An unnamed narrator digs a grave alone in the woods at night and is overwhelmed by physical pain. Their muscles ache, blisters form on their bare hands, and the freezing temperature stops mattering because the work is so exhausting.

As the narrator digs deeper, they reflect that the first layer of earth was hardest to break and note that they once had a partner helping them, but now they are alone except for the corpse they need to hide. Standing inside the shallow grave unnerves the narrator, but they keep working because they believe a deeper hole will better prevent discovery.

The tension rises when the narrator hears repeated cracking sounds and leaves crunching nearby. Terrified that someone has found them, the narrator imagines arrest, handcuffs, and life in prison, knowing there is no believable explanation for being caught in the act.

The threat turns out to be a squirrel crossing the clearing, not a human witness. Relieved but still under pressure, the narrator realizes the larger danger remains and resumes digging, determined to bury the body before sunrise.