Horrorscape

by Nenia Campbell

  “…I don't think cozying up to GM is going to help your situation…”

  “Jason, fuck off. I don't need your advice.”

  “I've seen the way you look at him. I'm sure he does, too. But he's interested in someone else. Someone who, by the looks of things, isn't you.”

  Is he talking about me?

  “That's all you've got?” she said at last. “Watch me. All I have to do is get him alone for five minutes and I'll have him on his knees — ”

  “It's a big house, Charles, but not that big. You know I'm right. You should have been able to corner him by now, but you haven't. He's a wily one, and he doesn't want to be found. Which, by the way, proves my point.”

  “What point? You think he likes her? That little girl?”

  “Like is the wrong word for it.”

  “What, you mean you've been talking to him?”

  “Maybe,” said Jason.

  “About what? When?”

  “It'll cost you.”

  There was a slight pounding noise, like a hand smacking the wall. “And what do you want?”

  “I want your one clue for the papers GM gave us,” Jason added carelessly, “That's all.”

  “Fine.”

  “Bottom line is, GM asked me to do a little favor for him earlier this round.”

  “What kind of favor?”

  “He wanted to get Val alone. Then he told me exactly what to say to ensure that she kept her mouth shut.”

  Oh my God, I knew it. I knew it—

  “Why would he do that?”

  “I don't know, he didn't say. He's not much of a conversationalist. But I'm sure you can take a guess.”

  “Fucking bitch.” Charlie drew in a ragged breath. “I should have known, after I saw her all over him in one of the spare rooms downstairs. That little skank.”

  “I think they have history together.” She could hear the smirk in his voice when he added, “Or maybe chemistry.”

  “She's about to be history,” Charlie snapped. “Ugh! I can't believe her. What else did GM say? Anything useful?”

  “Nothing about you, if that's what you're wondering. Apart from that, no, not really. I know he doesn't like Lisa or James. Now my clue?”

  “That was nothing.”

  “It's the best you're going to get.”

  Charlie sighed, conveying dissatisfaction perfectly. “She's on the black team, you vampire. Are you happy now?”

  For the first time Jason seemed caught off-guard. “Is it Val?” Charlie must have shaken her head because he went on, in a lower voice, “Lisa? The blonde?”

  Lisa? She shifted her weight, trying to hear better, and her foot came down on a loose floorboard. Squeak. Val's eyes widened in mute horror. She half-turned in the direction of the staircase.

  The voices in the other room had fallen silent.

  “Did you hear something?”

  Val shrank back against the wall.

  “Probably the house settling. The boards are old. What's the matter? Scared?”

  “I thought someone might be listening.”

  Val's hand tightened around the doorknob, which slipped against her sweaty palms. She stared at the brass circle dumbly before turning her wrist. Oh god. What if it was locked? She'd never even considered that. Hell, she never imagined that she'd be hunted down in one of the corridors like a frightened rabbit. To her relief, the door opened easily. She slipped inside, hearing Jason's footsteps round the bend in the hall, inches away from where she had been standing moments before.

  The footsteps paused. She could hear the rustle of their clothing as they studied the empty hallway, imagine them studying the seemingly endless line of doors. Charlie snorted. “It's empty. You must be hearing things. There's nothing here.”

  Val took a step away from the door…and landed right on another board.

  “I heard it again.” One of the doors eased open. Not hers—but close. Too close. “Over here.”

  “Maybe,” Charlie agreed, also taking a step forward.

  Val's concentration had narrowed so much that it took her a moment to recognize the room. It was a bedroom; the one GM had locked her in during penalty round. The chess set was a dead giveaway—although it looked like someone had been playing with the board; it was slightly off-center and there were pieces scattered all over the table and floor.

  She frowned. She distinctly remembered GM locking the door. No time to dwell on that now.

  “Lisa?” Jason called softly, with the menace of a prowling cat. He paused, “Val? James?”

