Copyright © 2016 Kira Moericke
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduce in any matter whatsoever without written permission from the author except in brief quotations used in article reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Produced in the United States of America.
Inspired cover design by Alicia Rades.
Cover design by Desiree DeOrto
To my mom, Stephanie Dewhurst, for always believing in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter 1
Day One
“Uh.” Someone is calling my name.
“Sarwa?” the voice calls out again.
“Mm?” I can’t feel but a little irritated as I shift to my side.
“Sarwa, I’m scared.”
I groan, feeling soft pressure press against my tired body. I can hear my little sister’s voice, full of panic. Her voice sounds choked as if she has been crying. After a moment, Lynne’s words register to me.
“Lynne?” My eyes flash open, and I bolt upright. I find Lynne curled up next to me. There are tear streaks staining her dirty, pudgy cheeks, and the tip of her nose is red from crying.
I take my eyes off her and look around. Fear drowns my thoughts and freezes my lungs, making it hard to think and breathe. I realize that we are in some kind of basement. Everything around us is red. The floor is made of red tiles and the walls are carpeted with blood-red rugs that are mismatched and stained. The smell of mold and copper fills my nose in such a ghastly way that I almost gag. Somewhere, water leaks, making a drip, drip, dripping sound.
“Sarwa, I’m scared,” Lynne repeats, her voice shaky. A fresh set of tears make their way into her eyes. “I wanna go home.”
As much as I want to break down and cry along, I know I have to be brave for my sister. “I know. I am, too.”
“Let’s go home, Sarwa,” Lynne says softly. “Pwease?”
“Yeah.” I place my hands down on the floor. It is rough and a little grimy. Looking down, I see that we are lying on an old, matted rug. Something glistens in the soft light that comes from the dim, naked lightbulb that shines from above us. I lean forward, trying to get a better look, and see that it is a long strand of golden hair intertwined with the rough material of the rug.
“Lynne, get up!” I scramble to my feet and swoop Lynne up into my arms. Stumbling back off the rug, I can see that it is stained with some kind of dark color that makes the material hard and crisp. It looks like blood stains.
“What’s wong?” Lynne asks, swiping at tears with the back of her dirty hands.
“Nothing.” I don’t know if I’m trying to reassure her or myself. “Let’s just try to find a way out of here.”
Lynne nods, nuzzles her little head of short tufts of brown hair into my neck, and closes her eyes as she tries to block out her surroundings.
I grip her tighter as I look around the Red Room. Shelves align the wall to my left and a hallway, lit by naked bulbs that hang dangerously from the ceiling, is about six yards in front of me. With fear clogging all my thoughts, I take stealthy steps across the room, towards the dim hallway, avoiding the creepy stained rug.
Every one of my nerves are set on high alert. At every little noise, Lynne shrieks. I can feel my heart drumming wildly against my breastbone and I can hear the blood rushing in my ears. At one point, I actually imagine my heart jumping out of my chest and landing on the cold, dirty floor in front of me. My legs beneath me are unsteady as my knees quiver.
The sound of water becomes louder with each step and the scent of copper gets stronger. Spiders scramble around in their thick, dirty webs, trying to hide from us.
“Sarwa?” Lynne peeks up at me.
“What?” My voice is shaky.
“Where arwe we?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where’s Mamma?” Her voice trembles.
“I don’t know.”
From behind us, something falls, clattering loudly to the floor.
I whip around, my heart skipping beats as the sound of footsteps echo loudly from down the hall we just came from. With each tap of our feet, the naked bulbs crackle, as if an electric circuit in them is bad, and flicker out, casting the hallway in darkness. Someone is coming.
Lynne looks up and screams.
With my ears erupting and my heart lodged in my throat, I spin the other way and start to run. My grip on Lynne tightens as I scramble around a corner and dodge water that falls from the ceiling and down to a rust-colored puddle on the floor. Doors start to appear alongside the wall on either side of us, but panic grasps me too tightly, making it hard for me to think of anything else but to run. It doesn’t even occur to me to check them.
Around the corner, the hallway ends. I run towards the carpeted wall and pound a fist against the plush yet hard surface, not wanting to be defeated. The sound of breaking glass comes from close behind us.
“Help!” My voice sounds high-pitched and foreign. I can’t remember the last time I screamed so hard. “Somebody! Please!”
“Shh!” A pair of strong, coarse hands wrap around my waist and mouth, silencing me. There is a sudden tug on my body that makes me stagger back with Lynne in my arms. My eyes bulge in surprise as I stumble back into a side room, watching the door close just as the last lightbulb flickers out.
Chapter 2
The hands let go and I stumble back. The door in front of me has closed, trapping both Lynne and me inside the room. There is a click from the outside, signaling the door is locked.
“Son of a bitch!”
