Junior's hand moved downward, pointing towards the ground though there was no ground to see, not right away. Seymour's mouth went dry. He tried to move, to run away as far as he could, but he couldn't move. His feet felt rooted in place, frozen in the soft ground. Of course, it was soft, so soft that Seymour could feel himself sinking. It had rained hard enough to soften the damn ground.

But that wasn't what made Seymour's heart race. No, it was worse. Someone had dug up the grave, revealing an empty casket, its lid flipped open as if for a personal viewing.

Whose viewing?

"Dada," Junior said again, his pudgy finger pointing at the casket.

This was a dream, had to be. For how else could Junior be talking when all this damn time, all he did was grunt? Seymour felt something wet on his cheeks. He brought his hand up to his face. Tears. He was crying.

"Jun, I didn't mean to kill her," Seymour whispered as his son continued to hold his hand. "It was an accident. You know it was."

Seymour didn't know why he was babbling like an idiot, but it was the only thing he could do, his feet still rooted on the same spot even though all his senses told him to run.

Even beg.

"Please, Jun. I didn't mean to. Please." That last word emerged as a whisper.

Junior tugged at Seymour's fingers, the boy's other hand pointing to the empty coffin. "Dada. Sweep... now."

Suddenly Seymour felt himself falling. He landed into the open casket, face-first onto the cushioned liner although there was nothing soft about it. It felt hard. It smelled musty. Half-cursing and half-screaming, Seymour rolled onto his back, struggling to find leverage just as the lower part of the split lid slammed shut, trapping his lower torso inside.

Seymour squirmed to free himself and pull open the lower lid, but it wouldn't budge. He grabbed hold of the other part of the split lid, only to feel it swing downwards, closing in on him with its viewing glass panel. But he was wide awake now, and fast. Seymour pushed it back up, leaving it open.

"I'll get you, you son of a bitch!" he shouted although he laughed, too, for the term was too perfect beyond words. The kid was the son a bitch, that's for sure.

Seymour forced himself to calm down, telling himself this had to be some cruel joke. He could do this. He could get out of this mess. Even if it were just a dream, he could still do it. He'd live and find his way to Manila, and to the bar girls waiting for him. Hell, he wouldn't even do that. He'd fly straight home, and he'd stay there this time.

The glass lid covering the top portion of the casket came down then, hitting Seymour on the nose and he yelped, his head landing back on the satin pillow as he heard the latch lock into place. No! He pounded his fists against the glass, staring up at his son still standing where Seymour had last seen him.

But this time Junior wasn't alone.

None of them talked. No one laughed or cracked a joke. They just watched him in silence. Nanay was the first to grab a handful of earth and throw it over the casket. It landed on the lower part of the lower lid with a dull thud. The cousin who said it was going to rain followed, brown earth hitting the viewing glass as Seymour shut his eyes.

When he opened them again, more soil came down on him by the handfuls as each one took their turn. Each one of them not saying anything. Seymour could pound on the glass and demand that all this was no longer funny, that this was a joke gone too far. But something told him this was no joke. Just as something told him that this wasn't a dream.

This was real.

One by one, they tossed handfuls of earth into the grave as an eerie calm filled him. A resignation. Alma was one of the last ones, his view of them now obscured by the handful of earth she tossed over his casket. Then she stepped back to make room for the last one, and Seymour didn't need to know who it would be. He could only watch helplessly as little Seymour, Jr. gathered the soil in his two little hands before the words finally emerged from Seymour's lips.

Guilty.

Mina had caught him hitting Junior during breakfast. He'd lost his temper over something, though he couldn't even remember what it was now.

Guilty.

She said she'd stay at the women's shelter until Seymour finished an anger management course. But he said no and tried to stop her from getting into the car. He'd show her what happened to bad little girls.

Guilty.

Somehow he grabbed a hammer that had been sitting on his workbench. He'd forgotten to put it away, and he just happened to pick it up. He hadn't meant to. He'd only held it up to scare her. Mina had just buckled a crying Junior into his car seat and was turning to face him, begging him to get help.

Guilty.

Somehow, hammer met skull then. And that's all it took. She went down, blood caught in the hammer. Even bits of hair and scalp but he'd washed all that away. Then he wrapped her in a sheet, loaded her into the trunk of the car, and he buried her while their son watched.

Guilty.

Above him, Seymour heard the dull thud of earth landing over the casket. Someone was filling the grave by the shovelful now.

So this is how it feels like to die, he thought as the glass above him began to crack from the soil weighing upon it. Tears streamed down his face as he wondered if this must be how Mina felt then, too. For if Doheny was right—that they did find her body hours ago—then they'd certainly find out something else in the autopsy.

Maybe soil in her lungs as she struggled to breathe, still wrapped in that sheet as she gained consciousness too late. By then, Seymour had already started something he couldn't stop.

Guilty.

The glass broke then, heavy damp soil filling the casket and covering his face and mouth, smothering him like a soft and unforgiving blanket as he screamed—or tried to.

Guilty.

THE END  

Hope you enjoyed reading my entry to the #TNTHORRORCONTEST.  I don't know if it qualifies as horror but hey, I'm scared to death of being buried alive. So that's horror enough for me lol

Good luck to all the entrants! 

I'm going to return to writing my romances now...