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Post by Kaez on May 3, 2015 17:01:18 GMT -5
CRACK
The door slammed shut. Shaking, he pushed himself away from it, his breathing ragged and quick. He smiled, tentatively at first, then wide as he figured he could relax. Laughter came from his left, more on his right.
“Dude, you’re such an idiot. Do you think they caught us?”
“They almost had us! Almost had us!”
Tyler, to his right, blew out a heavy sigh as he looked through the grimy window. Very little was visible from the other side, and if he couldn’t look out they couldn’t look in. Anthony, on his left, slid to the ground in a pile of his own sweat. He was surprised his overweight friend hadn’t pissed himself.
“Hey Nick, any idea whose house this is?” Tyler asked, glancing over.
Nick looked around the room, only a little bit of the remaining daylight made its way into the empty foyer. The hardwood floors were covered in a fine layer of dust and were in disrepair. The walls had peeling wallpaper falling in large leaves, graffiti scrawled over the larger walls. Broken picture frames were the only hint of a past occupant, the pictures having long since been taken or disposed of.
“No idea,” Nick responded.
“Do..do you think the cops will...find us in here?” Anthony asked between gasps for air.
Nick rolled his eyes and shot a glare at Tyler who just shrugged his shoulders. He had made it known that he didn’t want Anthony to come, it was his fault they were stuck inside, waiting out the police and their dogs. Sounds of yelling could still be heard outside, rioters and police alike as they moved away from the block. The sound of shattering glass punctuated the constant thrum of shouting voices.
How they hadn’t been followed was beyond Nick’s guess. The little ranch style home was one of the few on the block that wasn’t completely dilapidated. These homes were also typically used as temporary spaces for homeless squatters.. The thought of running into a toothless freak made Nick a little anxious. He didn’t like anxious.
“Anybody here?!” Tyler shouted.
Both Anthony and Nick wheeled on him with wide eyes, Nick raising a finger to his lips.
“Do you want us to get caught?!” Nick whisper-yelled.
“Geez, sorry. Just wondered if we were alone is all.”
“And if we weren’t? What if a cop had gone around back? You’d turn us all in cause you’re just a goddamn dumbass.”
“Guys...guys...please. Let’s just see if they’ve gone, yeah? I wanna get out of here.”
Nick turned on Anthony, “Aww is little baby scared?”
“Fuck you,” Anthony mumbled as he pushed past the two of them.
His footsteps were muffled against the floorboards. But what sound was created echoed softly between the walls. The hall was small from the outside and from within, a pair of closed doors on either side before the far end where an open threshold emptied into a larger room shrouded in darkness. Nick surmised that, judging from the exterior, that was all this place had to offer.
The air in the hall was thick, the summer outside leaking in. Within the smaller space, amongst the clouds of dust kicked up by their movement, Nick felt choked. Each breath scratched at his throat. Sweat dripped from his face and plastered his shirt to his back. Both Tyler and Anthony looked drained, just as drenched as he.
Anthony’s fat feet left wide prints in the dust. “We may be the only dudes here,” Tyler said, pointing at the prints they were leaving.
“Yeah, or no one uses the front door.”
The stuffy air was getting to him, his body itched as it started to sweat. If anyone was present in the house, they’d have heard the three of them by now. The thought did little to quell his fidgeting, scratching and jaw clicking.
The next room was a living space, open and square. A fireplace sat in the far side, a kitchen on the other. Windows were boarded with thick sheets of plywood, leaving little light to stream inside. “My phone’s almost dead, anyone else gotta flashlight app?” Tyler asked.
“Yeah...just a minute…” Anthony gasped as he struggled to dig his phone out of his pocket.
With a few clicks and swipes, the room was illuminated by a sickly white light. Sort of. The radius wasn’t very far. The floorboards in this room were weaker, creaking underneath their weight. There was still the layer and clouds of dust, the still smothering warmth.
Nick walked into the kitchen. It was in considerably more disarray. Cabinets lay open, their doors either lying in pieces or completely removed. The countertops were broken, many places it looked like a hammer had been taken to it. Nick tried to turn on the sink, but the pipes only rattled and coughed up brown sludge. Disgusted, he shut it off. There was no back door. He knew he had seen a backyard, the house had a privacy fence built around it. The lack of a door in the kitchen was unusual for these kinds of layouts. Maybe the builders had been lazy?
“Let’s check the side rooms before heading back through the front door,” Nick suggested. “I don’t want to go that way if I don’t fuckin’ have to.”
The other two silently nodded their heads as they turned to leave. Something wasn’t right. Where were the junkies, the squatters? Why weren’t the boards on the windows torn down for easy, discreet access? Not that he wanted those things to be true, they’d certainly make his life harder if they were. He scratched his face and wiped the sweat off his forehead. He’d have to wash his shirt when he got home.
As they trudged back into the foyer, he took note of the graffiti. Expletives, common memes, and various artwork both absurdly obscene and creative were emblazoned on the decayed walls. Holes had been punched into the drywall, wooden planks stuck out haphazardly.
“Looks like someone had a good time,” Tyler remarked.
“Or....just hated...houses.”
The three stepped into the foyer. They shared looks of surprise when they heard voices outside. Screams. Laughter. Cheering. Dusk had fallen, what little light had once been was now deceased. Firelight flickered from outside the window, the light scattered by the muck and oil covering the thin glass.
“Cut the light!” Tyler and Nick both whispered.
Anthony quickly shoved his phone in his pocket as he attempted to turn off its light. The laughter had stopped. Shadows appeared on the window, long forms cast on the floor. Shaking.
“Let’s go!” Tyler said as he opened the nearest door.
