The Vivisectionist

by Ike Hamill

  He shifted from foot to foot. He didn't see any way through, and didn't want to be around if the cat's owner came back. Reluctantly, he decided to leave. On his way out, a reflection of the dim moonlight stopped him. Behind the door, he found another lever. This one had a black handle with a shiny silver trigger at its grip. It came up almost to the boy's chest.

  He gripped it with both hands and pulled. The action was stiff, but not too hard and he pulled the handle evenly down to about waist level when it clicked and the tension was relieved. He let go and trotted back over to the gate to see if there was any difference. The center bars had raised — he was almost sure. With two fingers, he measured the gap so he would know for sure next time. He waved to the cat and ran back to the lever.

  The lever moved more easily this time and he clicked it again and ran back to the bars. They were definitely higher. He could fit three fingers in the gap with room to spare. That was all the proof he needed. He returned and pulled the lever for three more clicks. Excited, he barely noticed how much noise he made.

  On his fourth click in a row — sixth overall — a different sound stopped him. It was a low growl; he spun and saw the cats eyes fixed on him. The boy approached cautiously. He wasn’t afraid of cats, but this sound was menacing. With his eyes locked on the cat, he felt under the gate. He had made several inches of progress, but he saw the source of the cat’s anger. It hunched down under the tips of a grid of spikes that had descended into the cage.

  He got down and looked closely. It looked like the spikes had dropped the same distance as the bars had raised, and he instantly knew that it was no coincidence.

  The boy heard a voice in his head. It was his mom telling him not to be mean to the squirrels. She had caught him throwing rocks at squirrels in the back yard when he was little. He thought it wrong to hurt the cat and knew he must not pull the lever again. A second voice in his head, an even more authoritative voice, cautioned him that the cat would make a racket as those spikes lowered.

  He tried to decide what to do. He suddenly realized that he didn’t have to tell his mom about the cat. Nobody would know; he would never tell. He walked back to the lever and thought about how much more room he would need. He could squeeze through if he pulled another five or six times, but then wondered if he should keep pulling until the cat was out of its misery.

  Still considering, he started pulling.

  The cat howled and he kept pulling.

  Screeching, the cat thrashed. Several spikes pierced it, but the boy just looked away and kept pulling.

  Click. Click.

  He thought about the crazy man cutting open his leg.

  Click.

  The noise from the cat stopped and the boy scrambled over to the bars and pulled himself under. His left foot dragged through a puddle of warm blood spreading from the cage. He wiped the side of his foot on the floor.

  He collected himself and walked to the door on the far side of the room. He turned the handle and pulled, expecting to see yet another strange room, but instead he found stairs leading down.

  The boy exhaled with relief and started down the stairs.

  CHAPTER 18

  Stephen

  At one in the morning, the boys were halfway to the hotel again. Jack slowed down and commented to Stephen, “I wish this hotel had a ‘save game’ feature, so we wouldn’t have to do all the beginning stuff every time.” Jack swung his dad’s extra golf putter as he walked.

  “I just wish we had headlamps, so we wouldn’t have to carry these flashlights,” remarked Stephen.

  “Yeah, that too. It takes like almost two hours to get through everything and then we’re going to have to worry about turning right around,” said Jack.

  “Yeah, but I like the nighttime trips,” said Stephen. “Seems more fun.”

  “Me too,” said Jack. “It’s electric.”

  “Like Halloween or something.”

  “Exactly,” said Jack.

  **********

  In front of the new button, Jack was ready to try the putter. He held it with both hands. He gripped the shaft just below the rubber handle. Jack was on his knees and Stephen crouched behind him — slightly hunched over in the small passage. He had the blade of the putter lined up with the hand drawn on the switch.

  “Do it,” said Stephen.

  Jack stifled a yawn and pressed the putter to the sensor.

  Nothing happened.

  “Damn it,” said Jack. He pulled out the putter and dropped it on the floor. He slumped back against the wall. “I’m tired, and it’s the middle of the night, and we can’t even get past this stupid thing.”

