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Dark. Wet. Cold.
Layers of sodden earth surrounded the coffin on all sides. The only thing that separated several pounds of mud from two huddled forms were a few flimsy wooden walls. Being curled up inside of it was certainly better than suffocating under mounds of dirt, but only by a slim margin.
Suffocating? Did they still need to breathe?
John would have brought his finger to his mouth to ponder if he could move it. At his side, Haze unintentionally held his form down. One of the few things he could be thankful for right now was that whatever stench they emitted was filtered out by their dulled senses. Being a corpse had minimal upsides.
Haze’s shoulders tensed as she felt him squirm, unsure if it was him or one of the many insects that pestered at the edges of their tomb.
“It’s just for the night.” she affirmed more to herself than anything.
John nodded, fingers picking at his tattered clothes. “I-I know… you’ve said that a couple times now."
Hot breaths filled the frigid air between them– though, air might be too generous a term. It was more like a thick blanket that hung all around them, gently pressing into their forms and cradling them like the world’s least effective mattress.
“Are you scared?” The words slipped past John’s brain and straight out of his mouth before he could take them back.
“Am I– ” Haze paused, taken aback by the question, before continuing. “No. Annoyed at most.”
They both knew it wasn’t true. It was horrible. It was disgusting. It was uncomfortable. But that had been their lives leading up to this moment, had it not? Compared to everything else they’d gone through, this was nothing.
Yet, it didn’t keep Haze from shuddering every time the wet plop of a particularly fat maggot entering the coffin resounded through the dull wood. It didn’t keep John from fidgeting, trying to find a cozy position that never came.
The gentle pitter patter of rain thrummed against the surface above, groundwater trickling down and threatening to seep into the casket.
“It’s, ah… a bit cold, haha.” John mumbled, his finger mindlessly tracing circles on his knee.
The girl beside him only grunted. How did she get roped into all of this with such a dork…
John cleared his throat, a sheepish red creeping into his cheeks at his failed attempt at blunt humor. “Do you remember what you showed me back in the manor?”
Haze responded quickly, “I showed you a lot of things.”
“The… When you doodled on my arm.” His voice was unsteady, words unsure of themselves.
She went quiet briefly, before speaking up again. “Yes… I remember.”
“If you have room, you could trace your fingers on my back, and I could guess what animal you’re making.”
Finally, an amused snort escaped her. His eyes lit up, a small spark of hope in the darkness.
“See? I can have good ideas!” Though his back was faced to her, she could perfectly envision the dopey grin smattered across his face.
Her own lips were twisted into the faintest smile. “I guess it’s… not a terrible way to pass the time. A bit juvenile, though.”
John pressed his chest against the wall nearest to him, providing enough room for Haze to shift her right arm into position.
Three of her fingers had been severed clean off, the open wounds crawling with necrosis and stiffened black. Jagged bone jutted out from their stumps like the twisted mockery of a tree, leaving only her index finger and thumb intact.
This wasn’t new to her, nor was it to him. Both of them had open sores, rashes, missing parts, and gnarly scars riddling their bodies. Their bodies had seen better days, but it became their new normal fairly quickly. It had to. Physical appearance was the least of their concerns.
John fared far worse than Haze, anyways. Half of his face was torn open so deeply that his teeth could be seen through the gap. His left arm had been cleaved off, much like her fingers, leaving nothing but shrapnels of white bone; ribbons of frayed sinew hung off his shoulder like a morbid bow.
Her spoiled finger made contact with his back, tainted flesh gently pushing down into the red fabric of his suit. She traced an arc, humming an absent minded tune as her hand slowly worked across his body. A series of squiggly lines accompanied the arc, before she pulled away and finished her masterpiece.
“Done.”
John nodded, the action invisible in the blackness, but felt by Haze all the same. “Already? Alright, let’s see… a worm?”
“Nope!” Haze’s hand– or rather, what was left of it– began an ascent up his shoulder.
John cocked his head, leaning into her palm as it crested the peak of his upper back. “What could possibly be so squiggly!? Uh, an eel?”