They found themselves in another room. Empty. Dusty. Stuffy. More plywood on the windows. Though parts still allowed for sight out into the street. These windows were clean. And there were people out there, standing and talking. Anthony freaked, blubbered weakly and left the room. He made his way to the door opposite and disappeared into the dark room on the other side.
“Dude, what the fuck!?”
“Dude I don’t fuckin’ know, he’s going to get us both in trouble. I told you not to bring him,” Nick responded, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Fine, whatever. Let’s go get him and get the hell out of here,” Tyler snapped.
Tyler left, leaving Nick alone in the room. He looked out the window briefly to see a face staring in. He stood still, breath caught in his throat. The shadows obscured the face just enough to hide their identity. But it was clear they were looking in, looking at him. The clothes were thankfully non-descript. Not a cop. The figure raised a finger to tap against the glass.
BANG
From across the hall there was a crash as something heavy dropped onto the floor. The figure’s face turned. Glass shattered and voices became louder. Nick swore to himself, his heart racing. He went back into the foyer and was about to go into the other room when he stopped. He looked down the hallway into the living room. On the far wall, barely illuminated by weak firelight was a single word that he had somehow missed before.
RUN
He blinked.
FUCK
It was gone. Replaced. The expletive glittered in red paint as if fresh. There was more shouting, this time the voices were Tyler’s and Anthony’s. He stepped into the next room, identical to the one on the other side, and stopped. Tyler and Anthony were running back in from the other end and another door. Nick saw the flicker of firelight on the far wall of the hallway just as the door was slammed shut by Anthony.
“We’re not going that way!” Tyler shouted, throwing away all pretense of being quiet.
“What was that? What’s going on?” Nick asked.
“We’ve gotta...get...outta here!” Anthony shuffled past the two of them.
The three of them entered the foyer. They looked toward the front door. It seemed farther away than he remembered. The door leading to the opposite room appearing larger. He wanted to run that way, the front door seemed like a less inviting option. But Anthony was already struggling toward it, his feet dragging large lines in the dusty floor.
A clean floor. Their footprints were gone. “What the fuck…” Nick mumbled.
Footsteps were above them. Several. Running. Voices were shouting. Tyler shoved past Anthony and reached the door first. He grabbed the handle and turned it. It didn’t budge. “Come on, you motherfucker!”
He yanked on it, banged on the door. Firelight still flickered outside. Anthony stepped up to Tyler’s side and tried to help by pulling on the door in any way he could. It didn’t move. The handle was stone, attached to a stone door. “Its...not working!”
“Guys…” Nick said, his voice shaking.
Voices were loud, from the next room. The room they had just come from. Nick turned. The walls. One word was written over and over.
RUN
The door leading into the room they had run from opened, light spilled into the foyer. Nick bolted. He sprinted into the opposite door, slamming it open and running inside. His feet clapped loudly against the hard floor, dust kicked up into a large cloud in his wake. He didn’t bother to wait, though he heard their shouts and screams behind him. He left them with the mob, not looking back as he passed through empty room after empty room. How big was this house?
Adrenaline subsided. He stopped. Looked behind him. A long line of rooms lay open, all empty and dark. The one round window afforded him a look at the moon. The pale light was the only comfort, the only illuminating force. Had he lost track of time? He didn’t know how far he had gone, but everything was quiet. Except for the footsteps above him. Rhythmic. Steady. More of a slam, like something heavy was being picked up and put down constantly. But no voices. No firelight. He was alone.
Where is everybody? How far had he gone? The rhythmic beat swelled in his ears, interrupted his thoughts. He scratched at his face, looked side to side. Nobody.
He slumped against the wall and fell to the floor, resting his head against the frigid surface. Closing his eyes, he attempted to steady his beating heart. It didn’t work. It raged within him. Nick opened his eyes and watched as his breath made a cloud in the scattered light. He shivered, goosebumps prickling along his exposed forearms and across the back of his neck. The air was thinner, and it felt like the edge of a knife as he breathed.
“Tyler?!” he shouted. “Anthony?!”
His voice only echoed. Painfully loud in his own ears, he held his breath for any sound from someone else. Nothing but the repeat of syllables disappearing down the long set of passages. Echoes from echoes. He felt his pulse throbbing in his ears. It beat in time with the steady steps above. He rose, legs shaking. “Anybody?!”
No response.
He looked back toward the window. Now so far away, the moon appeared like a point of light. The room had elongated itself, expanded outside of his awareness. His heart stopped for a moment as he turned his head slowly to the left. Where there had been a door was now only a wall. Nick shivered, rubbed his bare arms.
There was movement at the corner of his eye. He turned. Nothing. The rhythmic beat lessened in its intensity. More movement. He turned again. Nothing. He thought he heard voices. Quick and muffled voices, footsteps around him. But even in the pale light, nothing was visible. No one was present but him. The beat swelled. He had to make a decision. He couldn’t stay.
Then he heard it. The footsteps above suddenly ceased. When he looked again the window had disappeared, and yet the room still glowed corpse white. The walls, the floor had become black. Too black. Staring into it was losing himself, staring into it was silence. A room without doors or windows, with endless walls and endless floors.
And there was a shaking. A trembling in his feet, growing like an angry ocean tide. At first a low bass rumble. But it grew. He heard it, felt it all around him. A deep throated growl that washed over him.
He turned. Heart racing, eyes wide. His fingers clenched into fists intermittently. There was nothing behind him. But the growl came again. Closer. Once more beginning low only to reach a crescendo close to his ear, so close he could feel a warm breath on his neck.
“Run!”
It was a shout. A scream. Disembodied voice. He ran. His feet barely touched ground as he sprinted. A corner appeared out of the darkness, a passage. He turned. There was nothing but that off-color black and strange illumination.
