A novel of macabre horror, Buried is a supernatural thriller and psychological suspense shocker based on a real-life case! A mad doctor, a zombie from beyond, a plunge into the netherworld of madness! Come with us, and explore a world of mystery and fear that rivals that of any created by Edgar Allen Poe.
Pa was sore as hell at him, and he didn’t know what he could do about it. He huddled in a corner of his room, not liking the smell one bit, but knowing that the stench would soon clear out, and that life inside the old farmhouse would, eventually, come back to normal within a few days. Until then, he didn’t know how long it was until he was going to be able to sit down again.
It was beyond his ability to act any differently; hell, he had loved that little dog with all his heart and soul, and he couldn’t bear the thought of being parted from it. So he had done the only logical thing he could see to do, under the circumstances. Why didn’t any of them understand?
It had all started when he was walking Scoot in an old field by the road. On these expeditions, with an old cord tied around his dog’s neck, he would follow wherever Scoot’s nose led them. Often, it was burrowing through the dips and rises in the fields, looking for field mice, and the occasional rabbit. Then, when boy and dog were exhausted by play, they could both sit under a tree and watch the sun dip behind the clouds, until Ma stood on the porch calling them in for dinner.
On the particular tragic day that stood out so terribly in his memory, he had not had the dog leashed, and instead was playing a game of fetch with a little rubber ball he had picked up somewhere; he would walk along, throw the ball out, and let the dog go hunt around in the tall grasses for it while he ambled along behind.
It had been several moments later that he saw the dog poised, as if to strike, and heard her growling menacingly. He ran forward, immediately, and when he got up to where his dog was crouched, growling, suddenly he heard her yelp in pain, and was just quick enough to see a snake disappear behind a fallen log. He looked down at his feet, and the dog lay dead.
He had walked home in a daze, the tears not falling until he reached the safety of home and the arms of his mother. His father, a stern old farmer who entertained no nonsense, was even a little taken aback, and it was not long before he had tromped out the door and across the fields to go claim the carcass of the animal. He had scratched his head, asking himself, “Wonder what on earth kind of serpent it was?”
He brought the carcass back, slung over his shoulder, and laid it in the barn. Then he went to fetch his shovel, and walked back into the old house, saying, “We’ll bury it in the backyard, boy. Come with me.”
Still sobbing, he had climbed down from his mother’s knees, and followed his father back out of the house and across the yard, as their shadows stretched across the ground in the slow sunset. He felt cold all over, and his chest ached with the fury of his grief.
He followed his father inside, and there resting atop a haystack was the fly-blown body of his beloved puppy, its tongue lolling out and its eyes rolled up to whites in its head. He let out a great sob at the sight, and suddenly felt the cold, tough slap of his father’s hand come down like a great gavel on the cheek of his face.
“Quit being a baby, Carl! You have to get use to such sights if you’re ever to be any help around here at all. This here is what death looks like, and don’t you ever forget it. Here, take a good look--”