I wonder what’s going on in your world. Where have you been? What have you seen? What have you been through? And are you as afraid as I am?
It’s so weird to think that I’m sitting here now, writing this to you, while in another now, you’re also here in this room, reading these words. At this very moment, time is folded on itself, like a ring, destined to come back around someday, circling back to these very words. It’s like the past and the future are one and the same, as if we are one and the same. It makes me wonder… Are you me in another life? Am I you?
I suppose I’ll never know for sure. And it doesn’t really matter. Right now…in your right now…you’re wondering how I ended up in this basement. And I need to tell you.
Obviously, I was able to escape the Goss Building without being captured. By the time I sealed that last letter in its bottle and made my way back out to the hallway, there was no sign of Zachery or the men in gray suits. I walked out of the building without anyone even looking at me. I found my bike. I rode home as fast as I could.
That was two days ago.
That night, I dreamed the same scary dreams I’d dreamed before. I saw the monsters crawling up from the sewers with their shining eyes. I saw the city in flames and its people burning. I saw the same dark tunnel with the light at the far end and felt the same, gut-wrenching dread.
The only difference was that this time I clearly saw Sherry Jolinger’s face. Her eyes were wide and filled with fear. A single tear streaked down her face. She was screaming. I’m sure now that she was the girl I saw lying at Zachery’s feet the first time I dreamed about him. She’s in terrible danger. I’m afraid she’s going to die before this is over.
And I don’t know how to stop it from happening. I saw nothing that told me what I should do next. The following morning I woke up and dragged myself to school. It was impossible to concentrate. I kept looking at the clock. I kept glancing out the windows. I kept wondering what was going on out there, what the men in gray were up to.
I kept expecting something to happen. I don’t know what, exactly. I was looking for a sign, I guess. Anything to tell me what I should do. But there was nothing. Except for those horrible dreams the night before, the day was painfully ordinary.
But that night, last night, I had a new dream. I saw you standing in front of an old closet. I saw you reaching around it and pulling out a wooden box with hinged doors. There was a dartboard inside. I saw that my letter was hidden there, the one I would write next, the one I’m writing now.
Oddly, the dream seemed to go backward after that. I next saw you descending a set of wooden stairs. I saw you inside a house that I somehow knew wasn’t yours. Then I saw you standing on the porch. I saw the house. I saw the driveway.
It was strange. There was something haunting about the way the dream unwound itself that way. And there was something even more haunting about the house itself. I sensed that there was someone there with you, but for some reason I couldn’t see who it was. And I kept seeing a dark shadow looming behind you wherever you went, as if you were being stalked by something unnatural that you weren’t aware of.
I think I must have stirred in my sleep after that, because the dream fell apart before I could see more. When it came back, the city was in flames again. I saw the river coming to life. I was standing on the bridge, watching it rear up, its watery claws reaching out for the city.
Then, in a flash, it was on me. I was swept away in a cold current. Everything went dark.
Except that there was one thing I could clearly see. A wooden sign floated past me. A single name was etched into it. Oberlock.
I’d seen that sign before. It was mounted on a mailbox at the end of a driveway I’d seen countless times. It was on the way to my grandmother’s house.
I immediately realized that this was the sign I’d been looking for, although I hadn’t expected it to be a literal one.
I woke up gasping for breath, still half-convinced I was drowning in the living river. It was a little past four o’clock in the morning, but I couldn’t get back to sleep again. I lay there and waited for the sun to come up, plotting my next move.
I didn’t think it was possible, but school was even longer today than it was yesterday. It felt like weeks had passed by the time we were released.
I ran home, lied about going to a friend’s house to study and then jumped on my bike. I had my school bag over my shoulder with my paper and pens and the supplies I’d gathered. I was as ready as I was ever going to be. I rode all the way out of town, to where I’d seen that sign mounted over the mailbox. As soon as I saw it there, I turned, ignoring the sick feeling in my stomach.
Halfway down the long, curving driveway, I hid my bike in the brush and continued on foot.
As soon as the place came into view, I knew it was where I was meant to be. It was the place I saw in my dream, the place you’re at now.
It was staggering to me to stand there looking at the place. Even knowing what I know now, it was still a shock to see that it actually existed. I couldn’t help but wonder what events led you there. Here. Both here and there, I suppose. And I began to wonder, also, whether you were the reason I was here, or I was the reason you were there.
Either way, it seems we’re destined to walk the same path.
I only wish those paths could truly intersect. I wish you could be here with me. I’m still not sure I’m brave enough to finish this alone.
No one seemed to be around. There were no cars in the driveway. The place was deathly quiet. But I took no chances. I walked all the way around the building, peering in all the windows, making sure no one was home.
The place looked a little bit like my grandmother’s. It had the same sort of simple style about it.
The front door was unlocked. I should’ve been relieved, but I instantly felt concerned, instead. Why was the door unlocked? Was someone home? Had I made a terrible mistake?
But no one was there. I walked into the living room and looked around.