A door at the end loomed before him. Darkened wood. Comforting. He lunged toward it, grasping the cold handle and turning it as his body crashed through. Collapsing to his knees, he struggled to catch his breath. His lungs burned, his legs ached. But the growl was descending upon him. Louder. Faster. It shook his whole body.
Nick craned his head to look behind him. He could peer through the darkness, saw something silhouetted in the pale light. The air crackled around his ears. It sounded to him like laughter, like the last ragged exhale of air before death. The figure took a step, stumbled with an unsteady gait. The growls were coming faster. More of them. Something large. Something heavy.
The shadow extended an arm, fingers grasping toward him.
“Hun...gry...Thir...styy….”
The voice was carried to him. Weak and trembling. Nick watched him, unable to move. Recognizing that voice.
“Anthony?”
As he watched the figure, the hallways became shorter. Suddenly Anthony was on the other side of the door, standing over prostrate Nick. His eyes were wide, glassy. His lips shook as he struggled to form words.
“So...hungry…so….scared. Alone!”
The last word was a scream that echoed. It reverberated through the halls, reaching forever backward. In response was the familiar gathering storm of rumbling bass. Footsteps beat loudly above as if several people were running like mad.
crack
Anthony took a step.
crack
Nick looked behind him.
“Oh shiiitttt!”
crackcrack
He struggled to move away from the door, crawling on his stomach and scratching at the ground.
crackcrackcrack
“Hungry…”
CRACKCRACK
The doors were closing.
There was a door open in front of Nick.
Anthony reached for him.
CRACK
SIlence.
With a bang both doors slammed shut. The handle on the door separating Nick and Anthony rattled. Then came a series of loud slams against the frame. Screams. That growl now just a constant thundering behind him.
He struggled to sit himself against the wall. Bringing his feet close to his body, he rested his head between his knees. Tears welled up in his eyes as he attempted to hold back his sobs. Alone. That was what Anthony had said. That is what he was. Trapped in a room, in a house with no end.
“Run.”
It was a whisper.
“Run. Run. Run. Run.”
Repeated over and over.
“Runrunrun.”
At first it came outside of him.
“Run. Run….run.”
Then he noticed.
“runrunrurnrunrurnrun”
He was speaking the words. Over and over. Clutching at his legs he was begging himself, pleading to escape. The screams began to abate, but the slamming against the door continued. Repeated over and over in time with his words.
He felt sick. He vomited into his lap. Stomach heaving, he lay back. Splayed against the icy floor, he stared at nothing. The sensation of wetness slowly disappeared. He could feel himself slipping away. There was a tingling in his fingertips. A progression that slowly coursed up his nerves from limbs to chest. The screaming ceased. The banging doors evaporated. The light dimmed completely.
Empty. Gone. The doors. The light. The growl. The footsteps. The sound of his pulse in his ears. All silent. He was aware of his rising, of a change in his equilibrium from lying to standing. He was aware of the movement of his chest, of the still running thoughts in his head. But the oppressive weight of eternal no-space crept even into the depths of his memory.
“Run. Run. Run.”
The words spilled from his lips, his tongue moving to form syllables with no sound. He could see them written on his eyelids, see them floating in the freespace as concepts. Within the darkness, he felt a strange sensation. Within the absence of everything, he felt free.
His mind slowly unraveled as it was pulled apart. The memories of the space as it was, as it had been, faded and all that was was absence. The darkness. It was him. All along. The house had consumed him, eaten his thoughts and his person. Who was he? What was he?
A door opened. A door shut. Laughter. Voices. Ear piercing shrieks. Invaders.
Light.
“Run. Run. Run.”
The words emanated as a growl, as a deep throated hum. They were there. In the House. Sight. Standing. Laughing. Talking. Safe.
“Run. Run. Runrunrunrun.”
Turning. Spotted. Eyes. Through a door. Through another.
Doors. Everywhere. Rooms without end. Chasing.
“RUNRUNRURNRUNRURNRUN.”
CRACK |
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Post by ASGetty ((Zovo)) on May 4, 2015 3:07:19 GMT -5
His breaths came quick, deep, and heavy as the sweat dripped down to the tip of his nose. It lingered there a moment, before dropping on to the cool, concrete floor. The stars on the floor, beaming little mathematic shapes stained with the dirt and detritus of a thousand thousand footsteps mocked him. Above him, only the vast expanse of space, threatening to swallow him whole without any sort of pomp or ceremony, like a biker swallowing a fly.
In his mouth, the salt of his tears mixed with the salt of his pores and the cold steel of the gun, his finger twitching on the trigger. All around him, the faces laughed, urging him on. The stars glistened as he pulled the trigger.
Eight hours earlier
"You going?" Amelia asked him, smiling over the top of her coffee mug as she took a drink. Her eyes twinkled mischievously.
He shrugged his shoulders at her, taking a sip of his own. "It sounds a little boring, to be honest. Whispering Hills? It sounds like a fucking retirement home, not an amusement park."
Amelia giggled at that, her dainty hand covering her mouth. He stared at her, remembering the last time. "Well, I'm going, Jeff. It should be fun, and I don't want to seem ungrateful to the new management. Besides, I'm shooting to get the hell off of this crappy column Layton had me on, and get into writing real news."
Another shrug of his broad shoulders, Jeff arose to his feet, "I don't know. It sounds pretty ridiculous. I can't remember the last time I ever had the burning desire to go on a ferris wheel and eat deep-fried candy bars. I'm out." He set his empty mug in the sink, and made to walk past her, back to his desk.
Her hand caught his as he passed, and she looked up at him with those large, pleading eyes, a demure smile on her face. "I don't think you heard me, Jeff," she whispered. "I said, I'm going."
