A Coffin-- is a small Domain, Yet able to contain A Citizen of Paradise In its diminished Plane… --from #943 by Emily Dickinson
It was hardly an extraordinary occurrence for Delilah to fall asleep at her desk--or to subsequently wake up nose first in the book she had been staying up to read in the first place, in the smallest hours of the morning, when the candle from the lantern she had used to read by had long since burnt out. In fact, that familiar tightness and ache in her neck as she sat up in a dreamy, half-wakened, daze was something of a regular experience for the schoolteacher. But as consciousness settled itself into legitimate wakefulness, her thoughts slowly picking up momentum as rivers did at the beginning of spring when snow first melted, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Delilah glanced at a nearby clock and realized all at once that this particular early morning was not nearly as dark as it ought to have been without a candlelit lantern. And stranger still, this mysterious light of unknown origin filling her bedroom window now had a distinctly blue hue to it-- not the pale soft blue-white shades created by a full moon, but an unearthly and eerie shade of illuminated cornflower that defied any scientific explanation that she was aware of. Quite reasonably such an inexplicable oddity of nature that she had never experienced before captured Delilah's attention fully and furthermore nurtured her curious disposition such that she no sooner could have gone to bed or even remained seated at her desk now than she could have lifted a book off of its shelf using only the powers of her mind. Her constantly inquiring mind compelled her to move to the window to investigate the matter.
But even when she looked through her window to search out the source of the strange blue light, Delilah was not satisfied in the slightest-- because the figure she saw standing below her bedroom window appearing to be the source of that light was just another impossible thing. And staring down at it from this vantage point would not give her, the clarity and certainty her inquisitive mind so desperately required. So after a moment's consideration-- yes, it could be dangerous and scandalous for a young woman such as herself to venture out at night, but she wouldn't go far or step out for long-- Delilah quickly darted away from her window, swiftly clutching a knitted blanket and wrapping it around the shoulders of her nightgown on her way to her shoes that she slipped on without any stockings and then proceeded onward. As quick as she was, Delilah also took care to remain light on her feet, mindful of those particular floorboards in the house that betrayed any weight upon them, so as not to wake a soul. Still, the whole journey took less than a minute to complete before she stood outside just feet away from a wondrous, thrilling, terrifying sight that her well-fed mind struggled to accept.
The figure, the impossible thing, the source of the blue light was none other than Anna Palmer Hopkins. A lifelong resident of Reaper's Gulch and Delilah's own age, Anna's father had found occasion to work and befriend Delilah's own upon settling in the territory, even before either girl's birth. And subsequently had been the obvious choice for young Delilah's very best friend in the world. With golden locks and shining blue eyes, and an occasionally shocking boldness made tolerable to others only by her charmingly vivaciousness disposition and infectious flights of fancy, Anna's entire being was such that it stood contrasted to Delilah's own earthier coloring and appearance and serious and reserved nature-- yet all of their differences had only suited to make the pair better companions to one another, rounding out each other's flaws and imperfections to create a whole more perfect being. Since childhood Delilah had long harbored a most secret and desperate wish that one day Anna Palmer would somehow become her true sister through marriage to her brother. Yet all the same, Delilah could not harbor her friend any ill will when she ultimately accepted the proposal of the witty and well-to-do Mr. Hopkins. Delilah knew full well that Reaper's Gulch's dimwitted deputy had nothing to offer in such a match but a good family and that her dear and crafty Anna required a great deal more to keep her wits occupied and her heart full. It had only been such a shame when Anna's marriage to Mr. Hopkins had ultimately taken her to live roughly a day's ride away from Reaper's Gulch. Truly, Delilah ought to and would have been delighted to see her dearest friend again even at such a terribly rude hour and strangely unaccompanied state.
But the trouble was, the young Mrs. Hopkins had died in childbirth two winters ago.
