His fingers moved to his left side where he recognized more wood close; the same was true when he explored on his right. He was confined to a small space, inside a box long enough for his legs. Panic gripped him as he realized this might be a coffin. Screaming, he pushed upward with his hands and kicked into the wood. As his cries went unanswered, he started thinking, Am I buried alive? How did I get here? Am I in a cemetery?

“Wait! Wait! No!” he screamed.

He tried to think; what did he last remember? Out with the guys, his Berkeley buddies circled around him at the Last Stop, their favorite drinking hole near campus. They’d been his dorm friends and had done everything together those four years. Now, three years after graduation, each of his four closest friends had agreed to stand up at his wedding, and they threw him a stag party one week before the big day. They had been drinking a variety of cocktails.

I didn’t feel that sloshed. The guys and I were having fun, laughing. But how did I end up here? Am I in some funeral home? Is it still the same night? God, I can’t remember anything else.

Four young men laughed as their rental van left the deserted beach. Zach took a swallow from a Bud Lite. “Ben’s a practical joker. He deserves this.”

“Allen’s blind date with the girl in the wheelchair was pretty funny,” snickered Neil.

  “It was hell,” Allen said. “I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but she kept calling me for weeks afterwards.”

James chimed in, “Ben locked you in the closet, so you failed a psych exam.”

“And old Dunlap wouldn’t let me retake it and my grade point average dropped,” grumbled Neil.

“Oh yeah, remember when he wiped your cell phone?” Allen gave a gentle punch to Zach’s arm.

“Sure, I’ll never forget how Ben insisted he thought it was temporary,” Zach said.

James fumed, “Those were all terrible things, but the worst was when he got the police to do a drug raid. And my two-bit roommate had gone away for the weekend after leaving some of his stash there. Now it’s payback time.”

“Pretty smart, Zach,” Allen said, “to get GHB powder.”

From the back seat James asked, “What exactly is GHB?”

“Gamma-hydroxybutyric acid,” explained Zach. “One of the nicknames is easy lay.”

“Comin’ from the medical drop-out,” kidded James.

“I’m tellin’ you ass-wipes, medical school is really difficult,” said Zach.

“You’re sure this whole prank is safe?” asked Allen, always the worry-wart.

“Sure. I just mixed a little of it in his drink,” said Zach. “It’s as safe as drinking our water.”

“Ben didn’t seem to notice any different smell or taste to his bourbon.” Neil hoisted his beer can and took a few gulps.

“It only made him sleepy,” Zach said. He didn’t mention that the drug could also cause seizures, slow heartbeat, slow breathing, and even coma. The guys didn’t need all that info.

“Well, it sure hit him fast,” said Allen. “I was afraid he might fall when he started leaning off the bar stool.”

“Yeah,” chuckled Zach. “I thought the stuff took effect in fifteen to thirty minutes, but James, you were brilliant when you told the bartender we’d better help our buddy home. What was that guy’s funny name?”

“Something western,” said Allen and he drank more of his beer.

“Bronco,” James laughed. “How would you like to have a horse’s name?”

After getting Ben drunk and drugged, his buddies had driven him to a secluded site at the beach, where they enclosed him in a coffin and placed him in a shallow grave, with a breathing tube running to the surface.

But fate has a way of upsetting the best of plans.

Neil had asked, “How soon does he wake up?”

“Three to six hours,” Zach told the rest.

“We got plenty of time to let him sweat for a couple hours.”

“I’m hungry,” Allen said, “but the western place doesn’t have anything but greasy tacos.”

“You’re always hungry.” Neil punched Allen in his pudgy arm. The Hole in the Wall has good burgers.”

“Fine, but I just want another Stella.” Allen cut loose with a loud beer belch, dropped his empty can on the floor, and stepped on the gas. “And I can still out-drink all of you.”

“Well, I’m hungry enough to out-eat all of you,” boasted Allen.

