I couldn't tell if I heard the voice with my physical ears or inside my mind, but it was unlike any I'd ever experienced before. It was as if the words attacked my eardrums. The sound split into dissonant octaves again and again, until it filled the entirevibrational spectrum, reminding me of those experiments by the government using audio frequencies to create madness.

But I also had the sense of feeling the voice kinaesthetically, of being able to locate places in my body where it was resonating, pulsing, invading. My bones and organs vibrat-ed in time with a powerful rhythm outside of me, and the pressure increased as the sound waves echoed around and through me, becoming more painful as they escalated.

The voice tore at my ears, repeating the same message over and over. I covered them with my hands and screamed, "No!"

"I am here. Come to me and I will show you miracles. I will grant all your earthly desires."

I felt myself moving away from the wall, pulled as if by a powerful magnet. My solar plexus tingled and ached, be-coming hyper-sensitive, and I had the bizarre notion that an invisible something was attached to my midsection, physically compelling me. My head felt fuzzy, my mind disconnected. I couldn't stop myself. I couldn't resist. I walked away from the club into the darkness of the street beyond, the sense of dread and terror growing stronger with every wobbly step. Then everything went dark.

I woke up in a coffin.

That might seem unpleasant, unsanitary or maybe creepy to most people, but for me it was my worst nightmare.

This might be a good time to explain my greatest fear.

When I was young I saw an old movie called "Premature Burial," where-due to a strange illness that caused com-plete paralysis mimicking death-people were buried before they were dead. They were put in boxes, placed in holes in the ground and were very aware of the dirt being piled on top of their supposedly deceased selves. They couldn't communicate their aliveness to any of the grieving mourners, so they slowly suffocated. When the illness was finally dis-covered and the Unfortunate Buried Alive were dug up, it became clear that at some point in the process the paralysis had worn off and the bloody fingernails of the Unwillingly Interred were evidence of their vain attempts to escape.A hideous death, to my mind. I couldn't sleep for weeks after watching that movie.

A psychic later told me that I'd died in a previous life due to being buried alive or maybe drowned or perhaps suf-focated with a pillow-just choose one of the air-restricted methods-and that was why the movie had affected me so profoundly. I can't verify the accuracy of my previous causes of death, but I do know that anything dealing with being un-able to breathe thrusts me into spasms of terror.

As I said, I woke up in a coffin, but I didn't know that right away.

The first thing I noticed was a putrid smell. A unique stench consisting of backed-up sewer, rotted meat, blood,mold , mildew, and dead bodies. The smell was so horribly potent that it caused me to become aware of the second thing: it was very dark. The reason the smell triggered me to no-tice the darknesswas because as soon as I got a good whiff of it, my stomach heaved. I tried to sit up, or roll over, because I didn't want to throw up on myself, and I was certain that vomit was in my immediate future.

My effort to sit up caused me to bang my head against an unexpected barrier, which led me to discover there was a ceiling directly above my body. I began to push against it and quickly deduced it was an immovable object-or at least a very heavy one.

Then I panicked.

The feeling of my hands pushing against the resisting material immediately triggered a cellular memory of the afore-mentioned movie, and I started to scream, which shifted my attention away from throwing up.

This proved to be very help-ful. Fear is a powerful motivator. Like the mothers who lift multi-ton vehicles off their children, imagining myself locked in a box for my ride onto the Entry Ramp to Eternity allowed me to become Hulk-like in my strength, and to force open what turned out to be the substantial lid of an old coffin.

I sat up, still screaming, the sound reverberating off the walls of the small, decrepit building I'd awakened in. A build-ing that smelled extraordinarily bad.

Raising the lid on the coffin allowed me to see the sunlight filtering in through the broken front door. I couldn't tell how much time had passed, but it was obviouslyday . A chunk of my life was missing. I valiantly tried to reconstruct the chain of events that had brought me to this moment, and failed.

I stopped screaming-mostly because it hurt my throat- and let my eyes adjust to the dim light. Being able to see where I was made things worse. Instead of only suspecting I was up shit creek, I now had verification.

