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Miranda Banks-Lewis woke up and screamed.
Her world was pitch-black. She scratched at the fabric lining of the box centimetres above her face, kicked her legs and banged on the wooden wall beside her. Her hands were tied in front of her with plastic cable and her ankles felt as if they were bound with rope. As her mind cleared she suddenly realised exactly what kind of box she was imprisoned in.
A coffin! She screamed again, a high-pitched, animal shriek that no one heard. As a child, she and her friends had read with morbid fascination horrific tales of people who had mistakenly been buried before death. Ever since then she had nursed an irrational, but all-consuming fear of being buried alive.
Miranda breathed deep and felt the plastic oxygen mask covering her nose and mouth. She