As the dark landscape flew past the window, the van lurched through a red light and into the path of a semi. Both drivers slammed on their brakes, but too late. Tires screeched, then the deafening impact of metal against metal. The van’s frame folded around the large truck, creating a pile of bent junk. Gasoline trickled slowly from the van’s ruptured gas tank toward a small flame where sparks from a broken headlight had ignited a patch of dead grass. Within seconds, fire lapped across the van’s hood. The last sound Allen heard was a loud whoosh as the gasoline reached the flame.

Cops blocked off the street, waving minimal traffic onto a side road. Police vehicles, their red-and-blue lights flashing in the dark early-morning hours, clogged the area.

A TV news truck screeched to a halt nearby. Young reporter Kitty Purcell yanked open the side door and jumped out, followed by her cameraman. Purcell’s lacquered hair barely moved as she ran to the accident scene. Placing herself directly in front of the nearest flashing squad car, she turned to face the camera. Squaring her shoulders, she said, “Three people dead and two in critical condition from a dreadful pileup crash at 3:17 this morning, in Aransas County, Eastern Texas, between a jack-knifed truck and a passenger van on a two-lane road. We have Texas State Department of Public Safety Sergeant Steven Blanco with us.” She moved her microphone towards the big man.

“A Ford passenger van drove into the northbound lane, causing a head-on collision with an eighteen-wheeler,” Blanco said. “Both vehicles caught fire. Names are being withheld until the next of kin are notified. But I can tell you, three died at the scene and two people in critical condition were flown to the Corpus Christi Medical Center in Rockport. Authorities are investigating.”

The police spokesman didn’t tell the public he suspected the men in the van were drinking, as many beer cans were found in the wreck of their vehicle, but he would list that evidence in his report.

Ben started banging his knees on the wood above him as hard as he could. When they became sore, he started kicking the top of the box with his feet. He felt claustrophobic and began sweating profusely. This feels like a cheap coffin. Am I in a funeral home? Oh my God, I hope this isn’t a crematorium, but maybe that explains this cheap wooden box with no cloth padding. Do they push this entire box into the flames? Pounding his fists on the lid, he screamed at the top of his lungs, “Hey, I’m not dead. I’m alive.”

The two living victims of the collision were rushed to the nearest hospital. The truck driver appeared to be in stable condition, an x-ray revealing a broken left arm. After they set the fracture and his burns were treated, he was released.

James Albers, an occupant of the van, clung to life. He moaned when the emergency medical technicians lifted him from the back seat and passed out as his gurney was placed in Rockport’s Med Ambulance. The EMTs delivered him to the Medical Center, where the ER nurse took his vitals, and a physician noted that his pupils were nonreactive. Several nurses helped move him from the stretcher to a hospital bed.

Suffering from third-degree burns on his arms and a traumatic brain injury, James remained unresponsive; the doctor feared he had suffered a stroke. Holding him firmly, a nurse inserted an intravenous line in his leg, delivering antibiotics to prevent infection.

The police went through his wallet for a name and address. Searching their local database, they found Janet Albers living at the same address. Officials phoned her, verified she was his wife, notified her of the emergency, and obtained what she knew of his medical history. Shortly thereafter Janet arrived at the hospital and signed documents granting her permission for medical treatment. Hospital personnel gave her the rings they had removed from his injured hands. She cried softly.

The machines of the ICU were whirring and beeping around James, who didn’t respond to his wife’s voice or to his own pain. He was in a coma and could not communicate or move voluntarily.

A nurse told Janet, “A comatose patient is unconscious and is unable to respond to sounds. However, the brain may still be able to pick up on sounds, especially the voices of loved ones. In fact, some studies suggest talking and touching a loved one while they are in a coma may help them recover.”

Janet pulled a chair close to her husband’s bed. She squeezed his hand as she spoke to him.

James remained unresponsive.