  “If it is them, do you seriously think they're going to answer?”

  Val walked over to the door, still cleverly hidden by that large poster, and walked through, almost crying in relief as she stepped into that musty old office. Thank you. She made sure to test each board carefully as she eased her way towards the main door, going against all instincts that told her to run, and fast. A desperate little voice told her that she didn't want to get caught.

  Not by them.

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  James woke up submerged in total darkness.

  Everything looked blurred. He blinked a few times, until his vision adjusted. He could make out a faint, blue light that hurt to look at, even at that very low setting. What happened? He looked around the room, trying to come up with an answer, but it was too hard to concentrate with that constant throbbing…

  Wait.

  Pain.

  He'd been walking through the corridors searching for Val and GM had…had clobbered him over the head with something hard and blunt. James blinked, as the anger came back full-force. That asshole.

  He tried to reach up, to get an estimate of the damage, but his arms remained stiffly at his sides. Immobile. Understanding pierced through the fog. He'd been tied to a chair. The harder he struggled against his bonds, the tighter they became. Slipknots. Someone had gone through a lot of trouble to make sure he could not get away.

  James wet his cracked lips and glanced around the room again. The dim glow revealed the outlines of glass tanks. Aquariums. He knew they contained water because of the shimmery undulations on the wall. He thought he could see small shadows flitting around inside.

  He jerked forward against his bonds when something plastic brushed against his neck. The wooden legs of the chair squeaked indignantly as he yelped, “What the fuck?”

  A low, humorless laugh sounded from his right. “Welcome to the Inquisition.”

  Bright light flashed into his face. James yelled again, in pain and surprise, twisting his face away as purple and green splotches danced behind his closed eyes.

  “Untie me, you faggot,” James bit out through clenched teeth. “I know this isn't part of the game.”

  “How little you know.”

  James let several minutes go by before he opened his eyes. As his vision gradually became re-accustomed to the darkness, he thought he could make out his host's thin, white-clad frame from somewhere to his right—but the figure disappeared, making him wonder if it was simply an afterimage.

  There was a strange, cottony taste in his mouth and his head ached worse than ever. James tried again, almost choking on the words, “What do you want?”

  “Nothing much,” GM said, tracing figure eight patterns on the ceiling with the beam, “Just answers.”

  James stared at the wavering light. Who would have thought that the flickering beam of a flashlight could be so menacing? “To what?”

  “Questions, of course.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  Simple questions.” The chair creaked as GM placed a boot on one of the wooden rungs, tipping the chair back a few inches. “I'm sure even you'll be able to answer them.”

  “Fuck you.”

  The sole of GM's boot hit the floor with a heavy thud, upsetting the chair's balance, and suddenly James was falling. The air rushed past his body, his stomach leaped into his throat. There was a loud crash. Pain arced up his arms, which were still tied behin
d the chair, and his head, which was still tender. He heard a ragged gasp and realized, with a jolt, that it was his.

  The light stopped moving. James felt the floorboards near him groan as GM walked around him. “James, please, let's not be…shall we say…difficult.”

  “Fuck,” he wheezed. James shook his head, and immediately regretted it as pain bolted down his neck. “Where's Val?”

  “Ah, yes, Val.” The flashlight beam jolted as GM picked the flashlight back up. “She cares a lot about you.”

  “Where is my girlfriend?”

  “Do you care about her?”

  It couldn't be, thought James. Hit List? “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

  “I can assure you I'm quite serious.” He paused. “One might even say I'm…dead serious.” There was a thud, the scraping of plastic on wood, and then total silence. James listened intently. All he could hear was the faint buzz of the filters.

  He's insane.

  A sudden rush of air, followed by a prickling iciness was the only warning he got. Seconds later, he felt a hand dig into his shoulder. James jolted upright and nearly cut himself on the sharp edge.

  “Well, James? Do you care about her? Or perhaps you're more concerned about yourself? I can't say I blame you.”