  “We could go back to the pole,” said Stephen, reminding Jack of the other passage they had dismissed as too dangerous.

  “We don’t know how we’ll get out if we go that way,” said Jack.

  “We could try putting our hand in this thing and then wedge it open so it won’t close,” suggested Stephen.

  “Are you going to try that?” said Jack. “I’m not.”

  “Well this thing doesn’t respond to something conductive,” said Stephen. “We know that.”

  Jack frowned and bent his head, grasping it with both hands. Stephen sat down and leaned against the opposite wall. Jack had set his flashlight down on the floor. Now it lit his face from underneath and produced a frightening visage.

  “Why don’t we go dig up a body and cut off the arm?” asked Stephen. He had intended to break the foul mood with humor, but succeeded only in giving himself goosebumps.

  “Nah,” said Jack. “Wouldn’t work.”

  Stephen wondered if Jack was seriously considering his joke as an option.

  “I think maybe it’s heat,” said Jack. “Maybe whatever touches it has to be conductive and at body temperature.”

  “We could go experiment with the other panel,” offered Stephen. “The one in the white room.”

  “Hey, that’s a good idea,” said Jack, brightening at last. “C’mon.”

  Jack led the way back through the ducts, up the stairs from the spiral room, and through the attic. As usual with the white room they had to approach slowly — it was so bright that it took a while for their eyes to adjust. They knew from experience that if they rushed into the white room they would be squinting back headaches for several minutes.

  Stephen was about to follow Jack down the ladder when he heard a faint squeaking noise from the corner of the attic. “Hey, Jack,” he called.

  Following his light, Stephen approached the corner of the room. Jack joined him as he discovered a mess of shredded paper and gypsum concealing a dozen pink baby rats.

  “Gross,” said Stephen.

  “That gives me an idea,” said Jack. “Do you have that old sock?”

  “Yeah — why?” asked Stephen.

  “Just give it,” said Jack.

  Taking the sock from Stephen, Jack turned it inside out and put his hand inside. He reached into the nest and grabbed three of the tiny animals. Jack pulled back his hand quickly and turned the sock inside-out, creating a bag of rats.

  “What the hell are you doing?” asked Stephen.

  “I’m thinking the switch needs something conductive and warm,” said Jack. “Maybe even living.”

  “That is seriously twisted,” said Stephen.

  “We’ll see,” said Jack picking up his flashlight and bag. “What if it works?”

  Jack put the end of the sock between his teeth to free up his hand for climbing down the ladder.

  “Dude. That’s sick,” said Stephen. Still at the top of the ladder, Stephen looked down at Jack with a sock full of rats in his mouth. He pretended to wretch.

  Jack remained serious. “Just bring that putter down here,” he said.

  When Stephen joined him in the white room, Jack sat down on the floor and laid out his supplies. He started by tearing off a long hunk of duck tape and sticking it to the blade of the putter. Then, Jack carefully shook one of the baby rats from the sock and twisted th
e end of the sock again so the others would stay put. The baby rat wiggled around on the floor and squeaked. It was about as big as Jack’s thumb.

  Without picking up the rat, Jack rolled it towards the duck tape. Soon, the rat was stuck to the tape which was stuck to the putter. Jack pulled the tape around until the rat was in contact with the metal of the putter and he wrapped the tape to make it secure.

  “See?” said Jack. “Rat on a stick. Cool, huh?”

  “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and just count this as sleep-deprivation. There is nothing cool about a rat on a stick.”

  “Relax,” said Jack, “it’s just a rat, and I’m sure it will be fine.”

  Jack stood up and carried his dad’s putter over to the panel in the wall. He glanced at the struggling rat, and then carefully inserted it into the hole. When the rat touched the switch, the plastic gates closed and the trap ladder started to descend at the end of the tripwire hall.

  “Yes!” said Jack. He beamed at Stephen.