Heat and blood rushed to his groin as he felt her soft hand on his, and saw the twinkle in her eye. Jesus, he thought. Her strawberry blonde hair was down, cascading down her back, a lock of it tucked behind her ear. Her blouse was tight enough to show her figure, but somehow still had an air of youthful professionalism to it. She was a recent graduate from Berkley, and meant to make her transition from print to television, and she had the look for it. When he had sat in on her hiring interview, he had asked her, "Where do you see yourself in five year years?" She had given the standard interview answer, and Jim Layton, their former Managing Editor, had been satisfied.
The first time they had fucked, though, Amelia had told him the real answer as they lay in her bed afterwards. "That was a bullshit answer. Honestly? I'll pretend to be a Republican and make six-figures on FOX or something. A blonde mouth-piece with a pair of tits." She had winked playfully.
Jeff had furrowed his brow. "Really? I mean, Jesus, Amelia. There's realism, but that just seems depressing." He thought back to himself, coming out of school, some two-bit college with some "Communications" degree taught by a cabal of, probably, the most ineffective communicators in the world. However, even those humble beginnings hadn't stymied his boyish dreams. He'd sit in front of the mirror, doing his best Edward R. Morrow impression, or imagining what he'd say to the Ayatollah, were he Oriana Fallaci.
She had slapped him, he remembered. Playfully, on the chest. "That's what the world is now, Jeffrey. You gotta get in and go for it. There's no opportunity for sentimentality or pie-in-the-sky wishful thinking. I mean, look at us." And she had kissed him and they had gone again.
Clearing his throat, awakened from his brief reverie by the ringing of his mobile, he nodded. "I'll, uh, see what I can do." He glanced at the phone. "I gotta take this, Amelia. Talk to you later."
He made his way back to his desk, phone at his ear. "Hi honey, how a-"
"Jake is suspended from school, Jeffrey," came the voice of his wife from across the phone, "and Lainey needs new cleats, apparently. Can you swing by and pick him up, bring him home, and then take Lainey to Sport Lodge and-"
Slumping into his seat, he pressed the bridge of his nose tightly between this thumb and forefinger, "Jesus, Rebecca. I've got a million things on my plate as it is. Why can't you do this stuff?"
She scoffed, "You know the baby and I are sick, Jeffrey. And the Toyota is still making that damn noise, I don't feel safe driving it. Christ, it's like you don't even listen." In the background, Ellen, the baby, began to scream.
"It's just, we've got the new owners and EIC, and I really need to-"
"What?" cried Rebecca, the crying of the baby even louder, "Jesus, Jeff, speak up, I can't hear you!"
About a half-hour later, Jeff hung up, cursing as he did. Sitting at his desk, he began to work on the article he was writing for the next issue, before sighing and getting to his feet. He walked over to Amelia's cubicle, where she was furiously typing away at something. A tap on the shoulder, and she pulled the earbuds from her ears, "Hm?"
"Wuthering Heights, or whatever it's called. You'd better be there."
She smiled, though appeared somewhat taken aback. "Yeah? Okay. See you then." She glanced around to make sure no one was in earshot, "Maybe the Ferris wheel will break down?" she whispered playfully.
Six hours later
The park, as he'd expected, was garbage. The owners hadn't even bothered to rent the whole place out, and so the entire place was filled with screaming and crying children, bickering couples, and punk teenage kids.
To top it all off was the lady at the concession stand. He and Amelia had approached, her arms wrapped tastefully around one of his, and the grizzled, old she-carnie had smiled, her crooked teeth stained by Skoal and coffee. "S'always sweet to see a father and his daughter come together," she had beamed.
He cursed under his breath as she said it, but the woman was either deaf as well as ugly, or just let the abuse slide. Still, the comment burned his ears and felt like a kick in the stomach. Was that all he was to Amelia? Just some 'sugar-daddy', or whatever it was called? Even thinking that, and being unsure of the nomenclature, made him feel older, which just pissed him off even more.
As they walked, Amelia must have picked up on it. "Oh, relax, you grump. You don't look that old, and she was just trying to be nice."
"Eat your cotton candy," he grumbled, staring ahead, trying to figure out what to do next.
"Oh, stop," she said, shoving into him playfully with her hip. "Daddy," she whispered in a seductive, dulcet tone.
"You're sick," he said faintly as he stared at her lustily. She winked, eating another piece of cotton candy. "It could be worse, you know," she said. "You could look like that guy."
A short, portly balding man was waddling over to his family with a tray of sodas. An older boy with a fauxhawk, a little girl in a soccer outfit, and a little baby, being held in the arms of -
His heart stopped, and for one moment, he thought the woman was Rebecca. They looked a lot alike at first glance. The father smiled, and the kids greeted him warmly as he handed out the large cups of corn syrup like a good American.
A knot twisted in Jeff's stomach. "Yeah." He paused, not sure what to say. "Yeah."
The meandered some more, played some rigged, overpriced bottle games, had their "brains scrambled" on some creaky old ride that would have been condemned were it a building, and generally enjoyed each other's company. Now and again, the sight of families would fill him with a pang of guilt, but he'd push it away. Whether it was telling himself, "Lots of men do this," or sneaking a kiss from Amelia, or when she put her hand on his thigh or around his neck, he'd push on through. "It's social conditioning, Jeff," he muttered to himself when Amelia went off to get them a couple of beers as the sun set in the distance. "You're not supposed to feel guilty... This is natural. You're a provider and a good father, you're not doing anything wrong."
Her shorts were denim, cut high up the thigh. Her hair was in a lazy ponytail, and as she walked toward him, frothing drinks in hand. it swished from side to side. You'd have to be dead inside to not do this, you fool, he thought, and with a stubborn air of finality, agreed to himself to not think of Rebecca again for the rest of the night.
"I saw something pretty cool over by the beer tent," Amelia said as she handed him a red Solo cup.