  James opened his mouth—but no words came out.

  “I see,” GM said, as if there had been no pause, “It appears I have gone over your capacity for reason and logic. Perhaps,” and here, the pressure on the blade increased, “a different question is in order.”

  He didn't dare swallow, let alone release the insult that had risen to the tip of his tongue—hell, he could barely breathe. “Holy shit. It's you—it's you, isn't it? Hit List—”

  “Did I give you permission to talk?” He dug his fingers into the fleshy part of James's shoulder, drawing a yelp. His warm breath stung James's eyes. “Do you love her?”

  “Go to hell, you sick fuck.”

  “I don't think so.” James felt the hand on his shoulder tighten before he felt the pain; a sharp sting, followed by an immediate burning sensation that made his eyes water as a thin line of blood trickled down his neck. “No, I really don't. But if you don't being a bit more helpful, you will, James. I promise you. And I think I might start by digging out your fingernails, one by one.”

  “No.” James choked on the bile rising in his throat. This isn't happening. This is not happening. “Please. Don't hurt me.”

  “Do you love her?”

  “No…no, I don't.” It was the first time he had ever admitted it, even to himself.

  “Did you have her? Fuck her?” GM—Hit List—growled, the raw emotion in his voice as caustic as acid. “Have you ever made her come?”

  James flinched when he felt the knife point come to rest on the damp crotch of his jeans. His penis shriveled up, as though ashamed. “No,” he whimpered. “Never. I wanted to but—but she wouldn't let me. Please—”

  “So you had the other one instead,” GM mused. “Lisa?” James flinched. “Isn't that right, James?”

  “How…how could you possibly know that?”

  The other boy seemed to regard him in the darkness. Silence spanned, broken only by James's choked sobbing.

  “Foolish boy.” Slowly, reluctantly, he retracted the blade and James could breathe again. A few seconds later, he heard the groan of the hinges, the clap of footsteps, and the muted click of the door. Then GM was gone—and James threw up.

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  Lisa punched in the seven digit number on her cell phone, frowning when the call didn't go through. 'No service.' She tried pulling out the antennae and then she turned towards Blake, who had gone curiously silent. “Do you have any reception?”

  He shook his head slowly. “I don't have a cell phone. How many bars do you have?”

  “Two—and I just charged it this morning.” She threw down her arm in disgust, letting the jeweled charm whack against the chrome. “I'm gonna try going outside. Maybe it's something in the house. Something blocking the airwaves,” she added, in an effort to sound smarter.

  “I think that's illegal.”

  Lisa looked at him sharply to see if he was making fun of her but he simply returned her gaze, with the wide, innocent stare of a beagle. “Whatever,” she said, “It's annoying.”

  The two of them walked in silence down the hallway. Blake was only about an inch or two taller than she was, so it made for a comfortable pace—usually, Lisa had to half-run to keep up with James' brisk, hurried strides. This gave her time to observe the house.

  Most of the furniture was made of dark wood, stained oak or mahogany, with candy-colored faces and other impersonal touches artistically scattered around the room. Lisa was impressed, in spite of herself. She'd seen a vase just like that one go for a couple hundred at an antique show on TV.

  “So,” Blake began hesitantly, “What does this mean?”

  “What does what mean?”

  Blake took off his glasses and started polishing them on the hem of his shirt. Lisa winced. That fabric would only smear whatever gunk he had gotten on the lenses. Blake seemed satisfied with the results, however, and replaced them, pausing to give her a pointed look over the frames.

  The two reached the main doors shortly after, distinguishable by the thick oak panels and inlaid glass windows. Lisa tried the polished brass handle. Click. “What is wrong with this door?” she growled, giving the handle a ferocious twist. “Open!”

  A line had formed between Blake's tawny eyebrows. “Is it locked?”

  “No—just—jammed. How could it be—locked? It worked well enough when we—uh—came in!”

