-shirts before Maria tied them together with rope. Maria had even shoved one of the tee-shirts in my mouth, “just to keep it realistic,” she said. 

Then they closed the casket lid and locked me in.

When it felt like the ten minute timer we set should have been over hours ago, I figured I was just bored. That was before the casket moved.

I tried to call out, of course. But Maria had tied the ropes so my hands couldn’t come up and take the tee-shirt out of my mouth and the seal of the casket was enough to keep them from hearing my muffled noises.

It didn’t take long to understand that they weren’t coming back.

So here I lay, pretending dirt is falling rain.

Trix-Nico Gebele is an aspiring writer who enjoys experimenting with horror and fantasy. They are currently attending an Indiana university for creative writing.