I spin around and squint through the dim room to see a boy that looks about my age with shaggy brown hair and sharp brown eyes. Fury taints his face as he walks around me to the door and yanks on the door handle. After a moment of struggling, he smashes his fist against the hard oak. Without success, he lets his forehead fall limply against the surface.
“Thanks a lot,” he says, turning his head to look at me. “You two ruined everything.”
“What did we do?” I ask, feeling windless and clueless. I haven’t ran since last semester in gym class. I hoist Lynne back into the right position in my arms, so she sits on my hips. I have no clue what’s happening and yet, to this boy, it was all our fault.
“That was my chance to escape!” the boy yells, turning his whole body so he looks at me without having to twist his neck. His eyes are angry and scary looking. “And you two ruined it!”
“How did we ruin your escape?” I yell. “My sister and I woke up to . . . to this place then someone was chasing us. We ran, okay? Then you grabbed us and dragged us in here.” I glance around the room. “Where are we even?”
“You ruined my chance by coming down here!” the boy roars. “I was just about to leave when you came running down the hall screaming.”
“I did not come screaming down the hallway,” I say defensively.
“No, but you had screamed!”
“So? Someone
was chasing us. I thought we were going to die!”
“Just shut up!” The boy shoves past me, bumping his shoulder–or more like his arm since he is over a head taller than me–against mine. I stumble back and watch as he walks across the room and pounds his fist against the wall opposite of the door.
“Sarwa?” Lynne cries, looking up. “I want Mamma!”
“Shh,” I whisper, rocking her on my hip.
Lynne screams, her eyes flooding with tears that hadn’t come out before. Her chubby little face turns red from pressure built up inside her.
“Shut her up!” the boy yells from across the room.
“I’m trying!” I look down and brush some hair out of my sister’s face. “Lynne, you have to be quiet.”
If Lynne heard, she isn’t cooperating. She squeezes her eyes shut and starts kicking her legs against me as her wailing grows louder.
“Lynne, stop!” I look around the room helplessly as I struggle to keep a hold on her. On one side of the room there are two cots, one pressed against one wall, the other pressed against the wall perpendicular to it, with their heads close together. With my grip starting to falter, I hurry over to one and drop Lynne down.
“No!” Lynne screams. She twists and turns, kicking her feet hard. The back of her ankles catch the metal rim of the cot, but she ignores it.
“Lynne.” I crawl onto the dusty cot and hold her close to my chest. Wrapping my arms tightly around her little body, I try to keep her maintained. “You’re going to be fine. Mamma’s on her way.”
“Mamma?” Lynne asks between her wails.
“Yeah.” I force a smile as I look at my left arm and see that it has a little bruise on it where there is a vein. My eyebrows furrow in confusion. “She’s on her way right now. You just have to be a good girl and stay quiet, okay?”
Lynne sucks in some air as her crying weakens. After a moment, she is quiet, but silent tears run down her cheeks. “Mamma?”
“Yeah.” I brush some more of her soft hair off her face. “How about you go to sleep?”
Lynne rubs her eyes with her fists as if sleep suddenly just occurred to her.
“Shh . . . ” I gently rock her back and forth, watching her eyelids droop low. “Go to sleep, okay?” I watch my sister as her eyes finally closed and her breathing goes back to normal after a moment.
“Is she finally asleep?”
The boy’s voice startles me into looking up. He, too, has finally cooled down and is leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the room with his arms crossed over his chest, hidden in the shadows. To be honest, he kind of scares me.
“Yeah.” I press my lips together as I maneuver Lynne on the cot so that her head lays on the flat, ratty pillow. I get up, grab the thin, cloth, navy-blue blanket and cover her up. There are tiny holes gnawed in the material. Mice had gotten to it.
I swallow, frightened by the idea of mice in the room.
“Good.” The boy pushes himself off the wall and comes over, going to the other cot. He sits down, making the mattress squeak.
“I’m Sara by the way,” I say, watching him.
The boy looks at me, his face expressionless.
“And this is my sister, Lynne.” I swing my hand, indicating to my sleeping sister. “Do you . . . Do you know where we are?”
“Does it look like I know?” the boy says flatly, looking at me with his cold eyes. He groans as he lays down and stares up at the ceiling. “I hate the bastard that’s looking at us right now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Didn’t you notice the ceiling when you were in the hall?” He sounds irritated.
“No.”
“Look up,” he orders.
Slowly, I tilt my head up and look up at the ceiling like the boy had ordered. A short gasp escapes my lips when I find myself looking at my reflection. “What–”
“They did this to the whole room and the hallway,” the boy says.
“It’s a mirror,” I whisper in wonder.
“Not just a mirror.” The boy sits up and gets off his cot. He keeps his eyes on the mirrored-ceiling as he wanders to the center of the room. “The mirror is just a thin layer under thick glass.”
“What are you getting at?” I walk over to him and look up. In the middle of the room, the glass is shattered, revealing a clear wall of glass. Up above, there is a light that shines, providing the only light for the room.