  “Well, if it is locked, we can ask GM to open it for us,” Blake suggested, though the line hadn't disappeared. “We should probably leave soon, anyway. Val has an early curfew, right?”

  “Yeah, one.” Lisa turned back towards the parlor. She paused. “I think GM might be stalking Val.”

  “You might be on to something there. She told me she thought he was dangerous, right before the first game. Seemed scared stiff about it, too, though she hasn't said anything since. Have you talked to her about it?”

  “No, and that's the thing. I think that's why I haven't been able to talk to her. I think GM purposely—”

  Blake shook his head slightly. Lisa cut off mid-speech, slowly turning around, brown eyes rooted to the door. Or, more specifically, to the man leaning against its frame.

  “Hello, Lisa,” he said, nodding briefly at Blake, “What a nice surprise. I was just about to call everyone back for the next round.” He paused. “Perhaps you'll assist me.”

  Blake exchanged a look with Lisa. It was clear he wanted to do no such thing.

  “No, that's all right,” she said quickly, “We're actually still looking for James and Val.” Perhaps you've seen them?

  As Lisa watched, his face shifted from halting politeness to the flat, calculating look of a raptor.

  “Yeah,” Blake said slowly, grabbing her wrist. “So we'll just be going now…”

  GM swiftly blocked their exit with one graceful movement; his smile was like poison.

  “Oh, but I insist.”

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  Val leaned against the carved banister, pausing to catch her breath. That was too close.

  She took one last giant breath and headed for the parlor room. She'd wait in there until the next round started. That “secret” doorway in the grandmaster's bedroom had allowed her to double back to the main hallway and beat Jason and Charlie to the staircase. The two white players were probably still looking for her…she hadn't heard their footsteps. Maybe they'd gotten lost.

  No, her luck wasn't that good.

  Val opened the parlor door, pausing when she heard the voices. She could make out Blake's tenor and Lisa's soprano—taut and thin, like the bowstring of a violin. She sounded strange. Val pushed through the door and froze when she realized who Blake and Lisa were talking to.

  “Why, hello Val,”
GM said, with a curved smile. She forced herself not to watch his fingers as he smoothed out the creases in his shirt. “How nice of you to join us.”

  “W-what's going on?” She was looking at Lisa but it was GM that answered.

  “We're just starting middlegame.”

  “But I haven't found James, yet.”

  “What a pity that is,” he said.

  Val stared at his departing back, with the bitter taste of dread lingering in the back of her throat. Before she could think of an appropriate response, though, the door burst open and a breathless Charlie and Jason stumbled through.

  Brent arrived a few minutes later. He'd seen Charlie and Jason tearing through the library and decided to follow. “Am I late?” he asked, studying the assembled teens nervously.

  “No,” said GM. “You're right on time.”

  Val turned around in her seat, meeting Lisa's eyes. “Where have you guys been?”

  “We were about to look for you and James when he burst through the door,” Lisa said, nodding at GM, “He scared the hell out of Blake and me. The look on his face—” She shuddered delicately.

  “It was as if he was considering how our heads would look hanging over his mantle,” Blake said.

  “I'm really starting to get freaked out, Val. I tried to call my mom, and couldn't get any reception. So I decide to go outside and see if my phone worked there.” Lisa looked around, then added in a hush, “The front door was locked.”

  “Locked?”

  “I think Lisa's right,” Blake said, sitting up, “We're alone here, in case you haven't noticed. The fact that our cell phones don't work could be chalked up to architectural flaws”—his tone suggested he doubted this “—but the locked door, and the fact that there isn't a telephone in sight, is another thing altogether.”

  “And James is still missing.”

  Oh no. So it was already too late; her friends were in danger. Gavin hadn't bothered keeping his word. Then neither will I. “Guys—there's something I need to tell you—”

  “Welcome back,” GM said, and Val hastily stopped talking. “This next round is called middlegame. In chess, this signifies the beginning of the end.”