My heart was thumping in my chest. I felt like I was going to puke. What was I doing here? It was stupid. Someone was going to catch me. At the very least I’d be arrested and have to explain all this to my parents. At worst, I’d find myself looking into the face of the fat man in the gray suit, who would no doubt make sure I understood him very well before he killed me.
In my dream, I saw you go down the stairs, so I began searching for the door to the basement.
Up until this point, I was afraid, but so far I hadn’t found anything to justify my fear. For all I knew, this was just an ordinary house and I was just a creepy prowler.
But then I found the basement.
The smell hit me first. It was horrible. It reeked of urine, cigarette smoke and blood.
Then, as I crept down the stairs, I saw the woman.
She was lying in the corner of the room, her body naked and bruised. There were shackles around her wrists and chains binding her to the concrete walls. Her long, tangled hair lay across her face, hiding those features from me, but the rest of her was fully exposed.
For a moment I was in utter shock. I just stood there, staring at her, unable to grasp the true horror of what I was seeing. I had no idea what I should do. Finally, I ran to her side and knelt over her.
I’d never seen a woman naked before. The way she was lying there, motionless, I could see every part of her, but there was nothing sexy about the scene. She’d been there a while, I think. She was very thin and pale. Her whole body was bruised. She was lying in her own waste, like an abused animal.
She was pretty at one time, I could tell, but now she just looked like death.
In fact, I thought she was already dead. But then she spoke.
“You…can’t be here,” she said. Her voice was so weak I could barely hear her. “If they find you…they’ll…kill you.” She seemed to struggle just to find her breath, as if her insides were as battered as her outsides.
I brushed the hair from her face and barely managed to not cry out at the sight of her eyes. They were blood-red where they should’ve been white, as if something had caused the blood vessels to burst. It gave her an otherworldly look, almost demonic, except that her expression was so pitifully tortured.
I told her I was going to get her out of there, but she shook her head.
“Can’t…” she said. Her lips were dry and cracked. There was blood caked on her chin. She appeared to be missing some teeth. “Impossible… Get out…”
“I’m not leaving you. I can break the chains, I know it.”
“Get out…” she said again. She spoke in sharp, shallow gasps, as if it caused her great pain to even breathe. “Find…book… Stop them…”
Find a book? I remembered spying on Zachery and the other teenagers. They had a book. Was that the one she meant? “What kind of book is it?” I asked.
She only managed one word, but it chilled me all the way to my soul: “Evil…”
I had no idea how a book could be evil, but I didn’t doubt that she was telling the truth.
“Stop them…” she said again.
Upstairs, I heard the front door slam. I looked up and followed the sounds of heavy footsteps. They were moving toward the basement door.
“Hide…” groaned the woman. “Don’t let them…find you…”
I jumped up and checked the nearest window. I could reach it. And I was sure I could fit if I pushed my bag through ahead of me. But I was also sure I couldn’t squeeze through it in less time than it was going to take those footsteps to come down those stairs.
I turned and surveyed the room. I saw a closet under the stairs. It wasn’t very big, but it was my only chance. I ran over and slipped inside, just as the basement door opened.
“See?” said a familiar voice. “Just like we left it.” It was the fat man in the gray suit.
“I don’t care. Something’s off in the house. She’s up to something.” That was the tall one.
I peered through the crack in the closet doors. They were there, standing over the woman, still dressed in those gray suits. Crazily, I wondered if they always dressed like that. Like, did they wear those suits when they had the day off? Did they lounge around the house in them? I know it sounds weird, given the situation, but that’s what I found myself thinking about as I crouched there in that dark space, trying not to move, praying they didn’t find me.
The woman was muttering something that I couldn’t hear.
“What’s she saying?” demanded the tall one.
“How the hell should I know?” returned the fat one. As I watched, he turned and kicked the woman in the stomach. “Shut up!”
She had no choice but to do as he demanded. She writhed on the floor, her eyes bulging with pain, gasping for air.
I turned away. I couldn’t bear to see it. I think it was right about then that I made up my mind. If I ever had the chance, I was going to kill these men. Not just stop them. Not just escape them, but kill them. They were too evil to live.
“We should just clean up this mess,” said the tall one.
“We will.”
I dared to peek through the crack again. The tall one was looking around the room. He seemed suspicious. “Energy’s all wrong in here,” he said. “It’s like someone passed through.”
“You worry too much. It’s just her. She’s trying to fight. They mess with your head, you know? It’s what they do.”
But he clearly wasn’t convinced.
It was obvious to me that I was what was wrong. I was the one that upset the “energy” in the house…whatever that meant.
The tall man in the gray suit could feel me somehow.
I was in danger.
His gaze seemed to fall on me. I shrank back, deeper into the closet, terrified of being spotted.
He walked toward me and I felt an icy panic grip me. I had to bite back a scream.
But he didn’t open the closet doors. He stopped and stood there, a puzzled look on his face. His gaze washed over the closet, then the entire back wall.
Seconds passed in painful silence.
