Mouth Full of Dirt

Asta would never forget the way being buried alive felt. She would forever hear the dirt hitting the top of the coffin as the people who were meant to protect her shoveled it into the grave. Knowing she was alive inside screaming and begging for them to let her go. She had been only twenty three when that night happened. She remained twenty three. Remained awake long after the oxygen had been depleted in the cramped space. It was dark there under the ground, and so quiet. The kind of quiet that drove a person insane. She knew if there was any light here the lid of her prison would be chipped away with scratch marks and she would find that her nails had snapped and been embedded into the wood. Her fingers were caked in blood she didn’t need to see to know that. Though the bleeding had stopped hours ago and the wound had closed almost instantly. She was alive there in that coffin. Yet to the world she was very much dead, and she could only think about the events that had put her there.

It was a quiet night in the little village where she lived with her father and brother. Her family was known for being monster hunters. Vampires had been running rampant so Asta was left by herself often. That night was a series of unfortunate events. Screams were heard from the forest, and then came the fire. Asta felt fear course through her body as she watched her father and brother prepare to leave. She remembered begging them to stay.

“Please don’t leave me,” she had begged. “Something isn’t right.”

“Asta, how can you be so selfish?” Her father scolded.

She turned to her brother with pleading eyes. “Silas please.”

Silas did not respond. He gave her a conflicted look, but turned away when their father called. Just like he always did.

She thought of this often in her coffin as she whispered the lullabies their mother had sang to them as babes. If she closed her eyes long enough for the endless darkness to give way to dreams she could see her mother’s face. See the way she rocked back and forth in her chair wrapping Asta tightly in a knitted blanket. And if she listened long enough she could hear her voice again.

Drift where Echoes bloom,

Mother’s arms will find you.

Asta could feel her fear and anger melt away as tears slipped from her eyes. After some time though, even that memory was corrupted. She lost the words, and they had become twisted into a song fitting for a coffin. It was her voice that sang now. There was no warmth or kindness in her voice as she sang. No more comfort.

Hush my quiet darling,

Lay your bones so still

Sleep while blood remembers

Sleep, though all is dead.

Her throat burned with hunger. She wished that was enough to kill her. There was no way to count days or even hours here in the dark. It was one endless night and the only way to measure the length of her imprisonment was the growing hunger pains. With what little movement she was granted in the box she lifted a hand to her neck. She traced the scars there reminding her of the reason for her punishment.

The fire had raged that night, and the screams grew in volume. Asta was forced to run before the flames consumed her childhood home. No sign of her brother or father. So out she went into the night and snow. She ran until the cold air made her lungs ache and her fingers felt like ice. She knew it was dangerous out here. Knew she shouldn’t be here, but it was this or burn alive and alone. She turned aimlessly in the forest, looking into the darkness for a glimpse of safety. She shook with both fear and the frigid temperatures of the brutal winter.

“Silas!” She called. “Father!”

No answer so she kept moving forward until she saw a fur cloak of a hunter. Relief flooded her as she ran toward the stranger.

“Please! Help,” she called a smile forming on her lips.

And then the man turned around. Asta gasped, taking in his inhumane features. The silver eyes, the animalistic smile on a mouth drenched in fresh blood. She took a step back breathing becoming shallow, and eyes burning with tears. She ran, but he was faster. She remembered the weight of him on her and then the searing pain as he ripped into her chest. She had tried to scream but was choked by her own blood rising up in her throat. After he had his fill he left her there still awake and bleeding out onto the fresh snow. The only thought that came to her at that moment was that she would die there. Cold and alone.

That was when he came. The strange man that couldn’t be older than twenty five. She remembered how he knelt down beside her, the way the moonlight had reflected off of his silver hair and his crimson eyes that assessed her with cruel amusement. She remembered he didn’t look scared or at all upset by her dying. In fact he had smiled at her, as tears poured from her eyes.

“Hello little dove,” he whispered.

She tried her hardest to move. To get as far away from him as possible, because she knew him. Had heard stories of a cruel king who never aged, and now he was knelt beside her smiling. Her fingers grasped desperately at the loose powder beneath her. He laughed at her attempt. Because even if she wasn’t here dying, even if she hadn’t been attacked she would never be able to get away from something like him. He lowered himself over her and a gargled whimper escaped her.

“Shh,” he whispered as a poor attempt to soothe her. “I’m going to make it better. Just lie still dove.”

She tried to protest. Tried to gather the strength to push him away, or beg him to just let her die. His bite didn’t hurt as much as the other vampire’s had. Maybe that was due to the blood loss. She gasped when she felt the pressure of his teeth entering her throat. She was sure he meant to kill her completely until he pressed his wrist to her pale lips. His blood filled her mouth, and as much as she tried she couldn’t stop herself from swallowing.

Now in the coffin she still saw that man. His cruel smile, and the eyes of what could only be classified as a predator. She felt so much anger when she thought of him. She screamed until her throat bled. This was all his fault. He should have let her die instead of lying awake rotting in this god forsaken box. Death was all she thought about now. How nice it would be to slip into death and not be stuck in the middle of the endless nothing. How sweet the release of taking a last breath would be.

She wondered if she were able to die where her soul would go. If it went anywhere. Would she burn for eternity for a life she did not choose? Or would she enter the gates her mother had spoken of before she passed. Would she see her mother again? No, she decided, she would never see her mother again. Her heart fell silent and felt hollow as every emotion completely left her. Now she laid there staring up into the darkness. She no longer sang, no longer dreamed, she just listened to the phantom sound of dirt hitting the lid of the coffin.

She didn’t remember the change. She barely remembered waking alone there in the night, and finding she could walk. She stood looking down at the red stain in the snow that matched the dried blood on her nightgown. Still Asta stumbled forward. She made it back to the charred remains of her home. A sob left her as she caught sight of her family standing not too far from where she was. She didn’t think just moved toward them, arms reaching out for comfort.

“Papa." She hadn't called him that since she was small. Now it felt fitting after being reborn and so vulnerable.

Her father turned to look at her, and she watched as his face contorted with disgust. Silas stood behind him, a look of shock painted across his features. She recoiled when her father drew his sword and took guard against her. Against his own flesh and blood. Now she was nothing more than a monster who stood in his daughter’s place. It didn’t take much for him to subdue her. Asta didn’t know how to defend herself even before that moment. Not that she would have fought back against the man who was supposed to protect her. Now he was violent and angry. Yet he still could not bring himself to deliver the killing blow.

Even now she could feel rough hands pushing her into the coffin. She remembered the hard faces of the hunters that helped her father bury her alive. She remembered that same conflicted look on her brother’s face. The look that meant nothing because he never chose her. She sobbed as the coffin was lowered into the grave, and then the steady thump of dirt.

How much time had passed her in the grave? Asta had now come to terms with her fate. Eyes closed as if she really was dead here. She knew no one was coming to free her. Not Silas, and certainly not the cruel king who had played a part in her imprisonment. The silence wasn’t as suffocating now that she had completely given up. She let out one last shaky breath before she stopped breathing at all.

And then the sound of a shovel.