by West, Sam
“I just think that…” he began.
“Sit the fuck back down,” Malcom said.
Coming from Malcom, that was a shock. Even Jane let out a little gasp. Sean just stared stupidly at him, his mouth hanging open.
“Sit down, Sean,” Amber said softly.
That was his undoing, and, like an obedient dog, he did.
“Now, shall we get on?” Jane asked.
Sean stared at Jane, his heart twisting in his chest.
This isn’t right, he thought. We’re all acting so strange…
Without further ado, Jane popped the dice into the beaker, gave it a shake, and let it go across the board.
A two.
Inside, Sean squirmed.
Everyone, apart from Sean, put their fingers on top of the beaker. They all turned to look at him, their expressions accusatory.
Or maybe he was imagining it. Before he was quite sure what he was doing, he reached out his own finger to join theirs. As before, the beaker shot over the letters, landing on ‘A’ and ‘B’, which Amber diligently wrote down.
Who’s doing this?
The last player was Malcom, and he rolled a two. Sean’s blood ran cold in his veins. Even before the beaker touched the letters, he knew what they would be.
An ‘I’ and a ‘T’. Intrabit. Whatever the fuck that means.
Sean was far from pleased when he was proved right. When they were done, they sat there in silence, staring dumbly at the board.
Amber was the first to break the silence. “Now what?”
“I guess that’s it. Game over,” Sean said.
“Look, the sun’s coming out. Who wants to go down the beach?” Malcom said, getting to his feet.
Dazedly, Sean looked over at the window. The sun was extra bright after the rainstorm, but that bad feeling still clung to him.
Even when they all trooped outside, and even though no one mentioned the game they had just played, his heart was heavy.
On a subconscious level, he knew that they would pay for what they did. He knew it wasn’t over.
He knew that their fates were sealed.
2017
Intrabit.
That one word echoed in Sean’s head as he hurried home through the dark night. Every shadow made him jump, even the passing cars made him flinch.
Intrabit.
The day after they had played the game, he had gone to the local library and picked up a Latin / English dictionary. The word was Latin, he just knew it, and old.
He remembered how puzzled he had been when he had found out what the word had meant.
Enter.
But now, it made perfect sense, especially coupled with the picture of the gates on the front of the box.
It was entering their world because they had invited it in.
Sean knew what he had to do, and he hurried home to pack.
He had a train to catch to Cornwall.
CHAPTER SIX
2017
Amber Hyde wasn’t feeling herself. She sat on the edge of her bed in the bedroom of her wildly expensive, New York, Brownstone apartment with her head in her hands.
She was hungover, lonely and burnt-out. Fragmented memories of the night before played over in her mind – attending the opening night of the fabulous new club on 52nd street, followed by a private house-party, hosted by one of the hottest young popstars on the scene today.
Amber hadn’t even recognised the overly muscled young lad, but she had never been one to turn down a party.
“I’m too old for this shit,” she said to the empty room.
She might have looked twenty-eight, thanks to the Botox and the fact she spent hours a week down the gym, but she sure as shit didn’t feel it right now. It was so depressing, getting older. There was a time she could get as pissed as she wanted without feeling it the next day.
How the hell did I even get home, anyway?
Dim memories of clambering into a cab in the early hours played over in her mind, and a great wave of self-pity crashed over her.
I’m almost forty-years-old, and I’m still alone.
She thought of the husband she hadn’t yet met, and the children she would most likely never have. Crushing loneliness engulfed her, and in that moment, she had never felt so rootless and sad. She was living the dream, but somewhere along the line, her New York dream had turned into a nightmare.
Telling herself that it was just her hangover talking – for who wouldn’t want her fabulous life and her fabulous job as top-notch PR woman of NYC – she struggled to her feet with a groan.
Me. That’s who doesn’t want my life. My fabulous life can go fuck itself.
The big room lurched around her, and she flopped down on the bed on her back, cradling her screaming head in her hands. The room was blissfully dark thanks to the heavy, navy-blue velvet curtains that adorned the three, long sash-windows. A quick glance at her digital alarm-clock told her it was almost midday.
Thank God it was Sunday.
A creaking noise caused her eyes to snap open and she was immediately and inexplicably on edge.
What the hell was that?
It sounded like someone was in the bedroom with her, walking on the beautifully polished, Herringbone floor.
It’s nothing, she told herself. These old buildings were always creaking and groaning, despite their immaculate upkeep. It was part of their charm.
A bit like me. Nothing and no one can stave off the passage of time.
The creaking noise came again and she sat upright, suddenly on full-alert.
The door to her walk-in closet all the way over on the other side of the big room swung inwards, revealing the black, windowless space within.
Amber’s heart hammered and she found that her teeth were chattering, despite the warmth of the room.
For God’s sake, woman, the door creaked open, so what?
But despite telling herself this, she couldn’t dislodge the bad feeling that churned in her guts. Holding her breath, she stared wide-eyed and unblinking at the newly revealed, black space, resisting the idiotic urge to run over there and switch on the light.
