Nothing should move like that!
He grabbed Olivia’s arm and dashed left, taking cover in an alcove outside the low-rise.
“Where did it go?” Olivia said.
James peeked around the corner. The girl…thing had disappeared.
“W-What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck! That was like straight out of a goddamn movie! Shit, I can barely breathe!” James said.
Olivia put a hand on his shoulder.
“We need to move,” she said.
They retreated to a set of nearby doors, which swung open after a valiant shove, crashing into the walls. The sound echoed throughout the campus.
“Oops,” James said, listening to an unusual steadiness in his own voice. “I guess I need to calm down.”
Olivia grabbed his hand and pulled him into a dim hallway lined with lockers and classroom doors. Polished bamboo squeaked beneath their feet—flares of light reflected in it from a door at the hallway’s end. James glanced to the side and noticed a narrow set of stairs that led upward. Olivia quietly closed the doors behind them and stood for a moment catching her breath.
James stared into Olivia’s eyes as his ears strained to capture any sign of the thing that chased them.
Silence.
James’ cheeks burned hot.
“Okay, well, I’m guessing we weren’t put here to begin a new semester of school,” Olivia said. “Whatever that thing was, it’s probably going to come back. I can’t shake how cliché this all seems. I mean, I’m dressed like some slutty schoolgirl, and that thing looked straight out of a Japanese horror film. Is this some asshole’s sick fantasy? I also can’t shake the feeling we’re being watched.”
James hadn’t sensed an eerie watchfulness until now. “Jesus, we need to get out of here. Can we even get out of here?”
“Let’s hope so. These cards might be a clue—why else would we have them? Keep an eye out for anything that could be related to B-12 or Amida.”
“Already on it,” James said, glancing around them. “And…um…if that thing comes back, just run—don’t even think, okay? If we get separated, let’s meet back here.”
Olivia nodded.
The unlit hallway harbored enough light for them to discern numbers and characters on the lockers and doors. James checked the first locker they walked by: it read A-09.
“Well, that’s convenient,” he said.
Olivia looked at the locker. “Should we look for B-12, then? It must be on the next floor up.”
“Yeah, I’d say that’s a good starting point.”
They turned around and hurried up the stairs. James cringed as his feet clacked on each step. “B” prefixed the second floor’s lockers, with B-12 near the hallway’s center. It appeared no different than the rest. James pulled up on the vertical sliding handle—the door swung open with ease.
Less light entered the second floor, so at first he thought the locker empty, but as his eyes adjusted, he saw a small book lying on the locker’s top shelf.
“What’s this?” Olivia said, pulling the book out.
“It looks like a prayer book or something.”
Olivia opened the leather-bound book, revealing bible-thin pages filled with Japanese characters, their edges frayed from extensive use. The front read 弥陀.
“Hot damn, it looks like we found it!” James said.
“Found what, exactly?”
“Good question.”
She flipped the pages one by one, discovering a few marked areas and intermittent worn pages, each without a hint of English.
Curious about the remaining lockers, James reached for B-13. He fiddled with the handle, opened it and found a book on the top shelf as well. He retrieved it. Olivia’s full attention focused on James. The front read 弥陀.
A quick comparison revealed the books to be identical. James opened B-14. Same book. He gave Olivia a bewildered look.
“And here I thought we were clever thinking the card pointed to a specific locker. This is ridiculous,” James said.
“Yes. So, what do the numbers on the card point to?”
A thunderous crash boomed from the opposite end of the hallway, followed by a man’s voice, then a symphony of others. Silence returned as quickly as it had gone.
James froze, his eyes fixated in the direction of the noise. James tugged on Olivia’s sleeve and placed a finger to his lips. She silently mouthed, “Really? No shit…”
They tiptoed toward the end of the hallway—a devilish creak accompanied every third step. This unnerved James who had convinced himself that, via osmosis, he’d gained ninja-like grace from watching his collection of kung fu movies. He pursed his lips and ground his teeth.
They neared the classroom door at the hallway’s end. Commotion rattled within. Two men argued while a woman pleaded for peace. Olivia pointed to James, then pointed to the opposite side of the door. He followed her cue, ducking beneath the door’s window and leaning back to the side, away from Olivia.
“On three, let’s both take a look,” James said.
Olivia gave him a thumbs up.
James held up one finger, two, and just as his third finger raised—just as they began to slide their backsides up the door, heads craned awkwardly preparing to look into the window—James shoved Olivia aside.
CHAPTER 2
Do not caress the notion of escape—it exists not.
(Labyrinth 9:14)
1
A shout from behind the door alerted James and he pushed Olivia from the door’s path. Two men stampeded into the hallway and continued their argument.
“I’m done with this! We need to find a way out instead of wasting our time here!” the shorter of the two men said in a Spanish accent.
“Bloody hell! Like I said before, there is no out of here. Colette and I walked as far as we could, and like it or not, we hit a wall. I can’t explain it, but we just couldn’t go any farther,” the other man said in an articulated Southern Wales accent.
Olivia and James watched the two men bicker in plain view. No immediate exit presented itself, and their discovery seemed imminent. The debate raged—the two men vehemently traded insults as each struggled to take command. James had had enough.
