The voice didn’t belong to Stacy; it belonged to Janice. Her voice filled the interior of the cherry wood casket. What was going on?

Dan felt Stacy’s stiff body. It hadn’t moved; his horrified imagination was playing tricks on him. Was the voice of Janice real or had more madness now manifested itself? On the doorstep of death, perhaps he had imagined the sound of his wife.

Was it possible that the spirit of Janice had somehow broken away from her body to transcend the bowels of the earth? Was her mind floating free in an unconscious dream world that he could contact? As crazy as it sounded, he had to try.

“Janice?” His voice failed, and he repeated her name.

“How’s it feel, swine? Is her cold, dead body attractive to you now?”

Dan’s head whirled. What was this disembodied voice talking about? A dozen questions filled his mind.

“Janice, is that you? You’ve got to get help, Honey! Someone has buried me alive with Stacy Clemmons!”

Dan heard a muffled laugh, filled with sadistic humor. “I know, Dan. I’m the one who put you there.”

Dan stared blankly into the ebony darkness of the coffin. Her words were clear, but the meaning was incomprehensible. Nothing made sense. Was this yet more insane ramblings from a black corner of his mind? What in God’s name was going on?

“I’m dreaming,” Dan said as though a revelation had blessed his mind. “It’s either that, or else I’m dead already.” Though he talked to himself more than to the voice, it answered anyway.