"Hm?" he responded, wiping a bit of foam out of his mustache with the back of his hand.
"'Madame Baba's House of a Thousand Mirrors!'" she cried exuberantly, waving her free hand in the air. She stepped closer to him, kissing him long and hard on the mouth. They stood there, gazing at one another. "Dare you plumb the mysterious depths and find what lurks within?"
He smiled, taking a drink. "Sure, but I'm not sure if you're old enough to go on such a scary ride, sweetie." He took another drink to mask his grin.
Her mouth drooped agape, and she gasped in partially-feigned shock. "Wow. Wow. I was not expecting that. I'm impressed. See? We're having fun."
The "House of a Thousand Mirrors" looked from the outside that it could only have maybe two hundred and fifty. Still, it looked to be the only permanent structure in a world of collapsible, transportable rides, tents, and stands. Wood and stone made the thing almost appear as though it didn't fit with the rest of the establishment. In short, it seemed half-respectable.
"Dare you gaze into the abyss and look upon the monster that waits within?" said the brown-eyed teenager flatly as she took their tickets. Dark-skinned and brown-eyed, she might have been pretty if not for her tangled, frizzy hair and wispy mustache on her upper lip.
"Woooo," replied Amelia, playing along, waving her fingers in Jeff's face.
Inside, it was pretty lackluster. A typical house of mirrors. On the floor, little black-light stars shone in the darkness, and small lamps partially lit up the mirrors. It seemed as though patrons of Wallowing Ferns had realized that, and the place was mostly deserted. The two of them laughed at their oblong shapes in the trick mirrors, and even jumped when one of them was designed to have a creepy, demonic, horned face appear to be behind you when you looked at it. The buzz of the few overpriced beers and the high of this new, forbidden fling had Jeff's head spinning, and, honestly, he hadn't laughed that hard or been that happy in a very long time. He remembered similar dates with Rebecca, but they were long gone, forgotten memories of an era long passed.
As they walked deeper in the darkness, Amelia quickly wrapped her arms around Jeff's neck, pulling him in closer. They kissed for a long time, before one of her hands danced down his chest, over his stomach, across his belt. Her hand grazed over his member, clenching it firmly within. "Looks like you're ready to plumb the depths," she whispered, giggling.
He frantically reached for the button on her shorts, snapping it open. She pulled away, "Not yet," she giggled as she buttoned her jean shorts once more. "We've got to go deeper." And she ran off ahead of him.
Shaking his head, he walked after. "I'm not going to run after you," he chuckled. "I'm old, remember?" He walked past the demon-head again, jumping. "Jesus!" he cried out, his heart palpitating from fear and arousal at Amelia's public advance.
Onward he went, though, gazing at the mirrors as he went. He thought he saw her at one point, and ran over to the mirror. Her legs and ass looked so good in those shorts. Within the mirror, she turned around. "I've been a naughty girl, daddy," she whispered, putting a piece of pink cotton candy in her mouth. The face, however, was not Amelia's.
"Lainey?!" he whispered, his daughter's face staring back at him, though she was a young woman now. He spun around to find the source of the mirror image, only to see himself spinning around in the other mirrors. He turned back to face Lainey's mirror, only to see his own face staring back. His brown hair looked disheveled, and his eyes were wild and frantic.
He swallowed hard, backing away. "Amelia, look. Let's get out of here, go somewhere else." He had long gone soft, and any excitement about this pithy "haunted house" had long evaporated. "This is fucking stupid, Amelia. Come on."
"You mean you don't want it anymore?" she called, her tone full of mock supplication. "Have I been bad, daddy?"
"Cut that shit out, Amelia. It's disgusting." He pushed past the mirror with the demon's head once more, though this time instead of anger, the face seemed to be grinning at him. He stopped, peering at it inquisitively.
"Fucking a girl half your age when you've got a family that needs you is what is disgusting, Dad." Jeff spun around, "Jake? Jake? Jake, buddy, is that you? How did you -?"
Jake stood there in one of the mirrors, staring back at him. He was thirteen and chubby, with his mother's blonde hair. The faint wispy hairs of manhood were on his face. He was wearing his favourite baggy red hoodie and dark, denim jeans with a tear in the knee. His face was full of fear and sadness. "You're supposed to show me the way. I'm scared, Dad."
"Jake... Scared? Scared of what?" But within the mirror, his son turned and walked the other way. "Scared of what, Son? Jake!" Jeff cursed under his breath, pushing down a hallway he had not been down, fat and long and short versions of himself blowing by, the stars on the floor twinkling.
Suddenly, a figure dropped down from the ceiling, swinging from a creaky noose of frayed, old rope. It wore a red hoodie and denim with a hole in the knee.
"JAKE!" he screamed, but as his hanged son spun around, it was clear it was just a stuffed dummy. The face was a cheap, dollar-store glowing pumpkin Halloween decoration. A cheap, battery-powered crackling cackle echoed from within. Jeff tore the thing down in a huff.
"Who the fuck is in here? This is fucking sick! Are you in on this, Amelia? I'm done. I'm fucking done. Find your own way home."
He turned around, and made for the exit. Then, he froze. Where was the exit. Briskly pacing down the halls, his teeth grinding furiously, Jeff tried to find familiar landmarks. One of the mirrors lit up, and a wrinkled old face popped out at him, a pre-recorded scream emanating from within. He grabbed the trick mirror from the top of it's frame, which of course was a cheap plastic polymer, and slapped the thing on the floor, stomping on it. "I'm fucking suing this place," he spat as he gave it to the final stomp. "I'm not a litigious person, but this is -"
"What?" came a voice, deep and mocking. "It's what, Jeffrey? Wrong?"