Later, when Delilah's thoughts had occasion and inclination to wander back to the details of this perplexing scene almost right out of Hamlet, she would be a bit proud of herself for her composure and acceptance of the mystifyingly outrageous facts at had. Delilah did not shriek or cower away in fear. She simply stood there, seldom even blinking as she studied the specter of her departed friend. But in this case, Delilah's supposed composure was hardly a form of true reserve and civility at all. Her mind was bubbling over and frothing with excited questions-- Had dearest Anna accepted in the gates of Heaven with only this temporary reprieve and if so what was the reason for her release? Had the soul of her oldest friend been doomed for some reason to walk the earth without a chance at paradise? What did it feel like to be a ghost? What could she see and be a party to in the world and matters of the living after death? Had she reunited with any of her own deceased loved ones? And yet for all of her questions, Delilah's tongue remained at rest-- because it was entirely beyond her control. No matter how hard she struggled to part her lips to speak, to ask even one among the ever-growing list of questions, or to even greet her dead friend's ghost, Delilah could not manage it. She could only drag her feet cautiously towards Anna's beckoning soul as it called out to her.
"Come closer, Delly!" Anna, who was, indeed, entirely the illuminated shade of her own blue eyes had been in life, implored Delilah urgently with that intimate pet name reserved for use by only those who were closest to Reaper's Gulch's schoolteacher. And that voice, as darling, musical, and sweet as it had been when Anna had been living, held such a compelling power now in death that Delilah continued to obey, to follow the ghost along a path further and further away from the house Delilah promised herself to return to. And Delilah was almost hardly afraid of the implications at her own inability to even speak at this time.
Her thoughts so fully devoted to the amazing sight before her and further consumed by the many mysterious puzzle pieces belonging to this whole surreal affair, Delilah did not take notice of how long she had been following her best friend's ghost or where that ghost had lead them to. She did not take notice of much of anything, really, until all at once she realized she had been brought to an unfamiliar place-- something that ought to have been as impossible as Anna's ghost's appearance in the first place, for Delilah Ann Brewster had grown up in Reaper's Gulch and had personally made acquaintance with almost every inch of the settlement's land. Yet, the ornate, wood, and iron gate Anna brought her to was a completely foreign sight to Delilah. And she felt fear and awe standing before its imposing stature long enough to dread its opening even before she saw the horrors it revealed.
There was a pathway behind the door that Delilah could be certain did not exist anywhere in Reaper's Gulch during the daylight hours. And although the blue light emanating from her spectral friend allowed her to see much of it-- whether Delilah wanted to or not and, indeed, with ghastly bones, skulls, and even carcasses of rotting flesh piled up on either side, it could be rightfully assumed that Delilah most certainly did not want to see-- the pathway went on for a great length, so long that the darkness eventually swallowed what light the ghost could offer.
"Time is short, my friend," Anna warned seriously even as she reached out to urge Delilah forward on the path. "It comes. And it will find you," This, the spirit insisted with such a tone of overwrought severity and drama that Delilah very nearly laughed outright despite her horror. Anna had always possessed a flair for the dramatic. Had her circumstances and choices been perhaps more dire, Anna Palmer would have made a magnificent actress in her own right. She had always rather relished playing the part of the witches or Lady Macbeth back when the little girls had time and occasion to read and reenact the great tragedies and comedies of the Bard amongst themselves. But as cherished as those memories were, Delilah fortunately realized in time that this was not one of those childhood games at play-acting. Anna's unrested soul had come to speak to her. Delilah reminded herself to appreciate that every word-- how ever presented-- ought to have been taken as solemn gospel.
"Run," Anna went on to order imperially (such bossiness being yet another inherent trait belonging to the living, breathing counterpart and enough to settle more trust and affection towards the apparition within Delilah's now ferociously pounding heart). "Tell the others!" And then again, "Tell the others!" when it seemed as though Delilah had not taken the words to heart as immediately as she ought.
The schoolteacher did not need to be told a third time. Though she still could not speak to argue with Anna's ghost or even shout for help with an escape, her feet could move. So kept moving along the macabre path of human parts, that awful stench of decay violating her nostrils. Delilah kept moving even when it felt as though something tugged at her skirt. She looked down, of course, frightened that she would see one of the disembodied skeletal hands clutching at her. But upon seeing nothing of the sort she forced herself to dismiss that imagining and continue on-- yet she felt the pulling sensation again. And again. And again. The invisible, unseen hands kept grabbing at the skirts of Delilah's nightgown. In fact, they seemed to grope up higher and higher with every passing step until she could deny their existence no longer. Those invisible hands managed to pull off the blanket she had wrapped around her shoulders. Such an undeniable display sent a sharp, hot bolt of pain and terror ringing through her entire body. Delilah finally broke out into a run down that dark path of bodies, hoping beyond all reason that she would find some new source of light, some way out, Praying that she was not running toward hell itself, the forceful grip of demonic fingers tripped her up, sending the schoolteacher's entire body crashing to the ground in what should have been a brutally painful collapse. She finally managed to cry out even in anticipation of pain.