“They can see us,” the boy says. “Like the mirrors on those cop shows. You can’t see them, but they can see you.”
“Are you saying they’re watching us?” I turn my head and look at the boy, who is still looking up at the ceiling, his messy waves falling back on his head.
“Our every move.” He smiles, disgusted. “You like watching us, don’t you?!” he shouts up to the mirror. “You like seeing us miserable?”
I look back at the broken mirrored-ceiling. “How did the mirror break?”
“I broke it.” The boy looks away and heads back to his cot. “I thought maybe it was a way out of here.”
“Where did you put the broken glass?” I look away from the ceiling to look at the boy.
“Over there.” He points to underneath the dresser.
I look between the mirror and the boy. “Do–”
“Just be quiet,” the boy snaps, “and don’t pester me.”
I open my mouth, ready to ask a question but am silenced by the boy’s glare. I close my mouth and turn slowly on my heals, observing the room. The only thing that lights the room is the light on the other side of the glass. Everything is dark and musty. It looks like the room had been abandoned before the boy came. Thick black spider webs cling decoratively in the corners. Dust lays upon everything. A musty smell crowds my nose, making it hard to breathe. Looking around the room, I notice something. None of the walls have windows carved into them. Instead, all four walls are covered in old, salmon-colored wallpaper with gold lines running up and down vertically. It matches the color of the carpet, which has clumpy dark stains that make it crisp. It reminds me of the rug Lynne and I woke up on.
“What are you doing?”
I turn and find the boy looking at me with a blank expression.
“Nothing,” I reply. “Just looking around.”
The boy frowns and turns his head, closing his eyes.
“Did you notice there were no windows?” I’m curious if he has noticed too.
“Do you always have to talk?” the boy grumbles.
“I–”
“Shut up,” he snaps.
I glare at him.
Dick.
Angrily, I walk back over to the cot where Lynne is sleeping and crawl under the tattered blanket with her.
I lay there, not able to close my eyes. I stare at my reflection in the ceiling and think of what a total mess I am. My brown hair is greasy and knotted with snarls. Dirt and dust streaks my face, reminding me of the chimney sweepers in Mary Poppins. I look tired with blue rings circling around my eyes. I look icky.
Turning onto my side, I look at the room. My childhood nightmares and fears come rushing back to the top of my memory. Images of me sleeping form in my mind. The door would slowly creak open, just loud enough to wake me. The person who keeps us captive would slowly creep across the room towards us, shielding a knife behind their back. I would know what was happening but would be to paralyzed by fear to do anything. Or then there was the more realistic fear where Lynne, the boy, and I would be trapped down here forever, dying from hunger, dehydration, and lack of sunlight.
Fear is now engraved into my head. Frightened, I reach forward and tentatively touch the boy. “Hey, are you awake?” I whisper.
The boy groans. “What do you want?”
“Has . . . Has anyone came down here while you were asleep?”
“I don’t think so.” He turns on his side, away from me. “Now leave me alone.”
“Aren’t you worried that someone will come in here and, I don’t know, kill us?”
“Her name is Lynne,” I bite out. I hate this guy’s attitude. I mean, seriously, what’s his problem? Well, besides being stuck down here.
“Whatever.” The boy shifts. “Whoever took us is having their amusement up there.” Meaning the people above the mirrored-ceiling.
I shift so I stare up at the ceiling–at me. Questions clot my head, making me feel dizzy.
Who kidnapped us?
Who would want to kidnap us and watch us?
How long are we going to be here?
How long will I make it before I lose it?
Why does this boy hate me?
Then another question swarms to the top of my head. It hasn’t occurred me until now that I don’t know the boy’s name. I shift myself to my side again and look at the boy. “Are you still awake?”
“What the hell do you want now?”
“You never told me your name,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t tremble.
“Why do you care?” the boy grumbles.
“Well, I have to call you something,” I say matter-of-factly.
“Maxwell.”
“What?” He said it so abruptly that I didn’t catch it.
“My name? It’s Maxwell.”
“Maxwell.” It fits well on my tongue when I whisper it. I’m surprised by his name, though. Maxwell isn’t a very common name anymore, or at least, not where I live.
Slowly, Maxwell turns his head, peeking over his dingy pillow to look at me. “What?”
“Nothing,” I reply.
Maxwell narrows his eyes. “There must be something running through that thick skull of yours. You’re actually quiet for once.”
I glare at him, not liking his insult. Angry, I turn to my other side and look at Lynne sleeping. The red is gone from her cheeks but she still has tear stains on her pale cheeks.
Noises from above sounds throughout the room. It sounds like heavy footsteps against hardwood floor.
“Ten . . . Nine . . . Eight . . .”
“What are you doing?” I ask, irritably.
Through the Glass (A Storybook Novel 1) Page 1
