Life in a Hong Kong coffin apartment would be unbearable for most people. But I'm not most people.

This is way better than where I used to live. It was either this or go back to the streets. At least here I have my own space - as small as it might be.

Now I don't get my fingers bitten by rats in the night (as often), and my shoes don't get stolen by street people - although I do have to share space with slobs who refuse to wash their own dishes.

Here, I have a lock on my door, WiFi access, a tiny, filthy shared bathroom and kitchen, and my own casket-sized box to live within.

It's not long enough to stretch out all the way, and not tall enough to crouch. Instead, you have to crawl once you’re inside, and the ventilation is poor.

For those of you who don’t know, a coffin apartment is essentially what it sounds like. The owner of a typical apartment subdivides it into stacked boxes roughly the size of coffins, like enclosed bunk beds. Dozens of micro apartments can be created by splitting up one rental unit in this way, if you have no laws to prevent such practices. And the owner of the place makes a tidy profit in the process.

If you thought the housing market where you live is bad - try fighting for a rental against these maniacs. And they’re buying up more and more apartments every day. Pretty soon this sort of thing will be the norm. And maybe not just here. Maybe pretty soon they'll be doing this where you live too.

For a while they divided the units with chicken wire, which cut up people's backs and fingers as they slept, creating a lot of health issues and infections. Now they’ve switched to using wide planks of wood, creating stacks of coffins out of white-painted boards, which people then fill with their belongings to reduce their living space even further.

If you're curious, you can look up pictures online and find images of some of these coffin apartments. I even know one of the guys whose place was featured in The Atlantic. He's quite a celebrity around here.

I’ve got my own computer and a little stereo, a sleeping mat and a pillow. There’s not room for much else besides that.

Oh, and I have a fan. I was very pleased when I made that addition.

The other guys who live here are messy and leave food garbage lying around, and never clean up after themselves, meaning bugs are constantly a problem.

I wouldn’t mind my living situation so much - as I’ve said, I’ve seen worse places.

But there’s a little bit of a problem, and I'm trying not to panic.

I’m stuck. The tiny hatch that I use to get in and out of my apartment is jammed. I’ve tried calling for help, but so far nobody has come to my aid. And I’m starting to get more than a little nervous.

Part of me is convinced that this tiny room is getting smaller as well. At first I thought it was just my imagination, my fear of being stuck in here, but now I'm not so sure.

I know that sounds ridiculous, but I could have sworn there were a few more centimeters on either side of my computer screen an hour ago. My shoulders are almost brushing up against the walls now, too.

That’s not possible, though. I know it’s just my imagination. It has to be. The alternative is far too terrifying to admit to.

I've decided to make this post. Sort of like a journal. Hopefully this is all just paranoia and I have nothing to worry about. But either way, I'll keep a record for posterity. And my own sanity.

10:35 PM - There is still a comfortable gap between me and the walls on either side, but the television set which is positioned next to the radio looks like it is being smushed. I'm going to put the radio on my lap just to be safe.

10:52 PM - Okay, it's definitely real. The walls are closing in on me and it's not just my imagination. The radio would have been decimated by now if I hadn't moved it, and I'm starting to worry what's going to happen to me if I don't get out of here soon. I'm trying to calm myself down and I've dialed the number for emergency services. They said they're on their way, but they're being flooded with similar calls. The operator actually had the nerve to ask me if this was a prank of some kind! I yelled at him until he hung up, and now they're not answering anymore.

I'm banging on the walls with my fists but it's hard to get an angle. The sounds from all around me are similar, and I can hear other people screaming too. We're all trapped…

11:00 PM - Something about this whole thing isn’t right. It shouldn’t be possible for any of this to be happening. It’s like a claustrophobic person’s worst nightmare, as the walls are closing in and the ceiling is doing the same. It’s almost crushing me now, like a tin can in a trash compactor.

But the worst part is, the stuff near the walls isn’t being crushed like I thought it would. Instead, it’s like my belongings are DISAPPEARING into the walls.

I know how that sounds. I know. You probably think I’m losing it, but I’m not. This shouldn’t be possible, but it’s happening. Emergency services aren't picking up the phone anymore, instead my phone is making a strange tone unlike anything I’ve ever heard before, and something in an alien voice begins to speak as time passes in an instant and I blink to see ten minutes has gone by. Whatever is happening, I’ll just have to hope it stops by itself. The door is locked and there’s no way out. No one is coming to save me.

11:12 PM - Someone is banging on the wall, making a muffled screaming noise. But I can’t make out what they’re saying. It sounds like they’re INSIDE the wall. I could have sworn I actually saw a face bulging out from the paint and deforming the plaster before it disappeared again. Oh, God. Why is this happening? Is it going to be me next?

11:23 PM - My foot. My foot is gone. I let it slip for a second and it brushed up against the wall. No - it went INSIDE the wall - and disappeared.

Where it was attached to my foot is a perfectly healed, smooth stump. As if I’d never even had a foot to begin with. As if it had always been a part of the wall. I'm actually starting to convince myself I never had a foot to begin with. Is it possible that's true?

11:28 PM - The walls are pressing in so close now I can barely look down to see the phone. I have a couple feet and that is all - barely enough to sit upright. My belongings are all gone now - my television and my fan, my books and my drawings. Everything disappeared into the walls as if it never existed. And part of me feels as if it didn’t. Same with my foot. Did I ever have a foot? According to the writing here I did - but it seems unlikely. I don’t remember having a foot. I don’t remember having neighbors. And yet I see I’ve written about them extensively here. About how messy they are and all that.

All I know is the flat, smooth walls around me are pressing in closer and closer, wanting me to be a part of them. I can almost hear them whispering to me in the voices of my dead neighbors.

My phone is ringing. The call display reads simply "The End of Everything," and the number is a sideways eight with nothing else.

11:33 PM - A moment of lucid horror strikes me as I look around at the hideous, terrifying walls pressing in all around me. They're so close now I can feel them looking at me from just on the other side. Calling to me. Begging me to join them.

I feel like I can’t breathe.

I feel like I can’t move.

All I can do is post this here and hope that maybe someone out there is close enough to save me. To let me out.

Before this apartment really does become my coffin.

MAD

TCC

YT