by M. C. Atwood
“I am so out of here,” I say, but I don’t move. Because no fucking way am I going anywhere by myself. I don’t know what’s going on, but I want to be able to throw other people in front of me if I have to.
And then I see it.
The knight’s head in the glass case moves and looks straight at me.
I’m the only one facing it. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t even think. I just open my mouth and put my hand over it and then point.
Everyone turns around and the knight in the glass case slams his hand against the glass. The metal on glass screeches and the whole case reverberates.
Violet screams. I back up against the wall. On the other side of the knight, another knight in the space where the scene is set up takes a step forward and turns its head toward us slow, like a creepy-ass praying mantis I once saw. The rusty sound of ancient metal scraping along the walls.
Paul, looking around wildly, says, “Is this animatronic or something? Are these robots? Is this House like a haunted house or something?” His voice is shaky and he goes up an octave with every sentence like a fucking girl.
More knee-high things run past us and one knocks me over. I splat up against the wall and the thing in front of me pauses.
It stands in front of me, little mouth fixed in a smile and unblinking marble eyes taking me in.
It’s a doll. A fucking doll. And it’s . . . moving?
Gretchen makes a grunt sound and I look up just in time to see her kick one of the dolls. It’s a small doll with a Victorian dress and it flies near me and thwumps against the wall. It gets up, stares with dead eyes at Gretchen, then runs away.
There are footsteps all around now. Little things run by us in blurs. I hear the creaking of branches and see dolls sitting in the fake trees, their gazes trained down at us. A doll’s face swings down from a branch in front of me and its creepy empty eyes just stare directly in my face. And, oh, the trees seem to be real now . . . so, okay. I don’t think “what the fuck is happening?” is a strong enough question.
I can only get out a squeak when something else catches my attention.
The knight in the scene has moved. No doubt about it. One more step and it’s out of the dark hole where the scene is set up, over the rope, and into the hall. Where we’re standing. The thing has an axe. It tries to get over the rope but can’t lift its leg high enough. I turn toward the knight in the glass case. He hits the glass again; a spider-web crack blossoms around his hand.
That’s enough for all of us.
Without saying a word to each other, we run. Paul first, then Violet, then me, then who gives a shit.
I can feel the whoosh of air as dolls run past me.
We round the corner of the hall and run by a storefront-looking place with glass blown out of it. Our feet start crunching glass and we all have to slow down. In the room there are other dolls. One is in a carriage, its face dirty and one eye open. It raises up one arm. The other arm gets stuck in the carriage and just falls off. This can’t be real. Who do I pay to get me out of this nightmare?
No time to think about that, though: when I hear the sound of glass crashing, I run so fast, I almost knock over Paul and run over his damn body.
PAUL
It’s a dream . . . It’s a dream . . . To die, to sleep . . . It’s just a goddamn dream.
I’mnotcrazyI’mnotcrazyI’mnotcrazy.
It has to be a joke. Someone has to be messing with us.
But I decide to run anyway. Just in case. And Violet is scared, so I should, like, try to be a man for her or something.
WHAT. THE. HELL. IS. HAPPENING?
I am in front of everyone sprinting down the hall and I want to turn around to make sure Violet is okay, but after the second sound of glass shattering I decide to assume she’s back there somewhere and women are whole human beings and can take care of themselves and I wouldn’t want to offend her so I run faster.
I run into the next room, which is small and mostly empty, and decide with a glance that it looks safe enough to stop. At least there are no knights or dolls or anything.
Dolls. I’m now afraid of dolls. Jesus.
Dylan brings up the rear and we are all breathing fast but the guy looks especially bad. He weighs probably 120 pounds soaking wet, but he doesn’t look like he gets out much. When he clears the doorway, Gretchen finds the door—one of those pocket doors where it slides into place—and slams it shut, turning the tiny little lock.
Awesome. That will totally keep out, you know, the murderous knights after us.
I always wanted to see real knights in action. But this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.