The building was an old, rundown mausoleum. Low spots in the cement floor were filled with stagnant, rancid water mixed with blood from several blatantly dead bodies. Even in the limited light, it was clear that no human in any state of aliveness could be thecolor of the remains scattered around that room. The place looked like a human slaughter-house. Back in the corner were bones and pieces of rotting clothing, which gave evidence to the likelihood that whatever was going on here had been going on for a very long time.

Needless to say, I had to get out.I assumed that whoever had killed all those people was probably coming back to get me. I didn't have time to think about why I was still alive-why the murderer had left me in the coffin instead of adding me to the collection on the floor. It occurred to me I was probably in shock, which explained the strange, fuzzy feeling in my head.

Since the lid of the coffin had only swung back on its hinge and was still standing straight up on one side, I couldn't brace myself by holding onto both edges to lift up. I grabbed onto the available surface and put my other hand down alongside my legs and felt my hand sink into clumps of dirt or sand. I pulled my knees up and heard a soft clattering sound as something knocked against the side of the coffin. I reached my hand in to find what had made the noise and closed my fingers around a long, stick-like thing. I brought it up into the light and found myself in possession of a human bone. I had been lying on top of whoever had been buried in that coffin.

Holy shit My stomach lurched again. I rose to my feet as if pulled by ropes. Looking down, I could clearly see the remains of the original resident. I brushed off as much of the decom-posed material as I could from the rear of my pants with shaking hands and apologized silently to the person I was scattering into the air.

The coffin I was now standing in was situated on a ped-estal about three feet off the floor. The area close around it was filled with the dead bodies and pools of bloody water. I would have to jump, which under the best of circumstances called on grace I hadn't cultivated, and to jump while wear-ing four-inch heels would guarantee a painful outcome. But, if my choice was to wait in the coffin for the psychopath to return or take my chances with a sprained ankle, I'd choose the sprain anytime.

Not being adept in physical situations, it took me a mo-ment to realize that I could crouch, sit on the open edge of the coffin and scoot down, finding a small space for the ball of my foot to land on one of the few dry spaces on the floor and then ease myself away from the pedestal.

That's what Idid, all the while listening for any sound that would alert me to the return of the insane person who'd brought me there.

I walked on tiptoes through the carnage to the door, un-able to avoid wading through puddles of slimy, bloody water, and finally reached the stairs leading up to the light. My stomach had been clinched sotightly I'd barely breathed since I got out of the coffin. I climbed up the stone steps and shoved the door, which swung open on rusty hinges, making that sound always present in horror movies. Then I stepped out into the sunshine and found myself in the middle of an old graveyard.

I heard sounds of traffic nearby and moved in that direc-tion. I kept glancing behind me to see if it had been a trap; if someone-or something-was going to spring out at me from behind one of the huge gravestones and haul me back into the pit of hell, but I was alone.

I must have been quite a sight as I walked out of the or-nate, cast iron gates of the graveyard and crossed the parking lot of McDonalds.

I had no idea where I was.

Another beautiful day in paradise had gotten all dressed up and started without me. The sun beamed almost directly overhead, making it about noon. Shielding my eyes with my hand, I spun in a slow circle, searching for the mountains to give me a sense of where I was.Denver is a consistent distance from various distinctive peaks and I always got my bearings by checking out my location in relation to the mountains, as well as the ever-present downtown skyscrapers.

Turns out I was within walking distance of Devereux's club. I never knew there was an old graveyard tucked away back behind fast food row. Well, you know what they say about learning something new every day.

High pitched giggles drew my squinty eyes down from the horizon and I found myself gazing at a clump of little girls, all holding dripping ice cream cones. As they surrounded me, one sticky-fingered angel said, "You're funny!" This caused another wave of gleeful laughter.

"I'm funny?"

That was apparently hilarious.

Another sweet cherub said, "What are you doing in the middle of the parking lot? Are you dancing?

What's all that stuff on you?"

I looked down at myself and discovered I was covered in everything I'd found back in the death pit in the graveyard. Including dried blood,which was all over my hands.