Matted wisps of his dark brown hair engulfed her fingers. “Wrong again. But you’re on the right track…” her voice took on a sing-song tone.
“Hmmm… Don’t tell me it’s a Pacific Sea Nettle?”
Her only response was a knowing giggle.
“Hey, I woulda guessed that! I just didn’t think you’d start off so easy…” In the limited space, he was able to reach across his torso and clasp her hand in his own.
She gasped, a near-impercievable jolt racking her body. It might have gone unnoticed if it weren’t the only other thing John could feel in that coffin.
“Just me…” He murmured.
Haze turned her head, burying it into her shoulder and hiding from no one. “I-I know…”
Suddenly, his hand unlatched from hers and returned to his side.
“Huh? What are you-”
Her words were interrupted as the coffin thumped and wobbled from side to side. The sound of fabric shuffling and wood scraping suddenly came to a halt. John had turned to face her now; she could tell because his nose was suddenly pressed against hers.
“Hmph. Comfortable?” Haze mumbled.
John didn’t respond. Instead, his arm wrapped around her torso, thumb grazing past one of the deep gashes on her abdomen. It didn’t hurt, but it did bring on a sort of tingling sensation that caused her to recoil ever so slightly, before melting back into his grip.
Her face found itself buried in his chest, forehead cradled by his chin. His hand combed through her dusty blonde hair, ungracefully slicing through matted clumps. Every now and again she’d feel him pinch, likely to take hold of a small insect, then flick his fingers to the side. His efforts were in vain, as any creepy crawly that made its home in Haze’s hair would easily skitter right back. Still, she couldn’t help but let a bashful smile wash over her face at his chivalry.
Though one of her arms was pinned under her side, she let the other sling across John’s spine. To his surprise, he was tugged a little closer.
His hand made another stroke down her ponytail, “Your hair got so long…”
“I should cut it, huh…” Haze’s voice was muffled through his chest.
He fumbled for a reply, “What? No, no! I like it. I-I mean, unless you want to cut it, then–”
“Mhm… Shut up.” A small chuckle punctuated her words as she shifted, trying to lean further into him.
“It’s still cute… you’re still cute.” He murmured into her hair.
Her hand tensed against his back, “Ugh, please don’t…”
“Don’t what…?” His head cocked, hand still working its way through her scalp.
“Do… this. Assure me that I’m ‘still pretty’ or whatever. I know what I lost…” Her hands clenched against his back, crimson fabric bunching up in her fists.
Much to her frustration, John only continued, his words drenched in a sweet layer of fresh sap, “No, I really mean it.”
Her eyes might as well have rolled so far back that she would have been able to see her brain. “What, are you some kind of necrophile?”
His eyes shot wide open, hair falling through his hand as he let go of her head. “WHAT!? W-WHERE DID THAT COME FROM–!?”
A pale finger was brought to John’s lips, quelling his outburst. In the darkness, her eyes had adjusted, if only slightly. She could see the incredulous look of horror on John’s face and it caused a laugh to eject from her throat.
“H-Haze, that’s not funny at all!” John’s lips twisted into a sort of pout, brows furrowing in an attempt to look stern.
“Awww, man up a little.” She drew her arm back towards herself, then rested her palms on his cheeks. She squished in and out, watching his lips pucker involuntarily.
John’s stern eyebrows melted into sarcastic amusement. “MMmmmphmhmhm. Having fun?”
His own eyes had adjusted by now, allowing him to see the grin plastered across her face as she spoke, “Oh yeah. So much fun.”
“And you called me juvenile…” A lighthearted grumble carried his words.
She stopped squeezing his cheeks, instead letting her arm rest across his midsection. “I didn’t say you were juvenile, I said the activity was juvenile.”
He couldn’t keep a smile from breaking his demeanor, “What’s the difference?”
Haze only shrugged, or at least, attempted to. Regardless, John understood the gesture. His arm wrapped around her tightly, pulling them even closer than before.
“You know what?” John’s hand ran up and down Haze’s back, slow and soothing.
Haze, tangled in his grip, looked up at him. Her chin rested on his chest. “What?”
“I think the rain stopped.”