This is straight up bullshit.
That’s so good I decide to say it out loud. “This is straight up bullshit!”
Ashley starts pacing and says, “I have to get out of here! I have things to do. This is not the way I’m supposed to die. This is not the way!” She is twisting her hair and every third step her ankle twists and she stumbles on her heel, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
Dylan says, “Uh, dudette is losing it.”
Ashley stops and turns to him. “OF COURSE I’M LOSING IT YOU TWEAKER ASSHOLE WASTE OF A HUMAN BEING!”
No one talks because Gretchen’s face freezes the whole room. She steps in front of Dylan and stands face to face with Ashley. She looks like she might bite her. “Listen carefully, you piece of shit. You need to step off now.” Gretchen’s voice is low but a slight tremor travels through it. She might really kill her. Dylan says softly, “Babe . . .” I should say something, but I’m stuck to the floor. Better not to get involved.
But then something moves at the other end of the room. A mechanical click happens and a whirring sound fills the room.
I jump and Violet lets out a little shriek.
At the end of the room, a wooden box sits at eye level on a podium-like thing. Something moves in there, the same sounds clicking and whirring methodically, over and over. It’s a scene. A tiny scene.
We move toward it and I look inside. It’s a bedroom like in a dollhouse, but there is a sleeping guy on a bed that wakes up and then sits up, turning his head toward us, then lying back down to sleep. When he lies down, a skeleton pops out of a tiny grandfather clock, and the closet opens and a demon flies out, then back in.
This happens over and over. Click, wakes up and looks at us; click, snap, skeleton pops out of clock. Click, whir, demon flies back and forth.
Click.
Snap.
Whir.
We are all staring at the box and I feel Violet come up beside me. She lays her head lightly on my shoulder and despite the past 20 minutes, I think I might pass out from happiness. Her breath moves my sleeve, just a little bit, but I feel every brush against my skin. Click snap whir. Her breath is hot, and then my shirt is cold. Hot and then cold.
Click.
Snap.
Whir.
The sound is the only thing in the room.
Everyone’s breath is slow now. No one moves.
“It’s called ‘The Sleeper.’ A treatise on how you humans see what you want to see and close your eyes to the rest.”
Violet jumps back and our group breaks up like someone rolled a bowling ball through us.
I snap my head back and to the left because that’s where the voice comes from, and I see two red eyes in the corner near the pocket door. I back up into the box with the scene playing out.
Click, snap, whir.
Gretchen, her voice shaky, says, “Who are you?”
Violet steps forward, her big brown eyes hopeful. “Are you with the House? Can you get us out?”
Ashley takes two steps forward and jabs a finger in the direction of the voice, her purse jabbing with her, “Listen, I’m going to sue this place!”
But then the thing in the corner steps
out. More like, it climbs down from the wall.
And I almost piss my pants.
The thing says, “I suppose you could say I am with the House.” It smiles but it’s like no smile I’ve ever seen before. And no smile I ever want to see again.
GRETCHEN
I am clutching my monster bag in front of me like it’s going to protect me from whatever the holy fuck this thing is in front of me. I let go of the bag slowly and it falls on my hip.
Don’t show any weakness.
The thing in front of us looks human. Like a human male. Sort of. He’s wearing a really old-fashioned tuxedo; angles cut perfectly to fit his long, thin frame, his limbs so skinny they look like spider legs. Long black tailcoat, white vest, bow tie, top hat with some sort of pattern I can’t make out on it. And he holds a cane. His face glows white in the dark room and his whole body stands out against the wood-paneled wall. He’s sort of blurry, like he’s vibrating—I can’t get a beat on his exact features. He twirls his cane and then takes his top hat off and bows. His black, shiny hair doesn’t move. In fact, the movement is so fast it makes me jump.