“Um…excuse me?” James said.
The men, now spouting a meaningless cacophony of angry noise, fell silent, looking down at Olivia and James in disbelief. James held his hands up, palms out. Olivia stared.
“Who the hell are you? You’ve got three seconds,” the Spanish man said. He sported a perfectly bald scalp and sported it well.
“Whoa, whoa! Hey now, no need for that!” James said. “My name is James and this is Olivia. We suddenly found ourselves here, in this place, not too long ago.”
The two men’s eyes prowled James and Olivia. Silence clung to the air. James hoisted himself onto his feet. Olivia followed. The men’s eyes calculated James’ every movement—he wondered whether their calculations would return in his favor.
“What were you doing eavesdropping on us?” the second man said. His smooth, ebony skin gleamed with beads of sweat.
“We heard arguing and decided to check it out. You are as much a surprise to us as I’m sure we are to you,” Olivia said.
The tall man recognized Olivia’s British accent. His shoulders slackened.
“My name is Anthony. This is Tomas. How’d you get here?”
“Like I said, we don’t know,” James said. “It was like blinking—one second we were both in different places, and then…well, we were here. How did you get—”
“Why is it so quiet out here… Oh, my goodness! Who are these two?” A young woman appeared in the doorway. She assessed James first, throwing him a furtive smile, then studied Olivia, who drew less interest.
“That’s what we’re trying to find out," Tomas said.
James moved aside and allowed her to pass. As she did, her hand brushed against his leg. Innocent or not, the way it lingered caught him by surprise.
Another
man emerged from the doorway, keeping himself outside arm’s reach of James and Olivia. His wide jaw and flat nose dominated a face chiseled from stone. He projected a calm demeanor that both reassured and frightened James. Tomas and Anthony regarded him with a glance. Everyone fell silent.
James cleared his throat.
“We’ve explored the area around here, too, and we overheard you saying that you came across the wall, or barrier, or whatever it is. So did we. It was bananas—hell, everything is bananas. The fact is, we’re trapped. And even worse, someone or something is after us," James said.
“What do you mean someone is after you?” Tomas said.
“Just before finding this building, we were almost attacked by…” James hesitated for a moment. “By a… I don’t know what it was, but it was ghastly. A girl of about twelve.”
Tomas chuckled.
“You were attacked by a girl? Hah! What are you some little um…how do you say…pussy?” Tomas said.
James let the insult bounce off him, though he took note of it, keeping it filed under Remember to Kick the Shit Out Of.
“Tomas, was it? I would love to see how you’d react to a murderous, decaying, half-dead, zombie girl, covered in filth, and…well, wet. She moved faster than anyone—anything I’ve ever seen.” James shuddered. “Honestly, how Olivia and I got away from it is beyond me, but we ended up in here. That’s when we noticed the numbers on the lockers. They were similar to the numbers on the cards we’d found in our pockets.”
“You have cards, as well?” Anthony said.
“Yup, but it took us some time to uncover the numbers,” James said.
The group grew more and more intent on James’ every word as he relayed their experiences, the initial animosity diluted. Fear begets solidarity.
“The numbers led you to this room, right? B-12?” Anthony said.
James peered at the open door’s window and read B-12—plain as vanilla—though the letters and numbers appeared in reverse, now. It struck him that he and Olivia had been looking in the wrong place all along—not the lockers, but the classrooms.
“Oh, well, look at that,” he said. “Actually, no, we weren’t looking for this room—but now that we’re here, I feel like a dumbass. It’s pretty obvious.”
“Don’t feel too bad. We wouldn’t have known if it weren’t for Keto over there. He’s Japanese,” Anthony said, then lowered his head toward the severe man still in the doorway.
Keto—where do I know that name?
“Sorry, we haven’t met,” James said, nodding to Keto and the woman. “My name is James, and this is Olivia.”
Keto’s eyes, as unperturbed as a rock garden, calmly assessed James. He bowed his head once and then spoke.
“All of the signage I’ve seen thus far has been written in Kanji,” Keto said. The characters found on the cards refer to a classroom and the Japanese god Amida-Nyorai.”
“Japanese god? What kind of god are we talking about, here?” James said.
Keto’s expression grew apprehensive, then he said, “The god of death.”
2
“How comforting,” Olivia said.
“The god of death? What, like the grim reaper?” James said.
“No, not exactly. Buddhists would pray to Amida if a loved one fell ill, believing he had the power not only to take life but to return it,” Keto said.
“Oh, well, that isn’t so bad,” James said.
Keto opened his mouth and closed it without saying a word.
Tomas looked at James. “Is that it, then? You know nothing else?”
“For the most part, yes—oh wait, no! When Olivia and I checked the lockers, we found this.”
He retrieved the small book from his pocket and held it before the group.
“Turns out every locker has one,” James said.
“May I?” Anthony said, reaching his hand out.
James handed it to him. Anthony inspected the front and back covers.
“The character on the front of this book looks familiar. Isn’t that the same as on our cards?” Anthony said, tossing the book to Keto.