  “Well that’s something you don’t see every day,” said Stephen. “Hey, how do you know it’s the rat that tripped the switch? What if this switch could have worked with just metal?”

  “Oh, that’s true!” said Jack, still elated. “We have to try without.”

  When he pulled the putter and rat from the hole, the plastic gates withdrew and the sound ceased.

  Kneeling, Jack peeled the tape from the end of the golf club. The tape came off the metal easily, but the rat stuck to the tape. Jack grabbed the ends of the piece of tape and pulled them apart. The fragile skin of baby rat began to tear as Jack attempted to pull off the tape.

  “Oops,” said Jack. “That’s not good.” He sat down with the injured rat and tried to remove the tape without hurting it further.

  “Forget it,” said Stephen. “You can’t get that tape off. He’s going to die.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” said Jack. He put set the rat aside and grabbed the putter again.

  “You’re just going to leave it there?” Stephen was amazed.

  “I’ll put it back in the nest when we go back up,” said Jack.

  “Oh, like that will help?” asked Stephen.

  “Well, what else can I do?” Jack returned to the switch and tried to activate it with just the putter. “Nope, doesn’t work with just metal,” he said.

  Stephen took another look at the pitiful rat and then walked over to the switch with Jack. “Let me try something.” Stephen took the putter from Jack. Instead of trying to use the putter to activate the switch, Stephen turned it around and put the handle between the two plexiglass plates that would collapse to trap the wrist of the person pressing the panel.

  “If we can just stop the things from closing, we won’t get hurt,” said Stephen. He held the putter with his right hand and reached past with his left to touch the switch. When he touched the panel the gates attempted to close, but were thwarted by the handle.

  “See?” asked Stephen. “We can just block the things so we don’t get cut.” He removed his hand and the gates withdrew again.

  “No — it didn’t work,” said Jack. “Do it again.”

  “Why?” asked Stephen.

  “Just check it out,” Jack reached past and put his own hand on the switch, the gates were again blocked by the putter handle. “No noise,” said Jack.

  “What noise?”

  Jack pointed with his free hand — “We should be hearing the ladder dropping. I don’t hear anything.”

  “Oh, so you think that the thing isn’t actually activated unless the plastic gates close together?” asked Stephen.

  “Yup — exactly,” said Jack. Keeping his hand on the switch, Jack pulled the putter from between the gates, allowing them to close. As soon as they touched, Jack and Stephen heard the ladder in the hall start to descend. “So there’s no choice. It has to be warm and conductive and the plastic gates have to close.”

  “Assuming the switches are the same,” said Stephen.

  “Right,” said Jack. After a pause, he said, “Let’s go try it.”

  “What about him,” Stephen pointed at the baby rat stuck to the tape.

  “I’ll put it back in the nest,” said Jack.

  “That’s terrible. What if more of them get stuck to it,” objected Stephen.

  “Okay then, I’ll put it outside,” said Jack. Stephen was just staring at him. “What do you want to do?” asked Jack.

  “Maybe if we soaked the tape in water we could get him free,” said Stephen.

  “It would drown,” said Jack. “Besides, it’s already injured, and it probably can’t live away from its mother for much longer.”

  “You’re not supposed to just kill baby animals,” said Stephen. “It’s wrong.”

  “There’s not a whole lot we can do,” said Jack. “And it’s just a rat. I’ll be more careful with the next one.”

  “You’re going to do another one?” Stephen said, shocked. “Knowing that the first one is probably going to die?”

  “I don’t know if this one is going to make it all the way back to the other switch,” said Jack. “We can try.”

  “This sucks. Maybe I’ll just go back to the house and get some sleep,” said Stephen. He turned away from Jack.

  “What? You too?” asked Jack. “Am I the only one that wants to see what’s on the final level of this place?”

  “No. Alright, fine,” said Stephen. He grabbed his stuff and headed over towards the ladder to the attic. “Let’s go then.”

  “Excellent,” said Jack, picking up the taped rat from the floor. “It will just go in here.” he said to the baby rat as he dropped it into the sock. He paused before twisting the top of the sock again, looking at the squirming, confined, rats.