I didn’t understand. Why didn’t he open the closet and look inside? Why was he just standing there?
I looked past him. I saw the woman lying on the floor, her bloody eyes fixed on me. She made no sound, but her lips were still moving. She was muttering something to herself.
The tall man rubbed his head and winced, as if at a shooting pain in his temple. Then he turned his back on me. “Finish it. I’m bored.”
“Fine,” huffed the fat man. He turned and knelt beside the woman. “Hear that?” he asked her. “My partner here is bored with you. Looks like this’ll be the last time we can play together.” He reached down and grasped her jaw, forcing her to look up at him. “Last chance to tell us what we want to hear.”
The woman refused to look at him. Her gaze remained distant.
“It doesn’t have to end here,” he said. “It’s not too late to stop the pain. Just tell us the price of the spell.”
I thought for a second that I’d misheard. Did he say “spell?” As in a magic spell?
“You’re wasting time,” growled the tall man. “You’ve been wasting time all week. Just kill the bitch already.”
But the fat man wasn’t listening. “We already have the book,” he reasoned. “We know the dance. We even have the prayer. You won’t prevent us from unlocking the door. The only thing you’ve done is buy some time. That’s all. Is it really worth all this pain, just to buy a couple extra days?”
The book… It was clearly important to whatever was going on. But what was all this other stuff he was talking about? The dance? The prayer? What door? What was this guy talking about?
“Hurry it up,” groaned the tall man. “I’m getting a bitch of a headache.”
The woman wasn’t talking.
The fat man sighed. “I’m disappointed. It didn’t have to be this way.” He leaned over her and twisted her head so that she was looking directly at him. “This is your choice.”
The woman whimpered. Clearly, she knew what was coming.
Suddenly, her bloody eyes flashed open and her body stiffened. Her cracked lips peeled back from her teeth in a horrid, guttural scream. The chains rattled as she jerked them tight, her hands clenched in shaking fists.
I could see why the blood vessels in her eyes had burst. They were practically bulging out of her head. The cords in her neck were standing out. Her whole body was rigid with pain. She looked as if she were going mad. I couldn’t imagine the agony that she must be feeling.
I didn’t want to watch. But I didn’t dare take my eyes off these men for fear that when I did look again, they’d be standing right in front of me, looking back at me.
“You’ve made our jobs extra difficult,” the fat man told her when he let go of her and leaned back. The woman went limp again, gasping for breath. “That bothers me. It makes me angry. I don’t handle being angry very well.” He leaned over her again. “A lot more people are going to get hurt now. Just because of you. Think about that.”
Again, her body went rigid. Again, she screamed.
When she relaxed again, the fat man said, “This is it. This is the last time. The pain won’t stop again. Tell me the price, before it’s too late.”
The woman’s bloody gaze drifted to me. Our eyes met from across the room, through the crack in the closet door. Her lips moved, but I couldn’t read them, and her voice didn’t reach me. If she had something profound to say to me, I didn’t hear it.
“What a waste,” said the fat man.
This time, when the woman started screaming, it was a long, long time before she stopped. I couldn’t bear to watch any more. I closed my eyes tightly. I covered my ears, too, but it didn’t help. The woman’s screams were the most awful thing I’d ever heard. It wasn’t like the screams you hear in movies. It was deep and guttural and came in short, loud bursts separated by rapid gasps of air.
The screaming didn’t fade. At some point it just became strangled. It seemed to me that she’d finally ruptured something deep inside her and was finally choking to death on her own blood.
Only when it was finally over and the room at last fell silent again, did I dare to peek.
She wasn’t moving. Blood was oozing from her mouth and nose and…other places…
“Can we go get dinner now?” asked the tall man.
I shouldn’t have been shocked by his utter lack of sympathy, but the idea that this man could speak so casually and sound so bored after the horrors I’d just witnessed, much less that he could actually be hungry! It was astounding to me.
“Sure,” replied the fat man as he stood up and wiped his bloody hand with a handkerchief.
I listened to them walk back up the stairs, their footfalls passing right over my head.
Doors slammed shut upstairs.
I was alone with the dead woman.
I never knew I could be so afraid. I sat there. Sat here, in this closet, trembling, clutching my ears, trying to forget that poor woman’s awful screams, desperately willing myself not to scream.
But I can’t give in to fear. I have a job to do. I don’t understand why it’s my job. I don’t know why God would choose me for such a terrible duty, but it’s my job. I have to do it. For everyone’s sake.
I have to tell my story. I have to tell you my story.
I reached into my bag and withdrew my paper and pen. At first, my hand wouldn’t stop shaking enough to begin. I closed my eyes. I pushed aside the horrible things I’d witnessed. I thought about you. In my dream, I saw you finding the dartboard. I know you’ll find these pages.
I began by wondering what’s going on in your world, and the rest came easily enough.
Too easy.
The men are almost certainly gone by now. I need to leave before they return. It’s too risky to try and sneak back up the stairs. I’m going to leave through the basement window instead.
Wish me luck.