Gasping, I immediately leaped to the most drastic conclu-sion: that the blood was mine. I inspected myself, searching for wounds or cuts, anything that would explain the stains, but I didn't find anything.

And since I had no recollection of what'd transpired during the missing hours-and at that mo-ment I wasn't up for exploring the disgusting possibilities-I gave myself permission to stuff the entire matter deep inside my psychological Do Not Enter zone.

A pretty little brown-eyed tyke ventured a couple of tenta-tive steps in my direction, pointed and yelled, "You smell!"

That was definitely some kind of cosmic cue. Simultaneously, anxious mothers scurried forth from everywhere, retrieved their children and whisked them back to the play area.

"What did I tell you? Never talk to strangers!" one mother scolded, as she pulled her child away, tossing frightened glances back over her shoulder.

I raised my arm up to my nose and sniffed. Yuck. I did smell. In fact, I smelled worse than horrible. Just like that ghastly place. No wonder the moms had treated me as if I was a carrier of the black plague.

And I could only imagine the visual I presented.I fished in my pocket to see if the cash I'd put there the night before had survived my mysterious experience, and I pulled out a handful of bills and coins. Even though I could've walked to Devereux's club, the memories of the pre-vious night left a bad taste in my mouth. I had no desire to make a return visit. All I wanted to do was go home, take off the toe-smashing boots and crawl into a hot bath.

I'd just spied a telephone booth and headed in that direc-tion to call for a cab, when a police cruiser pulled into the parking lot and blocked my path. Either I really did appear suspicious enough to draw the attention of a passing cop car, or someone in the restaurant had called the police to deal with the crazy lady.

Two very young officers got out of the car and walked cautiously over to me. I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't what I got.

"Are you Dr. Knight?"

"How do you know that? I mean, yes."

"Are you all right?"

"Yes. No. I'm not all right. I just woke up in coffin in a graveyard and I'm covered in stuff I don't even want to think about."

"Are you wounded?"

"No. I don't think so.Not physically, anyway."

"Is that your blood on your hands, Dr. Knight?"

I held my hands out and inspected again, "I don't know. How do you know my name?""An FBI agent working with the Denver PD put out a red flag on you. Said you'd gone missing last night.

Your pho-to's been running on the local TV stations all morning. You must be an important person, because we're not usually al-lowed to act this fast on a missing person report. It looks like you've had a rough night. If you'll come with us, we can sort everything out and get you some help."

He took another step toward me and scrunched up his nose as he approached."'Wow. Where did you say you've been?"

A quick visual communication passed between them.Eye contact so covert that if I hadn't been trained to notice such things, I'd have missed it. The look said, "Potential Dis-turbed Person." I knew that look well, having shared it with other professionals in various mental health settings. It's a shorthand code for a set ofbehaviors -behaviorsthat calmed the patient and encouraged cooperation. And, while I could understand why they might slide me into that category, I wasn't willing to assume the role.

I was in no mood to be cooperative or polite. My brain had finally kicked back into gear. Along with the fear and confusion I'd experienced since waking up in one of the levels of Hades, I was also pissed.

Pissed at whoever dragged me to this place and pissed at being handled. The officers clearly thought I was hallucinating about waking up in a coffin in a graveyard, so I decided to cut to the chase.

I'd been abducted, brought to a maniac's lair, and who knew what else. Now was as good a time as any to take the cops on a tour of Horror Central. I pivoted and trotted back toward the entrance gate to the old graveyard. Hey! Stop! Where are you going?" I'm going to show you where I've been."

I called on my last reserves of glucose and sprinted through the gate into "Capitol Hill Cemetery,an Historical Landmark," with the cops close on my heels.

"Dr. Knight! You've obviously had some kind of trauma; you're not thinking clearly. Let us take you downtown. Stop or we'll have to restrain you."

"Restrain me, my ass. You'll have to catch me first."

If they were going to assume I was irrational, at least I could add some interesting fuel to the fire. I didn'tlike being treated as an incompetent-even if they meant well-and I never had played nicely with authority figures. It occurred to me that the officers might not know the old graveyard was back there, either, since it was well hidden. If that were the case, it was little wonder my story sounded even more fantas-tic than it would've anyway.