  Stephen was halfway up the ladder and Jack jogged over to catch up.

  **********

  “I’m going to have to use a fresh one,” said Jack.

  By the time they got back to the panel, the baby stuck to the tape had died. Jack attached it to the end of the putter and attempted to use it, but nothing happened. He expected a battle from Stephen at the prospect of sacrificing another rat.

  “Whatever,” Stephen surprised Jack.

  Jack got a fresh piece of tape and pulled another rat from the sock to attach to the putter.

  “Ow! Shit!” yelled Jack. “That thing bit me. I didn’t think they even had teeth.”

  He worked on the rat and putter for a couple of minutes, getting everything perfect. “Okay, here we go,” he said. Jack lifted the putter and put the end with the squirming rat into the hole. “Ready?” Jack asked.

  “Yeah, sure,” said Stephen. He backed up a half step and put his arms out to brace himself on the walls of the small passage.

  Jack slid the putter slowly to the back of the hole and touched the live rat to the center of the panel. The instant the rat touched the surface of the switch, it activated. A loud noise erupted from their right and Jack nearly dropped the putter.

  “Look!” Jack said with his eyes locked on the panel.

  Stephen crept forward and saw that their fears about putting their hand to this panel were well justified. The plexiglass gates above and below the opening had snapped shut, encircling the putter with their razor-sharp edges. Further along, Stephen’s flashlight reflected off kitchen-sharp blades that had collapsed on the putter as well. The hole formed by these blades was only about two inches in diameter.

  “That thing would have cut off your arm,” said Jack, elated. He was nearly shouting to be heard over the racket coming from behind the wall.

  “Jesus! What’s that noise all about?” yelled Stephen. Halfway through his last word, the noise abruptly stopped, and his yell hung in the air.

  “I think it’s like the first button, outside,” said Jack. “Like a barrier behind this wall just moved out of the way.” He pointed to the wall on his right, back a few feet.

  “Well it was a whole lot louder than that first button,” said Ste
phen.

  Jack was still holding the putter in place with his left hand. “Let’s see if we have to keep this here,” he said as he pulled back on the putter. When the rat broke contact with the switch, the plastic and metal gates withdrew, allowing Jack to pull out the putter and rat.

  “Wow, look at that,” said Jack. About a foot from the end of the putter, Jack found a cut in the shaft of the club. “Must be where the blades hit it,” he said.

  “If this is like the first button, wouldn’t you expect that whatever just moved out of the way is on a timer, and is going to shut again?” asked Stephen.

  “Yeah, true,” said Jack. He set the putter down and started examining the wall where the noise had originated. “I know — turn your light off,” said Jack, picking up his light to switch it off as well. The darkness revealed nothing, so they turned the lights back on.

  Jack sat down and braced his back against the wall. With this leverage, he kicked at the opposite wall. It sounded hollow, so he repeated his kicks. “Help me out,” he said to Stephen.

  Stephen sat next to Jack and they timed kicks at the wall in rhythm. “It’s giving,” said Jack. “But it feels like it’s bouncing on something.”

  “Maybe it opens inward?” said Stephen. He reached over and grabbed the roll of tape. Taking about a foot of tape, Stephen wound it sticky-side-out around his hand. He pressed his palm to the section of wall and pulled gently. Pivoting on some internal hinge, the section of plywood came with Stephen’s hand. Once they had an edge to grab, they both pulled and swung the door open. With almost no effort they rotated the the door until it stood completely open, opening to a new passage, but blocking the way they had come.

  “Let me pull it back for a second,” said Stephen. “My backpack is back there.” He grabbed the edge of the door with the tips of his fingers and pulled, but it wouldn’t move.

  “Shit,” said Stephen. “It won’t close again.”

  In their zeal to open the door, they had trapped themselves in a very small area. Their retreat was now blocked by the door they had just opened and the passage ended with the switch they had just activated.