He woke up in the dark, tried to scream and couldn't.
He was standing, that much he knew because his legs were sore. He was in a tiny closet. No, that wasn't right. He was encased: tomb-like, in a wooden crate like a coffin, but with the lid at the top over his head.
Someone had put him in here while he had been passed out from the party. And how long ago had that been? A couple of hours? More? He did not know. He felt something hot and wet trickling down his face. He wriggled his arm up in the small space and tentatively touched the spot that was sore. His nose. It was bleeding. Did someone hit him in the face? He couldn't remember. He hoped it wasn't broken...
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