I allowed Elliot take me by the hand and guide me toward the narrow doorway through which I heard him talk to the unseen presence who he says was his mother.

He opened the door and tugged me toward the darkness. I pulled back when I realized I'd have to stoop even further. "Don't be frightened of the clostro-thingy, the tall room's right through here, you'll be able to stand straight up," he said, with a child like reassurance that didn't reassure me.

My chest tightened and my heart rate increased when I saw that this was less a hallway and more a tunnel; the walls of which were merely compacted soil. Yet I knew I heard someone or thing retreat down this very same trail; so I took a deep breath, crouched down and entered the darkness determined to find out who was actually in the so called tall room.

I let go of Elliot's hand and dropped to the floor, "It's easier for me if I crawl, Elliot,' I said, edging forward like a tearful toddler.

The stench of the Milton's corpses still hung heavy in my nostrils. But it was their deathly odor that temporarily quashed my claustrophobia, compelling me through the tight space.

Elliot walked with a frustratingly slow gait and my head constantly flinched backwards to avoid being smacked by his heels. "I don't like the tall room; looking up frightens me. I worry something might fall from above and cover my face. My collar doesn't protect me from falling things, I hate having the phigero-thingy," he whimpered.

A fast paced patter rushing from behind alerted me and I halted. The physical brush of a physical presence brushed over my lower legs, "Elliot, what's that?"

His reply was nonchalant, "Rats. They're big, but don't bite. Most of them are my friends, because I feed them breakfast cereal," he replied, cheerfully.

The skin on my elbows began to tear, and I cursed myself for not putting my pullover back on; but I crawled relentlessly onwards in search of: answers, fresh air and freedom. "Are we nearly there, Elliot?" I asked, aware I sounded like the child. He chirped his reply, "I thinks so, I can smell mother's perfume."

Weary and with a momentary lack in my concentration, his heal smacked my nose and I felt it: crack, erupt and bust. But the pain eased a little when I heard Elliot exclaim, "We're here!"

At least my broken nose obliterated the stench of death, "Things always happen for a reason," my mother used to say. I looked forward to the day when I would gain a positive outcome from this unfortunate experience.

We entered a room that was no more than 5 meters by 5 meters square. Yet its height allowed me stand upright with a few inches to spare. Needles to say, it did nothing to alleviate my claustrophobia.

Elliot crouched down and pushed his head and collar between his knees, "I'm protecting my face, mother. Nothing will cover it in the tall room," he said, with a fearful quiver in his voice. I found it achingly tragic how he still spoke to his dead mother and decided to gently break her suicide to him by engaging him in rationale conversation.

But as I looked at him, I felt a soft warm breeze caress the back of my neck and I instinctively asked, "Where is your mother, Elliot?"

"She's standing behind you," he said, his head still bowed.

The hairs on the back of my neck rose as the warm breeze on my neck took on the steady rhythm of soundless breaths.

When I placed my hand on my neck, I felt a salivary softness swipe the back of it – I spun round and my body screeched into spasmodic shocks at the sight of her.

Involuntary shudders shook my body until Elliot's words pulled me back from a full on shock-induced fit, "That's not mother, silly Billy. You just missed her, she's gone back to my room and father's gone back above."

With a heaving chest and short sharp breaths, I stared at the woman encased behind plate glass, set into the wall of the tall room. She was dressed in black trousers and a crisp white shirt. Her long blonde hair framed a diminished and dried face, yet I could still deduce that she would be about my age; were she still alive.

"Elliot, who is this?" I asked, wiping the blood that dropped from my nose and flinching at the throbbing pain.

His head remained between his knees, "That's Mary, she was my nanny. But she took the Heaven Pill and left me all alone," he said.

Trying my best not to drown in dread, I asked, "Was she down here for: days, weeks, months or years, before she took the Heaven Pill?"

Elliots response dragged me under the metaphorical sea that I floundered in, "I don't know what those words are?" He whimpered.

I surfaced and gasped, "How long was she with you?"

"What's long?"

Determined not to die down here, I buoyed myself, breathed hard and said, "Elliot, when you wake up, that's a new day. So can you tell me how many 'wake ups' you had with Mary?"

He raised his head, his collar wobbled and he smiled, "Lots and lots and lots and lots of wake-ups, and so many sleeps. I couldn't count them all." His face frowned, "I was very sad when she took the Heaven Pill." He paused and said, "Billy, you have blood all over your face."

"I know, I'll clean it later." I crouched to his level, "Why did Mary take the Heaven Pill?" I asked.

His face looked sad and confused, "She said she wanted freedom from this Hell, so she took the Heaven Pill. Mother said she was naughty for taking it." His top lip began to quiver and tears collected in his eyes, "Promise me you won't take the Heaven Pill, Billy?"

Ignoring him, I stood up and punched violently at the ceiling until a crack appeared in the plaster. Edging a finger in, I dislodged a piece of plaster and let it fall to the floor.

"MOTHER, HELP ME. ELLIOT'S MAKING THINGS FALL AND MAKING MY PHIGERO-THINGY COME BACK!" Screamed Elliot, taking off at great speed down the tunnel.