Twisting his head, and using the flashlight, Ben tried to see the entire box. That’s when he saw a small plastic tube. It’s got to be for air. Then the guys must have done this. They’re probably nearby laughing their heads off. Very funny, guys. While he waited for their return, confident they would not abandon him, fate dealt him another surprise. The cheap coffin they’d stolen for the occasion began to leak groundwater. He shivered as the cold liquid started seeping in. The tidewater level rose in his soggy grave. Thinking he could die, he clawed at the raw wood; his nails snapped off, splinters burying themselves in his bloody fingers.

Janet spoke to James for over three hours saying whatever came to her mind. Her throat grew sore, and tears streamed down her face. “I didn’t want to tell you like this,” she said. “You must wake up. You’re going to be a father.”

When she felt the nurse’s had rest gently on her shoulder, Janet turned to look up at her. “Will he wake up?”

Responsible for calming hopeful family members, the nurse simply said, “He’s suffered a skull fracture and brain damage, but there’s every reason to hope.”

At times, James’s eyelids fluttered open and then closed.

Janet continued talking to him. “The doctor says everything looks wonderful for our baby. I’ve only had a little morning sickness. Now we must get you better.”

Water covered Ben’s torso and legs as he lay on his back in the box. When it was over his ears, he tried to arch his body to lift his head out of the water. His neck ached. He couldn’t hold it up any longer. He accidentally dropped the flashlight in the water and the light disappeared. Using both hands, he pushed against the top of the box in the dark. He cried.

A young father and his five-year-old son who were playing on the beach and wading in the rising tide came across a couple inches of wooden box sticking out of the sand.

Little Eddy said, “Daddy, the box is talking.”

The father dialed 9-1-1. Dispatch radioed the nearest patrol squad, a couple miles away. When the Texas State Patrol arrived near the scene, the young man saw them stop along the road. He waved his arms frantically, shouting “Over here — hurry,” while his son pulled handfuls of sand away from the coffin. The little boy kept saying, “The box stopped talking.”

The state patrolman and Eddy’s father managed to open the lid of the half-submerged box and pull out an unconscious man.  After they placed the victim face up on the sand the patrolman began CPR. Finally, Ben began breathing on his own.

In the ambulance that responded to the state patrolman’s call, medics filled out their casualty report and asked for the rescuers’ names. Bronco Dusen, of the Last Stop, and his son had saved Benjamin Cwynar from death.

I Finally Have the Smoking Hot Body I Have Always Wanted (having been cremated)

by Barb Drummond

    Writer, Barb Drummond, grew up in a home filled with crazy antics, love, laughter, and an exceptionally unique and zany mother. Who else had a mom who baked cream pies just so she’d have one on hand to throw at people she loved? Barb’s mother Sybil, however, drew the short straw by getting Alzheimer’s in her 60s. The disease stole her vibrant personality and voice. When Sybil died, an ordinary obituary just wouldn’t do. She was a glamorous Renaissance woman filled with creativity; a former ER nurse who saved lives; she was what movies are made of. Her sense of humour and charm made friends far and wide. Barb wrote the quirky obituary with her mom’s voice. No one could’ve predicted the obit would go viral within 24 hours—worldwide! Hundreds of thousands of people internationally read about Sybil Marie Hicks and her smoking hot body—and they wanted more! Barb’s memoir takes you into her mother’s life and the media whirlwind when her mom became an instant worldwide celebrity after she died. Within hours of its release, I Finally Have the Smoking Hot Body hit #1 best-seller status on Amazon. It continues to reach readers around the world and has been featured on CBC Radio and other media. Barb's book is more than just a story, it’s a book that keeps on giving. A percentage of sales is donated to the Alzheimer’s Society, helping to support families impacted by this devastating disease. In this hilarious, quirky, and poignant memoir, you’ll fall in love with Sybil and wish you’d known her in real life. (Even if she’d smoosh a cream pie in your face!) Meet Barb and her mom on Barb’s website. Available from Amazon.

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