Jeff scowled, looking for the source of the disembodied voice. "Fuck off. I don't know what is going on here, or who is responsible for this, but I didn't do anything! I had consensual fucking sex with a co-worker. I cheated on my spouse. Fine. Do you do this to all eight-hundred million people who do that?" He slammed another mirror on the ground, this one glass.
A familiar scream came from down the hall. "Rebecca?!" he cried out, running back into the maze, toward the direction of the sound. "Rebecca, come on, I'm sorry, but this isn't funny."
Rebecca was in one of the mirrors, sobbing uncontrollably. Her body was shaking as she hyperventilated, holding a bloody bundle in her hand like a... Like a...
No.
"Who is that, Rebecca," he stammered at the reflection of the mirror. "Who-who... what is that..."
Rebecca sobbed even harder, clutching the bloody blanketed bundle closer to her chest. Jeff stepped closer, reaching his hand out at the mirror, as if to console her. "Rebecca, honey, it's -"
"Look at what you did!" she shrieked, spinning around. Her face was caved in, a bloody, incomprehensible ruin. Jeff stumbled backward, crashing into the mirrors behind him. They shattered beneath him, cutting his arms and wrists and back. He scrambled to his feet, wincing as he did, to look into Rebecca's mirror. There was nothing, just him there in his grey button-up shirt.
Tears streamed down his face, "Just stop," he cried, snot bubbling at his nostril and popping. "Stop. Just stop. I'm sorry. I won't do it anymore. I won't. I'll end it. I learned my lesson, just stop." He wiped his tears on his bloodied sleeves.
"Just stop!" came a young woman's cry. "I can't do it! Stop telling me to, I can't!"
"Amelia? Lainey? Lainey? Rebecca?" Jeff staggered in the direction of the voice.
"You fucking have to," came a male voice, stern. Familiar.
"Jeff, I can't... I can't! I'm scared!" The female voice was familiar as well, but he couldn't pin it.
"You have to. I can't handle this shit. I have my whole life to think about. And you do, too. Just get rid of it, Hannah. Think about our careers, our lives. You know we can't do this."
Jeff furrowed his brow as he heard himself speak the words, and the faint memory came back to him. It had been the summer before college. "It's not right, Jeff," came Hannah's voice. "We did this! We knew what might happen."
"Hannah," came other-Jeff's response. "Just get it done. I'm not asking. You'll thank me in the future. You know it. Come on, trust me."
The girl sniffled, "You're right. You're probably right. You always are. Will you at least come with me, though? I'm scared..."
"I can't, I've gotta work, I've got like eight weeks to make another four grand and I'm not sure how I'm gonna..." Jeff heard his own voice trail off, as if the distant memory was receding like the tide.
Jeff glanced at himself as he passed each mirror, the blood dripping down his veined hands, down the length of his fingers, falling onto the floor and onto his khakis. He barely recognized himself. It had to be the shock, the shock of being injured, of seeing that much of his own blood.
He stumbled onto his stomach, his head growing lighter. Cursing, he took off his shirt, tore it into two pieces, and tied it around his forearms as a makeshift tourniquet. It might have been too little too late, he thought, as he vomited up corn dog and beer on to the floor. He wondered how much blood he'd lost.
Cursing, he rose to his feet once more. Come on, Jeff, he thought. Don't be an idiot. This thing is, what? The same square footage of a football field? Grow up. You've got this. Walk a straight shot to the edge, and the walk around the edge til you find an exit. It's mandatory that these things have like 3 or 4 exits. He took a deep breath, and walked forward, comfortable with his plan.
Still, the strangeness of all this weighed on him. The people in the mirrors, the voices. Was he hallucinating? His knee buckled beneath him, and he fell, face-first onto the floor. Gasping for breath, he rolled onto his back, coughing. "Ugh. Amelia! Help! Madam Baba!" He began to laugh out loud as he called out her name. "Madam Baba!" He laughed at the absurdity of the situation, delirium setting in. That is, if it hadn't already. He laughed at that, too.
Shaking his head, he began to crawl. "Get it together, Jeff... You've gotta... You gotta. You gotta get out of here."
And what? Came the thought. Get out and what? Go home to the wife who doesn't respect you, the kids you barely know? Go out and fuck Amelia until she has to move to another city? Go out and write that article for that boss who isn't half as talented as you, and only owns the paper because he's rich?
"I need to live," he whispered, crawling forward once more, a stray chunk of vomit coagulating and hardening on his chin. "I need to go home."
You don't have a home. You had one, but you threw it away. People are starving on the streets, killing themselves out of loneliness. You're a coward. You always have been. Your mother was always home, your father was a good man. Your family was not rich, but you've never wanted for anything... And yet, one would think you'd had the hardest life in the world. You're spoiled. Spoiled rotten. You're a coward, Jeffrey. How dare you disrespect the woman who gave you those three beautiful children. You're scum. Worse than scum.
Jeff coughed, "No. I'm not. I've never killed anyone, never hurt anyone on purpose." He tried to rise to his feet, but collapsed when he got on one knee. On his stomach once more, he crawled.
You're weak. You can't even stand like a man. You always have been weak. You weren't there for Hannah, that's why she left you. You weren't there for Rebecca, that is why she can't even stand to touch you. You weren't there for your children. If you could see what the boys at school to your Jake. The names they call him. He needs you, and you're too busy being weak.
"I am not a bad man," he said, shaking his head. "I'm not. Hannah made her own choices... Rebecca... Rebecca made this happen, just as much as I did. Jake..."
Jake is Gavin, came the whisper. Remember him, Jeffrey? The fat boy that couldn't throw a ball? Remember what you did to him, you and your friends? The way you tormented him. Assaulted him. He tried to kill himself.
Jeff looked at the mirror, and Gavin was smiling at him, waving. Fifteen years old, rosatia on his cheeks, a wide smile on his face. "Gavin," he wheezed. "Hey. Hey buddy."