Alone in the tall room, I looked at Mary's corpse, "My promise is to you. I'll get out of here; your family need to know what became of you and the world needs to know of these crimes," I said, with a confident self-motivating voice.

I tore enthusiastically at the plaster until I exposed the compacted earth underneath it. Scraping at the hard outer layer, I felt the soft soil underneath and burrowed my hand up into it, pulling down a handful of moistened soil.

'You're fit and strong, Billy, you can dig yourself out of here,' I told myself.

I dug out a great handful of dirt and more soil dropped with it, scattering at my feet. Looking up, I was hit in the face by a thick clod of earth. Looking down to shake my face clean, a second dollop of earth thumped the back of my head causing me to fall forward and smack my head against the adjacent wall.

Stars twinkled and danced around my grit filled eyes and I felt myself drift away into a dizzying darkness.

.......

I woke wearily, buried deep in the warmth of my bed. Still too groggy and sleepy to open my eyes. I listened to muffled voices emanating from some place in the distance, "Yes mother, Billy has left me all alone, just like Mary did. He's very naughty, but he hasn't taken the Heaven Pill."

Still dazed, I jolted when I heard a whispered response to Elliots' whimpering; but I couldn't quite catch her words. I lifted my head and felt a sucking resistance and squelching noise.

The reality of my situation returned and hit me like a hammer blow: I wasn't in bed; I lay in my potential grave.

The soil from above fell in a steady stream, like sand in an upturned egg timer calling time on my life. My lower body was already covered in a deep blanket of earth. Groggy from the blow to my head, I managed to sit up right and began to shovel and shift the earth from my legs with my hands.

What I feared most was a sudden landslide dumping from above that would result in my suffocation and burial alive with Mary. As much as I cared for this unfortunate girl whose experience I unwittingly shared, I had no desire to follow her footsteps into an untimely death.

Finding the strength, I managed to free my legs and crawl to the entrance of the tunnel.

Fueled by a potent mix of anger and phobic fear I scurried like a hungry rat, only slowing when the light of Elliot's room offered me salvation from the fast filling grave behind me: Mary's tomb.

......

Eliot was sitting on his bed, hugging his teddy bear; a large rat sitting on his shoulder, its tail constantly flicking into Elliot's eye: gross. "You've been naughty, you nearly broke mother's rule again. All that soil could have filled my collar and covered my face. Mother says you will be punished..."

..."SHUT UP!" I roared in total exasperation.

The rat dived off his shoulder and launched itself at me, screeching with a defensive snarl. I felled it with a head on punch, kicked its fitting body out of Elliot's view and finished it off with the force of my heal on its squealing head.

Elliot jolted and began to quiver, "No tears, there are many more rats in the tunnel. It's time to stop the tears and start the truth." I stooped up and took his hand, "Come with me, I want to show you what has become of your mother and father," I said, trying to adapt a more empathetic and caring tone as I led him out of his bedroom.

He continued to snivel behind me as we made our way toward his parent's mausoleum. "POOOOOOOH! Why is it so stinky?" He asked, pinching his nose and holding tight to his teddy.

Feeling guilty about reneging on his parent's wish to shield him from their death and killing his pet rat, I turned to him with a genuine sympathy; but remained resolute in my decision to show him the reality of our situation.

"Elliot, that's the smell of death. Your parents are dead and decaying, I'm sorry but the truth doesn't always smell nice," I said.

Still holding his nose, he smiled, "You're silly Billy, mother smells sweet. I was speaking with her only a few minutes ago." I felt my patience waver and I grabbed the door handle, "She told me she kissed the back of your hand in the tall room, did you feel it, Billy?"

A cold shudder shook me and I removed my hand from the door handle, looked at it then turned to Elliot, "Yes, I did feel that, who was it?"

"That was mother, she's very loving."

My patience dropped and I flung open the door, releasing the full stinking heat of bodily putrefaction and a swarm of angry flies, furious at being disturbed from laying their eggs on the rotting flesh.

Flinching from the stench and swatting the flies, I grabbed Elliot with my free hand and tugged him forward, "I'm so sorry, but you really need to see what's in here. It's time to grow up Elliot," I said, pulling him into the mausoleum.

Elliot buried his nose and mouth in his teddy bear and stared with wide horrified eyes at the remains of his parents.

"Elliot, you know that these are your parents, don't you?"

He nodded a yes.

"They're dead, gone, no longer on this earth. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

He gave me another affirmative nod.

Once I knew he was certain of what he saw, I pulled him away and shut the door behind us, eager not to linger any longer on their horror.

......

Back in his bedroom I was surprised to see there were no tears forthcoming from Elliot. Instead, I thought I detected a newfound maturity in his demeanor. Perhaps my open and honest strategy had worked and this was positive progress.

"Are you alright?" I asked, empathetically.

"I didn't like their smell," he replied.

I rubbed his shoulder, "I know, but their smell will be gone soon and we can say goodbye to them properly. We can have a little funeral party, would you like that?" I asked.

He nodded a smiling yes.

"So, do you now see that your parents are dead and why I get upset when you say that you still talk to your mother?" I asked.

He looked at me and nodded a no, "Mother is alive!" He said. I noted his voice had taken on a sharp edge, with a definite hint of adult defiance in his hard assertion.