The Final Nail

There was only one rule: Don’t open the door. I repeated that warning in my mind, as I wandered through the moldy tunnels of the dark wine cellar. Stagnant water slowly dripped from moss-shrouded ceilings, pooling in the cracks between the slick stone walkways. The only sounds were the echoes of my footsteps and the never-ending plop, plop, plop of dripping water.

It was maddening to have to play this stupid game. Nothing was ever easy with Jason. Keeping up with his twisted sense of adventure was a constant challenge. Frankly, I was tired of it. His goal was to push me into every phobia I held dearly. Visiting a reptile petting zoo, skydiving for sissies, and, now this.

For Mark

He had declared himself my personal phobia guru. I was looking for a relationship, not a therapist. As soon as this morbid experiment ended I was calling our romance off.

I couldn't believe he talked me into hiking alone through a spooky, smelly cavern to overcome my fear of being trapped underground in the dark. This was a recurring nightmare of mine, which ended with a coffin lid being nailed shut as I pounded frantically to get someone's attention. I never should have told him about it.

The tunnels went on forever, each smaller and darker than the ones before. As the stone walls shrunk, my breathing strained and the sweat poured off me in the chilly subterranean air. The last corridor was shrouded in fog and narrowed even more as I descended its treacherous, slippery incline to the end. There'd be no returning that way. It was far too steep and slimy.

The oppressive stone sarcophagus closed in on me as I weighed the choice between the door before me and being slowly smothered.