Gavin only smiled back, his eyes lit up with excitement.
You invited him to your house. You and your friends. You got him drunk. The women got him naked, and you took him to the park and left him there.
Jeff shook his head, "It was just a prank. It was dumb, I know... But everyone does stuff like that when they're young. Gav was a good sport..."
He tried to kill himself, Jeffrey. You don't even know that. That is how wicked you are. The first time you slept with Hannah was that night, did you know? That boy lay naked in his own puke until the police showed up, and you forgot all about your little 'joke' in less than an hour. That is how careless you are. That is how bestial you are. That is why you must be laid bare, and put down. You are less than an animal. And that is why the Mirrors will destroy you.
"I'm not... I'm not... I'm a decent guy... I never knew he did that... but we never meant... We were kids!"
How many more excuses will you make? How much longer will you prolong this? The children at your son's school say the same thing when they piss on his clothes in the locker room, you sick bastard. Be a fucking man and admit you're wrong!
Jeff sighed, "It was wrong. I've done a lot of wrong this in my life, okay? I admit it. I've messed up. But every-"
A boom echoed in the House of Mirrors, and one of the large mirrors fell onto his back,shattering into a hundred pieces. He screamed in agony at the blow and the dozens of cuts that came with it, and then gasped as the scream and the blow pushed the air out from him. "Oh, God," he wheezed.
He gazed up at a nearby mirror, in which a chubby haired boy laden with vomit was wrapped in a blanket and placed into a squad car by two police officers. One of them dropped his gun, and it fell out of the mirror and on to the floor.
Jeff's shaking hand reached out and took the pistol, the metal felt surprisingly warm to his touch. "What..."
You had a loving father, Jeffrey. Gavin did not. When he was brought home that night, barely conscious, his father beat him. He beat the hell out of him. You and your friends thought that he was a coward, that he was ashamed. He. Was. Hospitalized.
"Stop it! It's not my fault. I didn't hurt him! I didn't force him to drink. I didn't take his clothes off. He did all of that! He made his own choices."
He trusted you!
Silence filled the air. Jeff lay there on the ground, still beneath the mirror, still one hand on the pistol. The stars twinkled beneath him. He listened to his own breath for a while, and the world was silent. He almost wanted to drift into sleep. Finally, he sighed. "Gavin... Is that you? Are you the one doing this to me? It's okay, I don't blame you if-"
Gavin is dead. Jeff closed his eyes, tears welling in them. Your crime against him was just one minor offense in a long string of pain for that boy. His father's hands were rougher than his brother's, but his brother hurt him just as much. He lived a lonely life, and he died alone. He hanged himself in his dorm at college. You never bothered to ask. You never checked up on him. You owed him at least that, but you didn't. You just used him, and left him. Like you did to Hannah -
"She wanted to leave me!"
Like you did to Rebecca. To your children. Like you plan on doing to Amelia.
"She's initiated all of this! She's stronger than I am. Stop! Stop lying! I am not some villain!" He arose to his feet, the broken mirror sliding off of him like ocean off of the back of Leviathan as he brought himself to his feet. "What do you want with me? What do you want me to say?"
I want you to turn around, Jeffrey. Jeffrey spun around, only to see Jake's bedroom in one of the mirrors. The Orioles poster on his wall, his model aircraft on his desk. Jeff smiled. Jake walked into the frame, brow furrowed as if listening. He lifted the lid on his laptop, opened a word processor and a document, and then got to his feet. Then, he walked out of the frame once more. He returned shortly after, with a chair and a noose.
"Stop. No, not this again... I'm tired of these tricks."
It's not a trick, Jeffrey. The boys that torment your son are like you were. They're good boys. Good students. They won't miss him. They won't even remember him. No one will. They will barely remember you. They'll remember you as the man who let his boy kill himself. Who allowed it to happen. 'Where was his father?' they will titter, and they will all learn that you were off fucking some woman who isn't even your wife. Rebecca will blame you. Lainey, too. Ellen will grow up not knowing you. And rightly so. You had a DUTY. You had a TASK. And you cast it aside for a piece of ass. To pursue your own short-sighted desires.
Jeffrey watched with horror and impotence as Jake affixed the rope in his closet, the loop thrown over his head and tightened around his neck. "Stop. Stop!" he cried, sobbing harder than he had yet in the House of Mirrors; harder than he ever had in his life. "Jay, no. Stop, buddy. Please. I'm here. I love you. Jake! Stop! Jake!"
He screamed, beating the gun against his head, but refusing to look away, as Jake struggled against the noose, the fall from the chair too short to kill him instantly. His face reddened and his legs kicked, and Jeffrey sobbed wildly, falling to his knees.
The pistol was in his hands. He looked at it, crying still. "Was that..." he breathed, scarcely able to even catch his breath. "Was that... was that real?" His voice was high-pitched and strained from crying.
As real as everything else in here has been. Tell me, are you not bleeding? Do you not have a gun in your hand? Jake is gone, Jeff. Now, tell me what you're going to do.
Jeff's hand shook from exhaustion, from crying, from anger, as he raised the pistol to his mouth.
Yes.
He put the barrel deep into his mouth, against his tongue, tilted up toward the back of his head. He'd seen that in a movie, once.
"Yes," they all said. "Do it, Jeffrey." His eyes darted around at the mirrors. No longer was his face in any of the mirrors. Instead, others looked at him, nodding, egging him on.
Rebecca was crying, a tissue in her hand, her double chin that she was so sensitive about, that hadn't gone away after her last pregnancy, was shaking as she cried. "You hurt me, Jeff," she cried, pleading with him.