As he stands back up slow, his eyes train on me. They are red eyes. Not like bloodshot—his pupils, irises, everything are red. “What do you think of my suit, Gretchen? A little expensive for you, perhaps? Too old-fashioned? Never mind. I wanted to look sharp for our first meeting. I’ve been waiting for you, you see. We all have.” He smiles his inhuman smile at us. His teeth are pointed, like a shark’s.
I clutch the monster bag in front of me again and step back.
No one says anything. The thing in front of us twirls his cane. The whole room vibrates like a movie projector gone wrong. The scene of the guy in the bed is going faster and faster.
He takes another bow. “Welcome, you five dear souls, to my collection. And I suppose it would be rude not to thank you for coming.” He looks around like he’s expecting us to say something. I feel someone near my elbow and I start like an electric shock hit me, but it’s just Dylan. I take a quick look around and see that the five of us have inched closer to each other. We are now one big group of fear. Ashley’s perfume mixes with the musty smell of sweat and bodies.
The guy—the thing, the monster, whatever he is—starts twirling his cane again.
“We’re going to play a game now, you and me.” He thumps his cane on the floor and we all jump. “Though, I should warn you: the House always wins. And I, my dear children, am the House.”
He takes a long moment to look at each one of us, fully. Something on my insides feels raw and scraped. My stomach roils, like I’m growing an instantaneous ulcer. The smell of rot and decay fills the room.
“But fear not,” he adds. “Though you have no choice to play, I am not entirely without mercy. Unlike real life, you will have a chance to make it. I am not a monster, after all.” A smile crawls up his face and all of us take a step back. “You are wondering about rules, yes? Indeed. For what is a game without rules?”
“What if we don’t want to play?” Violet murmurs.
If he hears her, he ignores her. “My first rule is this: though I can take you at any time, I will not interfere. Everyone—every object, every soul—in this House makes choices here. I shall neither hinder nor help.” He twirls his cane again and begins walking in a jerky, horror-movie way. “For what is a win unearned? Unsatisfying, I have found. And deeply boring. Your lives taken with no struggle . . . well. Where is the fun in that?”
He sighs. I can smell his rotting breath. Ashley makes a small, strangled sound.
“So, you have a chance, my dear Five. All is not lost for you. Yet. Your task in this game, you ask? Your task is very simple. Get out of here alive and intact. If you can do that . . .” He bows with a huge flourish. “You win.” Then he straightens. “If you cannot,” and now his eyes are like pits of dark, “I win. And you become mine. Part of my collection, forever.”
Silence. A shudder runs through my body.
He says casually, “Any questions?”
My mind is hamster-wheeling and I can’t slow it down. Finally, I swallow and say harsher than I mean to, “What does that mean?” Then I add because now I can’t seem to stop, “How do you know my name? What game? Why us?”
Why did he mention the expensive part?
The thing smiles and starts jerking around the room again. His body streaks like a watercolor painting smearing. Like part of him has to catch up with the other part. We turn as one to watch him circle.
“I know all your names. Poor Gretchen. Jo—I mean, Dylan. Lord Paul. Ashley, the Lover. And, of course, the adventurous Violet.” He winks at us and then tips his hat but keeps moving around the room. “I know what potential you have, what potential for my collection. You interest me. You are . . . complicated, yet so simple. I have no doubts you will succumb to my game.” He stops suddenly and bows. “You’ll fit right in here.”
I feel Ashley move and hear her say, “Ew.” She moves closer to the thing and says, “Listen, psycho. I don’t know who you think you are, but you better let us out of here or my father—”
The thing stops fast and Ashley shuts up. He says, his long fingers stroking the top of his cane, “Who am I? Oh no, dear Ashley. I think the question most certainly is ‘who are YOU?’” The thing chuckles and cocks his head. “To your second point, I shall indeed let you out of here, if you can make it to the end. And while I won’t stop you or interfere . . . well, you’ll find the inhabitants here a bit . . . more engaged than I am.” He giggles and his laugh seems to circle in front of him and run around the room, too.
Paul says, “Is there something in here that wants to . . . kill us?”
