The man opened his eyes, but it was still as black and dark as if he had them shut. He was on some kind of cold, stone table and he was entirely nude. Wherever he was, it was underground if the earthy smell that he detected was any clue. Beyond that, he had no idea where he was.
He sat up and tried to remember how he got here and when. But beyond a few flashes, of a party mostly, he couldn't recall a thing. Nor even, when he thought about it, could he remember basic details like his name or whether he had a family. He thought he had a family. The one thing he could remember, the party, he was sure some of the people there had been his family. But what he could tell you was who they were to him. Wives, daughters, sons, brothers...nothing so specific. Just that he had a connection to some of the faces he could remember.
And he was cold. He was naked, sitting on a cold stone table in the dark and shivering. No blanket, no clothes, nothing between him and the cold air. So that left him nothing to do but try to find a way out of this cold dark place.
The man shuffled around, in the dark. He felt a few more stone tables, like the one he was on, but they seemed to be empty. He eventually came to a stone wall, he felt along it, following it until he found a door of what felt like wood, with a metal knob. He tried it, but it was locked. He knocked on it, yelled out, screamed at the top of his lungs, but to no avail. No one answered. No one came.
In a panic, he threw his body, shoulder first, into the door. It gave a little but did not open. He pounded some more, for a while he remembered nothing of a personal nature, the man knew that sooner or later he would need to eat or drink and he didn't know how much air was in the room. Eventually, he would die if he did not escape, he was sure of that much.
He tried and kept trying the door. He worked at it, kicked at it, screamed and yelled and hit it with his shoulder again and again and again until he could do it no longer. When he could do it no more, he lay back down on the table, and he slept. After he rested, he thought to himself, he would try again. Yes, he would try again after he got some rest.
On a fall day, an old man opened the wooden door of the Hudson family Mausoleum for a young man and his wife. Light flooded the crypt for possibly the first time in 50 years. Stone sarcophagi, unadorned save for the names engraved on them stood in the room.
"So this is where Uncle George is interred?" said the woman.
"Yep," said the old man "No one has been in here since he died. All the legends you hear are baloney if you ask me."
The young man began taking rubbings of the names on the tombs and asked "What legends?"
"My predecessor wouldn't even come near this one at night. Said you could knocking and scratching. He said he checked it out once, thinking a vagrant might have gotten in somehow, but when he opened the door, there was nothing there."
Having gotten the genealogical information the couple had come for, the old caretaker locked the crypt up yet again. And when the sun went down, the man opened his eyes in the darkness once more.