She let out a small scream when she saw something inside the walk-in closet move.
No. It’s just a trick of the dark.
It had looked very much like someone had walked from one side of the closet to the other, right at the very back.
She stared hard into her closet, her heart slamming.
And that’s when she saw Him.
The Undertaker.
“No,” she gasped, but the word was a silent prayer on her lips.
The black shadows in the closet seemed to be gathering, to be gaining shape. Right in the middle at the very back was the vaguest silhouette of a man; a very tall man who wore a tall hat, and had very long arms.
Extraordinarily long arms, she thought, thinking of the children’s book Mr Tickles.
Brett was so weird to think of that one.
A bubble of hysterical laughter rose from the pit of her stomach, but instantly died when it reached her lips. She felt her mind physically lurch when He stretched out one very long arm in her direction – an arm that ended in long fingers made of knives…
She blinked once, and the vision was gone. Hastily, she wiped away the tears so that she could better see.
No, there was definitely nothing in the closet.
Of course there’s nothing there, you stupid cow.
She stared stupidly at the spot where she had seen Him, drawing her knees up to her chin and hugging herself like a frightened kid.
Sean was right. We should’ve played the game again. We could’ve ended it, there and then…
Fresh tears sprung into her eyes as she was suddenly bombarded with memories from her past. Sean’s thin, young face burned bright in her mind and her heart twisted into a painful knot in her chest. Christ, she hadn’t thought about her first love for nigh-on thirty years, and here she was now, positively drowning in her own memories.
/> In her mind, she was twelve-years-old again. Finally, after all these years, she found herself confronting what she was scared of most.
The truth of that damn board-game…
1990
Amber turned up the stereo, a lit cigarette dangling from her lips. Her parents would kill her if they could see her now.
They shouldn’t have pissed off for a dirty weekend in London then, should they?
Amber came from a loving home. Too loving, she thought. Her parents loved each other far more than they did her. Sometimes, she envied Sean who was doted on by his single mother, or Jane, who claimed that her parents secretly despised each other.
…build a little birdhouse in your soul, sang the deep male voice, and Amber closed her eyes, swaying slightly to the music.
They were having a party, and they’d been on the White Lightning cider. Well, she had been on the cider, to be exact. Sean and Brett had had a little, but Malcom and Jane had barely touched any.
Amber knew she was a little wilder than her peers. She didn’t know why, she just figured that she was wired that way. She worked hard at school and she played hard out of school. Her parents – when they weren’t too busy snogging and groping each other like teenagers – said she was a livewire. Amber just thought that she liked to feel alive.
“I love this song,” she said, closing her eyes and tapping her fag-ash into her mum’s favourite Cactus pot-plant.
She was aware of Sean’s and Brett’s eyes on her, and she basked in the attention. Especially Sean’s. Amber had a thing for David Bowie, and Sean reminded her of him a little. She loved the almost transparent blue of Sean’s eyes, and his thin, wolfish face.
I’m going to snog him tonight, she thought drunkenly.
Jane and Malcom were sitting close together on her parent’s green chenille sofa, and from the way they kept throwing meaningful glances at each other, she guessed that she and Sean wouldn’t be the only two pairing off tonight.
Above the blare of the music, the doorbell chimed.
“Who’s that?” Amber said, instantly on edge. “Did you guys invite anyone else? I told you not to, if we trash the house I’m going to be grounded for like a year.”
Everyone shook their head, and Sean jumped up from the arm of the sofa that he had been perching on.
“I’ll come with you,” he said, and in that moment, she fancied herself in love with him for always wanting to protect her.
They made their way down the short hallway of her parent’s modest, middle-class home and opened the door…
And found herself staring at old Marjorie Reid, the woman whose cat they had killed the other day. Instinctively, she edged closer to Sean, her heart tripping in her chest.
“Did you play the game?” she said by way of greeting.
She looked even more frail than usual. Her face was creased like crepe paper and her veiny, gnarled hands shook on the cane she held.
“Yes,” Sean said simply, surprising her.
She turned to look at him, wondering why he was engaging the senile old biddy in conversation.
“Did you sign off?”
“Sign off?” Sean asked. “How do you mean?”
“It’s not in the instructions, because the game doesn’t want you to. But if you sign off, you close the gateway, and it can’t get through. You have to play it again, and place the upturned beaker over the word ‘goodbye’. If you all say goodbye, it won’t get through.”
Amber had heard enough; this was complete bullshit. She began to close the door on the hateful old hag.
“Thanks for stopping by, and everything, Mrs Reid, but if you don’t mind, we’re kind of busy.”
“Amber,” Sean said sharply; far more sharply than she was used to hearing from him. He wedged his foot in the door to prevent her from shutting it and spoke to the old woman. “What will get through, Mrs Reid? What did you make us do?”
The old woman’s watery brown eyes shone with unshed tears. Or maybe, Amber thought, they were just watery because she was so old.