Besides this freaky ass-wad in front of us, Paul?
The thing stops again and then flicks his head to the pocket door. Suddenly, we hear the squeak of metal on metal again and something pounds on the door—one solid, heavy pound. We back away from the door together, but that brings us closer to the thing so I whirl around and the thing flicks his hand up in a “stop” motion. The pounding and metal stop.
“Very few things do not,” says the thing. The demon. Or whatever it is. Then his lips curl. “I will say, though, some are less inclined toward destruction and still fight the good fight. However pointless. They are cursed by that which turns all poor souls into raving lunatics: hope.”
He looks at his fingernails again, which are really just talons. “Anyway, of course, a perfect Five is my hope for my collection. But I will say this. It may be that not all of you can make it out. It may be that only some of you can win. If I were you . . .” and then he stops to do a little giggle again, “well, I’d make sure I was one who did.” He looks up at us again and his red eyes swirl. “Survival of the fittest and all that.”
I say, my voice shaking, too, “What if we win? What happens then?”
The thing raises his eyebrows like he hasn’t even considered it. “Oh. I guess you get . . . your pathetic little lives and lies back.” He shrugs. “I haven’t really thought about it, to be perfectly honest, dearest Gretchen.” He looks at me almost kindly. “That’s just a darling question, though.” He continues moving around the room, “But now I’m afraid anything else I tell you will ruin the surprise and we can’t have that, can we? So, my dears, I leave you to discover the infinite treasures here by yourselves.”
Then he giggles again and stops by the scene of The Sleeper, which is winding down like a toy running low on batteries.
He says, “Good luck, dearest Five. I look forward to seeing you soon.” He giggles then wiggles his fingers at us. “Bye-bye.”
And with a pop, he—the man, the thing, the monster—is gone.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding in.
The scene in The Sleeper has stopped. The skeleton and demon are permanently out of their hiding spots.
No one speaks for a full minute. Vio
let whimpers and Paul bends down, putting his hands on his knees like he’s catching his breath.
Dylan says, “Holy bejesus, please let us out of here what the fuck was that thing what the fuck,” in one continuous monotone.
Ashley says, “What just happened? Who was that? WHAT was that?”
Paul swallows and stands up. “Whatever that thing was, it’s pretty clear we have to keep going. We need to get out. And I don’t think we can go back.” As if in answer, another loud thump knocks against the door.
I say, my voice smaller than usual, “That thing wasn’t human.”
Ashley says, “Duh.” But her voice is small, too.
Violet, her voice quiet but fast and intense, says, “Um, maybe we could try the door to the Wheel House part again. Maybe this is all a joke or something. Maybe we just need to go get a House employee and have them open the door. We should try our cell phones again—”
She doesn’t get a chance to finish her sentence. The sharp crack of an axe chopping through wood interrupts her.
DYLAN
The Sleeper has started its clicking thingy again, but this time the little douchetroll laughs, shrill, like a freak maniac. Another axe hit splinters the wood.
I grab Gretch’s monster bag and we fly through to the next room of the House. We are bringing up the rear and no thank you, I do not want to be the caboose of this hell train so I pull Gretch along, but she is dragging. She is looking for the door of this next room. I let go of her bag and let her do it. She finds another pocket door and slams it shut just as we hear a mad crash of wood and the creep of metal.
Jesus, oh help me, Jesus.
Who knew all it took was a demon House to finally make me pray for real?
The group stops as a shitload of glass crashes at both ends of this new room we’re in. I hear a horse’s whinny. And then jangly calliope music fills the entire room, like a GD joke.
But below all that, I hear a growl.
We are in the Streets of Yore, a part of the House I loved as a kid. Gretch would love it, too, if it weren’t for the fact that there are dolls running around now—dozens and dozens more than in the Wheel House. Plus there’s a dog. It stands in front of us with its fur raised up, foam bearding its mouth. Rabid? Yes. I would have to say yes.