Lainey was silent, holding Ellen in her little arms, still just a baby herself. "It's okay, Dad. We don't need you. Right Ellen? Don't worry about us." The baby cooed, oblivious and happy in her older sister's arms.
"Go on, Jeff. It's not bad, man. It's not half as scary as you think. One moment, and then it's all over. Come on, dude." Gavin smiled at him happily in the mirror, awkwardly pulling his baggy shirt down over his belly. "It's easy."
Tears streamed down Jeff's cheeks as he silently held the gun in his mouth.
"I'm not kidding, Jeff. It's so easy. Right, Jake?"
Jake looked on from another mirror, his face red and his eyes bruised, nodding silently. "Ea-sy," he croaked, finally, from a broken windpipe, barely getting each syllable out.
Amelia walked into one of the mirror frames, smiling at him, wearing the lingerie that he had furiously tore off of her the first night they'd been together. It had felt so wrong at the time, but he had pushed it all aside. He had wanted her, so badly. He had thought it since the first time she walked in to be interviewed, but had never expected it to happen. She smiled, biting her lip. "Come on, old timer," she giggled. "You've had your fun, but it's time to go. Pull the trigger, champ." She winked at him mischievously.
Jeffrey looked on at them all as they began to laugh. And suddenly, more faces were appearing in the mirror. The laughing demon face, the carnie woman from the concessions stand, the ticket-holder with the faint mustache. One by one, they were laughing, cheering.
His breaths came quick, deep, and heavy as the sweat dripped down to the tip of his nose. It lingered there a moment, before dropping on to the cool, concrete floor. The stars on the floor, beaming little mathematic shapes stained with the dirt and detritus of a thousand thousand footsteps mocked him. Above him, only the vast expanse of space, threatening to swallow him whole without any sort of pomp or ceremony, like a biker swallowing a fly.
In his mouth, he salt of his tears mixed with the salt of his pores and the cold steel of the gun, his finger twitching on the trigger. All around him, the faces laughed, urging him on. The stars glistened as he pulled the trigger.
Nothing.
Only the click of an empty pistol in his hands. He furiously pulled the trigger, again and again and again, but it only responded with the empty click of an exhausted magazine. Falling to his knees, he cried out into the darkness. "Why!" he sobbed. "Why. Why. Why." The mirrors were empty now, save for his crying figure reflected in them. He grabbed the gun once more, this time pressing it against his temple, and began to hammer the trigger again.
A soft, little hand with long, slender fingers reached out and touched him on the shoulder. A little girl in a faint blue dress smiled at him, shaking her head. He gazed down at her, not recognizing her in the slightest. She was fourteen or fifteen, with raven black hair and big blue eyes. She silently reached up, taking the gun from his hand, and cast it onto the floor.
Tears welled in his eyes, though Jeff could scarcely believe he had any left. "Is it over?" he cried as she hugged him, pulling him in close to her.
She pulled away from him slightly, enough to look up into his eyes. "No," she whispered. "No, I'm afraid it isn't yet. It is just beginning, Jeffrey." The words were menacing, but the way she spoke them was calming.
Placing his arm over her shoulder, she began to lead him out of Madam Baba's House of Mirrors. "Everything that I saw... Real?"
"Everything, except for the end," she said cryptically.
He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. "Jake?"
A tear streamed down her own cheek.
"Jake?" he said, a bit louder.
"I am so sorry, Jeffrey," she whispered. Jeff cried quietly, but he didn't have it in him to bawl any more. Even the tears had all but stopped.
As they exited the Baba's House of Mirrors, darkness had fallen on to the park, and floodlights had been turned on. Everything outside seemed so painfully normal, so painfully dissimilar the world he had just left. Jeff felt the little girl wiggle her way out from under his arm, and he spun around to see where she had went, but there was no one around. The ticketholder, as well, seemed to have mysteriously disappeared.
He staggered toward the parkling lot, to his vehicle. The images of his family flashed in his head, and he began, once more, to cry. He had to get home, now.
"Jeff! Jeff, you're bleeding!" came the voice of Amelia. "What the hell happened in there? You never came out!" She sauntered over to him, concern and confusion written on her face. "What happened in there?"
"Nothing... Nothing, I'm fine, I've gotta go, though..." he limped purposefully toward his car.
"It's so strange, when I came out, the ticketholder was gone. I waited for you for an hour, and then went to get help... They told me..."
Pushing past her, his only desire was to get to his car, to get home.
"Jeff, that 'House of Mirrors.' There was no ride. The park owners, they told me that building had been condemned, that the doors should have been locked..."
Jeff stopped, blinking his eyes. A thousand thoughts came swirling to his head; as a journalist, as a victim of the strange mirrors. It was if a torrent of sound and thought and swirled into his mind. And then, he shook it all away.
"I've gotta go home, Amelia... I'll see you at work." And he bolted, still limping, but sprinting as best as he could, toward his car.
He sped home, eyes wet with tears, copper blood dried on his skin, on his pants. He ran red lights, squealed tires. His fingers rapped impatiently on the wheel. He pulled up into the driveway, not even coming to a full stop before leaping from the car. He made to open the front door, but it was locked.
Backing up, he drove his foot into the door, near the knob. It cracked. He kicked it again, and the door gave way, swinging open. He rushed into the house, screaming. "Jake!" Flying up the stairs, he burst into Jake's room.
His boy. His little boy. Jake was in the noose, eyes wild, cheeks red as he struggled inside the loop, tugging at the rope as it cut into his neck. Jeff flew over, grabbing him around the waist and lifting him up. Jake gasped in a deep breath of air and loosened the not, lifting it up over his head.
"Dad, I'm sorry," he began to sob.
Jeff, still holding him in the air, buried his face in the boy's hair. "It's okay, Son. It's okay. I'm here now. I'm sorry. I love you. I'm sorry."
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