And yet, when she landed, it was not on unforgiving dirt or brush. The surface was somehow more comfortable… and moving. Even without being able to see much detail in the absolute darkness, Delilah could still feel an undulating pulse beneath her, a sensation that was dizzying and unsettling. She rushed to get back up on her feet but found her efforts to be a complete failure. In fact, Delilah rather achieved the precise opposite of what she intended-- she somehow sank deeper into the mysteriously thick and… and… mucus-like substance. A mucus-like substance that somehow gripped her tighter than any invisible hand ever did. It constricted around her body at every angle; it paralyzed all movement as she sank deeper and deeper…
Anyone who knew the composed, resigned, even-tempered schoolteacher would have hardly recognized her in this moment. Delilah screamed and thrashed about wildly now with all the reckless abandon of a young child in a tantrum or an animal caught in a trap-- which she essentially was. There seemed to be no hope of escape from this hellish and ghostly quicksand and Delilah was just about ready to give up when all at once she realized-- well, yes, that was precisely what she ought to have done all along! Quicksand! Although she had never run into the stuff, herself, before, Delilah had read about it and knew well enough that the less she struggled the better her chances stood. So, steeling herself with a forced and deep sniff, Delilah ceased thrashing at once.
And almost immediately the effort seemed to have worked splendidly! As soon as she stopped flailing and screaming, Delilah felt the hum of the mucus-or-mud-or-whatever-it-was stop as well. Its hold on her body seemed to loosen and she truly felt safe enough to release a tightly held breath with a sound that was half mindless, mad, little giggle and half sigh of profound relief. And yet, almost immediately she had done so, Delilah felt herself pulled down again, faster this time. And in the complete terror that encompassed her now even more completely than this strange quicksand did as she faced what were, she was now certain, her last moments of life a deliriously mad little thought crossed her mind. For she felt as though as her feet and ankles and then knees and thighs and entire body all sank lower and faster than ever before-- it was almost as if she could feel the submerged parts dangling in empty sky like a hanged man at the end of a noose…
* * * * * * * * * *
It was hardly an ordinary occurrence for Delilah to wake up in a dark, wooden, enclosed, entirely unknown compartment-- but, sure enough, that was precisely the sort of environment she found herself in when she awoke again. It was a dark tight space. She could not see that it was wood all around her, but Delilah could smell it and feel the rigid stiffness' merciless effects on her back. In her barely conscious addled thoughts, it did not even occur to her exactly what she had been trapped inside now until she pushed against the top, forcing a wooden cover upwards before it crashed onto a wooden floor. All at once, bright morning light assaulted her eyes and required a moment's effort to get used to but once she did, Delilah quickly scanned her surroundings to take stock and realized a great number of things all at once.
The first, was that she had been lying in a coffin-- was still, in fact, sitting up in one, all told.
The second detail was that, by Providence's great and infinite mercy, the coffin that contained her was not buried in the ground or propped up on the shores of some river in the Underworld or any otherworldly thing but in what appeared to be a barn house for the sole purpose of housing coffins exactly like the one she currently sat in-- a fact she was able to surmise by the appearance of many other coffins stacked up around her and the third and most pressing detail of this entire unfortunate scene.
For the third detail was the presence of one Mr. Thomas Dalton-- a figure of some renown in Reaper's Gulch being that he was the small settlement's only undertaker, the overseer of nearly every death in town, possessing a somewhat murky reputation for strangeness and inappropriate humors-- looking at her now as though he was just as surprised to find her in one of his coffins as she, herself, was to be found there.
"I--" Delilah began uncertainly, eyes wide with fear and shame-- yet at the same time, gratitude and delight that (after all of the night's horrors which she remembered in the most keen and awful detail) she was still, as it turned out, quite alive. Mortified and perhaps socially and professionally ruined forever. But alive, at least. Ultimately, she gave up on all hope of explaining her circumstances and instead cleared her throat, bowed her head demurely in greeting as any proper young lady ought to when acknowledging the presence of an acquaintance, how ever strange the circumstances (or the acquaintance, himself) might be. "Good morning, Mr. Dalton."