“I’m sorry. It was wrong of me. I was so cross at you for killing Abigail. I’m still cross, but it doesn’t make what I did right.”
“What will get through?” Sean repeated in a low voice.
“The bad. The darkness. It will come in whatever childish form you conjured, but it is as old as time. It exists on a different plane from ours, where time has no meaning. It could appear at any point in your lives. It could come today, or forty years from now. But it will come, I promise you that. You must play again and sign off. And you must do so with all the original players. If one of you doesn’t play, it won’t work. But if one of you has died, then it doesn’t count and you can still play.”
‘If one of us dies?” Amber repeated incredulously.
“What does this darkness want?” Sean asked, ignoring her little outburst.
Amber couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The old cow was obviously senile, but it was like Sean actually believed her. How could he even give her the time of day after what she had said about them dying?
“It wants you. It wants to claim the souls that played the game. Only then will it be satisfied.”
Now Amber had heard enough. This old bat was really beginning to get her goat up.
But that’s not the truth now, is it? You’re scared.
“Come on, Sean, let’s go back in.”
She forcefully tugged on his arm and slammed the door on the old woman’s face.
“Hey, that was rude,” Sean complained. “She was trying to help, to put things right.”
“Well, I’m sick of talking about that bloody game, I just want to forget we ever played the stupid thing.”
The force of her words surprised even her. Sean opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the other three appearing in the hallway.
“Who was that?” Jane asked.
“It was her. Mrs Reid.”
“What did she want?” Malcom asked.
“To put a curse on us, I expect,” Brett muttered.
“Brett? What did you do with the game?” Sean asked.
“I binned the bloody thing.”
“Oh God, please tell me the bin-men haven’t taken it,” Sean said.
“The bin-men have taken it.”
“Shit. She said we have to play it again and sign off properly.”
Sean then proceeded to recount the conversation with everyone. Throughout his monologue, Amber was growing increasingly frustrated.
Why can’t we just forget about it?
“Well, I’m not playing it again, even if we did have it,” she said when he had finished.
“I wouldn’t either,” Brett agreed. “Not that we could anyway, because we wouldn’t remember the poem.”
“I think we should play it again,” Malcom said. “I think we should do what the old woman says.”
“I’m with Malcom,” Jane said. “That game was just wrong.”
“But we can’t even play it, even if we wanted to, can we?” Amber said with some finality. “The bin-men have taken it, remember? Can we please just forget about the stupid bloody game?”
They spoke no more of it, and she didn’t kiss Sean that evening because she remained irritated at him for the remainder of the night. He was supposed to be on her side.
They went back inside, but the party spirit was irreversibly dampened and by nine, they had given up and had gone their separate ways. Amber had been supposed to stay at Jane’s tonight – she had promised her parents that she was sleeping there and wouldn’t be alone in the house – but Jane was quietly sulking with her for her opinion on that stupid bloody game so had left without her.
Amber had ended up spending the night alone in the house.
And that’s when she had seen Him for the first time, in the shadows of her bedroom, late at night…
CHAPTER SEVEN
2017
With a cry, she covered her face with her hands.
No. Don’
t think about that.
But it was too late – she couldn’t stop herself. All too clearly, she remembered how He had appeared at the foot of her bed when she had been twelve-years-old. How he had stretched out a long, thin arm and the cold hardness of his bladed finger had scraped her cheek…
That had been the first, and, until now, only time she had ever seen Him.
Yeah. Until now.
And, just like when she had been twelve-years-old, He had faded into oblivion, melting into the shadows, back to wherever the hell it was he had come from.
Back to Hell.
If only I had listened to old Marjorie Reid when she tried to warn us.
But Amber had never seen the old woman again because she had died of a heart-attack a week later, taking the secrets of the game with her to her grave.
She had to clench her jaw because her teeth were chattering uncontrollably in terror.
Suddenly, she thought of the heavy curtains obscuring the sash-windows, of the busy New York City street ten stories below, teeming with life. She jumped to her feet, intending to sweep back the curtains, to let in the midday sun.
I’ll be safe in the sunshine.
She swung her bare, tanned legs over the side of the bed, then stopped dead. That creaking noise was back. Frantically, her gaze swept the bedroom, stopping at the menacing black depths of the walk-in closet.
Fuck.
The creaking noise wasn’t coming from the closet. It was coming from under the bed. Quickly, she hopped back onto the bed so that she was kneeling near the designer, wrought-iron headboard.
The creaking was louder now and a strange, whimpering sound reached her ears. It took her a second or two to realise that it was she who was making the noise and she clamped a hand over her mouth.
In the gloom, she caught sight of her reflection in the wide, floor to ceiling, ornately carved mirror opposite the bed.
She looked utterly terrified. Her shoulder-length, blonde hair stuck up every which way and the baggy t-shirt which belonged to some guy she had shagged years ago whose name she long forgotten added to the overall, crazed mental-patient look.
