12 August 2025
Tuesday. Had one turn back tonight. Doesn’t happen often. Happens enough.
She came up to the edge of plot one with her friend, all brave talk on the way in. Then she looked down at the box, the lid open, the planks, the size of it, and she went very still. Her friend saw it. The staff saw it. Nobody made a fuss. She said “actually, no”, and they went off and played something with doors in it instead.
I’ve been doing this four years now and I will say this. The ones who turn back aren’t the ones who failed. They’re the ones who knew themselves. There’s a word for being afraid of getting buried alive, and I can’t spell it, but I don’t think it’s a weakness. I think it’s good sense with a long name.
The management says the same, in plainer words. If small dark places get to you, or you’re in two minds, don’t get in the box. Go and do something else and enjoy it. The plots will be here.
Tally: plots disturbed, one, by the pair who did go in. One plot left neat as a pin all night. Tuppence slept in it. She has no fears at all.
— H., groundskeeper
