Free Coffin Collector by William Massa

C HAPTER O NE

    DARKNESS GREETED TRAVIS Willyard upon waking. Instead of looking up from a soft bed at the wood ceiling beams of his studio apartment, he found himself confined in a black and soundless space. He tried to move left and right, only to realize he was boxed in. Frantically, he tried to sit up, but banged his head against a wooden surface. His pulse quickened, and he fought back the first signs of claustrophobia.  
    Where am I?
    He shifted about and explored his extremely tight quarters by touch. He was…encased in something. He pressed against the rough wooden ceiling of his new prison, his labored breaths amplified in the tight space. Soon words tumbled from his lips, nearly unintelligible in his parched throat, building into terrified screams.
    “Hello! Let me out of here! Somebody help me!”
    There was no response.  
    Oh my God, what’s happening? How did I get here?  
    Travis searched his memory. Through the haze of last night’s binge drinking and the terrible hangover splitting his head, he vaguely remembered spending the evening at Rivalta, one of the poshest bars in town. He was four weeks into his summer semester at the Florence University of the Arts and was having the time of his life. As an art student, he cherished this beautiful European city and all its historical relics and artistic masterpieces. Engaging classes during the day gave way to a different kind of stimulation when the sun went down and the local beauties hit the discotheques and bars. Travis appreciated art in all its forms, particularly the female form, and he had been meeting his share of lovely and willing locals. He wanted this to be a summer to remember, a final hurrah before returning to New York, where graduation and the responsibilities of adulthood would be waiting for him.  
    He was madly in love with the city. And the city had returned his passion in kind.
    Until now.
    He dimly recalled two lovely girls chatting him up at the bar. He had bought them drinks, the place had started spinning… And that’s when the memories stopped. He must’ve passed out, but why? He considered himself a seasoned drinker; a few Negronis wouldn’t knock him off his feet.  
    There was only one explanation: Someone must’ve spiked his drink.  
    It was absurd. Why would anyone kidnap him? Granted, Americans weren’t the most popular people around with many of the locals, but still… As some of the Italian girls had explained after a passionate night of lovemaking, people from the US were spoilt, arrogant, and loud—but also a lot of fun and good in the sack. Young people might be drawn to them, but the older population considered them a cultural blight. Travis had received confirmation of this a few nights earlier when he had stumbled drunkenly through the city’s streets, one of his buddies singing at the top of his lungs. A window above them opened, and a disgruntled Florentian dumped a bucket of ice-cold water on top of them. They’d laughed their asses off at the time, but what if some local felt water wasn’t enough to teach the foreigners a lesson?  
    Clenching his teeth, he kicked and slammed the wooden ceiling of the box with all his might. This time, the lid popped open. Harsh light flooded in. Travis blinked, shielding his eyes, and recognized with horror that he’d been trapped in a coffin all this time.  
    He scrambled out of the casket as fast as possible, shaking all over. What the fuck? Was this some sick joke? For a second, he expected his guffawing buddies to pop out from behind the coffin and provide him with a legitimate reason to punch their lights out. But no human laughter joined in with his anxiety-ridden gasps.  
    As his breathing normalized, he began to inspect his environment more carefully. He was inside an immense high-ceilinged warehouse. Murky light shafted into the cavernous space through a series of skylights, revealing a sight that made his blood run cold. Everywhere he turned, rows upon rows