My run through the graveyard was really quite impressive. I managed to find my way back to the ramshackle mausoleum without falling, being obstructed by the city's finest, or turning an ankle. There was something to be said for adrenaline.

I heard one of theofficers veil into his communicator, re-questing backup, as they chased along behind me, dodging gravestones and statues.

"Dr. Knight! Stop! We're only trying to help you!'

I skidded to a halt a few feet from the door of the death chamber, and pointed. The police hadn't expected the race to end so suddenly. It was all they could manage not to crash into me as they put on their own brakes.

"'There!'"I jabbed my finger in the air. "Through that door is a stairway. There are dead bodies inside."

"Come on, Dr. Knight. No more games. Let's get you back to the police station. You can explain everything to the detectives. We've been instructed to bring you in immedi-ately. The orders came straight from the chief."

The shorter of the two officers reached out and grabbed my upper arm and tugged gently, coaxing me to accompany him as he started walking back toward the cemetery entrance.

"Did you know there was a cemetery back here?" he said to his partner, who shook his head.

For some reason, getting me back to the police station seemed more important than investigating my story, so I opted for drastic measures. I wrenched my arm out of his hand and leaped over to the door and pulled it open. The smell made my stomach turn. I doubled over and yelled at the cops, "Go on!

Nothing normal can smell that bad. You at least have to check it out!"Each officer put a hand up to his face, covering his mouth and pinching his nose, trying to stave off the smell. The taller one gagged. "That is onegodawful smell. Maybe some ani-mal died in there. Let's take a look."

I moved away from the door, putting as much space as possible between me and the stench. I bent forward, bracing my hands just above my knees, still trying not to vomit.

"I'll go down and see what we've got. You stay up here with Dr. Knight."

The smaller cop went through the door and down the stairs, and only a couple of seconds passed before he yelled, "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" and scrambled back up the stairs, his face gone pasty and his eyes wide.

"What's wrong with you, McCarthy? You're pale as a ghost!"

"Go down and see for yourself, Landers. A picture's worth a thousand words."

Landers went through the door and I heard a gagging sound and then, "Shit!"

He raced back up the stairs and out into the slightly fresher air, just as the requested backup arrived and put their hands over their noses, too.

A few minutes later, I leaned against a large statue of an angel, drinking from the cup of steaming McDonald's coffee one of the officers handed me, while the new arrivals investi-gated the carnage inside the tomb. Finding something that grotesque had to be the worst part of police work.

McCarthy called for the officers whose job would be to get up close and personal with whatever was down there. He turned to me and stared, appearing a little green around the edges.

"I apologize, Dr. Knight. You were right. There are dead bodies down there. I haven't been on the Force that long, but this definitely qualifies as the worst thing I've seen. Were you really in there all night?"

"I guess so. I can't remember. All I know for sure is that I woke up there this morning."

"This place is going to be swarming with experts any min-ute, so it would probably be best if you let us take you downtown so you can get away from here. You know the media's going to show up, too, and I don't think you want to face the world in that condition." He pointed to my grisly attire and shook his head. "Doyouhave a psychologist to talk to?"

I snorted. "Well, now that you mention it, I'm not sure any of them would believe me. I'm not even sure I believe me."

He signalled to a female cop who'd just arrived and asked her to take me downtown. He studied me again. "I'm glad you were persistent."

"That's a nice word for it." I smiled at him. He walked away, talking into his cell phone.

Exhausted, I followed the policewoman out of the cemetery and into her black and white. She opened all the windows, glanced at me in the rear view mirror and said, "Nooffense ." We pulled away just as the caravan of TV news vehicles ar-rived and I was glad I didn't have to string two coherent sentences together because I would have failed. I hoped the process at the police station would be quick, but I suspected I was doomed to disappointment.

Thanks to the manic media circus camped out around police headquarters, I had to be smuggled in through the under-ground parking structure and secretly ushered in through an old fire exit. It seems my fifteen minutes of fame had caused quitea frenzy . My abduction had gotten linked with the murder investigation, and the vampire theme was simply too rich for the tabloids to pass up.