Keto caught the book effortlessly and examined the front cover.
“Yes, it is the same,” he said, then opened the book and skimmed the pages.
He ran his fingers down each page, his eyes tracking his hand. When he reached the halfway point, he looked up.
“This is a prayer book, and these are devotional readings. It has been heavily used—especially this page,” Keto said.
“What’s on the page?” Olivia said.
“A single prayer. Would you like me to translate it?” Keto said.
James bobbed his head and saw Olivia and Colette do the same. Tomas and Anthony simply stared.
“Very well. I will do my best.” Keto took a breath and began.
Before thee I sit,
Unbeknownst to the known,
Banish me from your side.
My flesh, my soul, tear them apart.
For I would rather exist not,
Than to remain by your side.
I offer my blood: drink.
I offer my mind: break.
I offer my soul: shatter.
Take these—cast me away.
“All right then—creepy…” James said and shrugged.
“Most of the passages are equally grave.” Keto leafed through the book. “Many more are faded or smudged.”
James tried to move his lips but they resisted him. He glanced at Olivia and wondered what would transpire. He trusted her for reasons he couldn’t explain. New faces surrounded him now—whether they could be trusted, time would tell. For the time being, he strapped himself into the roller coaster.
“Did you find anything in the room?” Olivia said.
“We’ve been searching the room for an hour now and haven't found anything, hon,” Colette said in a southern drawl.
James considered Colette. She bore the same school-girl outfit as Olivia, though the top of her blouse remained unbuttoned: where Olivia chose modesty, Colette pursued the provocative, leaving not two, but four or five buttons undone. Cleavage burst out of her shirt—lace bra protruded from the bulge. Her wavy, blonde hair fell around her shoulders, outlining flawless, milky skin garnished by rosy cheeks and lips. As she opened her mouth to speak, she pierced James with startling blue eyes. His cheeks burned.
Her eyes dazzled, her voice melted—she sounded terribly exciting. James’ loins stirred, and he pleaded with himself to wait for another place and time. He cleared his throat.
“Mind if we have a look?” he said.
“Go for it, but don't get your hopes up,” Tomas said.
Olivia entered the classroom before James and noticed floor-to-ceiling windows, but otherwise found the room typical. A grid of desks faced the entrance’s wall, on which a wide, blank whiteboard ran from end to end. A series of bookshelves sat against the sidewall farthest from them—these held a multicolored array of books, which caught James’ attention. He crossed to the shelves while Olivia inspected the far wall, which contained a few pin-up boards and a teacher’s desk. From the ceiling dangled unlit halogen light canisters suspended from thin wires. James considered the soft glow filtering through the large windows and wondered why the sun hadn’t set.
James perused the catalogue of books on the top shelf and discovered textbook hardcovers, many softcovers, some tall, some wide, all in Japanese, except for a narrow selection of English literature books.
“Huh, Brave New World… I love this book.” James said.
He moved to the second shelf, then the third, and so on, until there wasn’t a book left to investigate. Nothing struck him as conspicuous, though a peculiar gap existed within a set of tightly packed books on the bottom shelf. He withdrew the book beside the gap, leafed through ten thin pages and returned it.
“That’s odd. Hey…um…Keto? Can you come here for a sec?” James said.
Keto, who had been observing them from the doorway, crossed
the room and crouched beside James.
“What kind of books are these?” James said, pointing to the gapped set.
Keto pulled one of the books from the shelf and peered at the cover. He repeated this with another, then looked at James.
“These are prayer books for gods within Shinto Buddhism,” he said.
“Is the Amida book among them?”
“I do not see it.”
“Thought so—can you return the Amida book to me please?” James said.
Keto obliged. James placed the books on the shelf in the order they had been in initially and then slid the Amida book from the locker into the vacancy.
Click.
“Whoa! Did you hear that? Please tell me you heard that,” James said.
Keto nodded. James’ exclamations had attracted the rest of the group, who collected around them.
“What did you do?” Anthony said.
“I think the sound came from behind this bookshelf. Let’s try and move it,” James said.
He wrapped his hands around the bottom-rear of the bookshelf and pulled—the thick, dark wood resisted his efforts. Anthony gripped the bookshelf up higher and pulled with James.
“On three…” James said.
They pulled.
It awarded them a centimeter’s movement.
James started flinging books from the heavy shelves—the group joined him—and when the shelves were barren, Anthony and James resumed their labor, this time with Tomas and Keto assuming positions on the opposing side.
“Okay, we got this. On three…” James said.
After a flurry of passionate grunts and groans, the bookshelf surrendered, revealing a door. Not much of a door—more an inset, circular handle, flush with the wall.
“What the…” James said. “Is this some kind of hidden entrance? You can barely see an outline.”
“Whoever used it probably wanted it that way,” Olivia said.
Before James could respond, a blood-curdling scream echoed from the hall outside.
3
Theo’s head hung like a sunken ship. His fingers had left chilly impressions in his temples and the onset of a migraine bullied the backsides of his eyeballs—sullen stares from the room confirmed that his demeanor had infected the monitoring station.
Modern Rituals Page 5
