Highway To Hell

by Alex Laybourne

  “How big is this place?” Helen asked, breaking the silence that had fallen between them once again. Their pace had increased ever since they reached the agreement on the safe house theory. They felt much more relaxed and even walked side by side, as if they were old friends out for a stroll.

  Despite the relative comfort that had fallen over them, they were both still uneasy with the strange atmosphere that hung in the corridors. Every corner they turned, every door they walked past, they just couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched.

  “I have no clue; I think it’s as big as they want it to be,” Marcus answered before Helen had finished speaking. It was the same question he had been asking himself since they made the third ninety degree turn. They had walked for a good twenty minutes now, twisting and turning through various corridors, following the light which never wavered or diminished in any way, shape or form.

  “Who are they? If they rescued us then why can’t we see them? What’s going on? Can we leave? If we find a door, I mean,” Helen continued, rattling off half questions which seemed to answer themselves. Marcus didn’t know whether they needed to be answered or not, and so he kept quiet until Helen was finished.

  “We’re trapped here.” It was a simple answer, and when Marcus saw the look of desperation wash over Helen’s face he decided to elaborate. “Someone or something rescued us from Hell, but I don’t think that this is the end of the journey; rather a truck stop if you want to think of it in terms like that. We aren’t being held prisoner, but I don’t think this place wants us to get out. Not just yet.” Marcus unraveled his mind, which had been balled up like a knotted ball of yarn. His answers may not have answered any questions, but Marcus felt better for speaking it, and he could see from Helen’s expression that she felt better for having heard it.

  Helen nodded for a while, contemplating what Marcus had said. “You mean we’re in a maze,” she commented at last.

  III

  A short while later, they stopped walking and stood in the middle of the corridor, both acutely aware of the sudden hunger pangs that had cramped their stomachs.. Helen began to swoon. She put her hand out to steady herself against the wall. The door appeared out of nowhere, as had all the others. Helen fell against the door and was immediately thrown back by a jolt that could only have been electricity. Bright green sparks filled the air. They zigzagged over the surface of the door as if startled.

  “Helen!” Marcus called, rushing over to her. The force of the shock had thrown her into the corridor, where she lay motionless. A faint licking of green sparks drifted over her body in much the same way as it had the door.

  “I’m okay,” she said groggily. She sat, her hair filled with static. Marcus crouched beside her, careful to avoid all contact until the residual charge had gone.

  “Well I guess now we know it’s their maze and we are the mice.” Marcus offered a smile with his words and felt relieved when he saw Helen’s eyes twinkle, the corners of her mouth rise up. A second later and a small giggle escaped her lips. He also saw how her nose wrinkled slightly on the bridge when she smiled. “Do you want to rest a minute?” he asked with genuine concern.

  “No, it’s fine. Let’s keep moving.” Helen stood groggily, speaking like someone recently roused from a deep sleep. “Just don’t let me rest against any more doors,” she said, smiling, as she brushed her hands against her trousers. They both saw green flecks, like dust, fall from her clothing and disappear into the floor.

  Moving at a slower pace, they resumed walking. Helen felt a strange dizziness creep over her but she said nothing. She knew that Marcus was a good guy and on her side, but she wasn’t quite ready to unload everything on him. Like the way she kept seeing Luther every time she closed her eyes for longer than it took to blink. He stood with his razor blade in hand. How he would turn towards her, creeping ever closer each time, as if he planned to jump out of her mind and take her back with him. She also wasn’t ready just yet to divulge that she wasn’t alone, that she carried a baby in her stomach. A living thing that had died with her before it was even large enough to be called a baby. Yet Helen was consumed by the haunting knowledge that her baby was still inside her, that it was alive. She had seen Luther slice her stomach open, she had watched as he pulled the rotting fetus out of the long gash in her abdomen. Helen knew beyond shadow of a doubt that inside her womb, her baby had returned. It was floating in a bag of stagnant amniotic fluid, its body decomposing, rotting away as nature intended – until the green lightning had given it a kick start, brought it back to life and given it a hunger that could not be quenched, a thirst for blood that would be satiated not matter what the cost.

  The beam carried on before them and took one of its now customary and tiresome turns, this time to the left. Both had noticed it followed a simple left-right pattern, only this time when they reached the corner, there was nothing. No new hallway for them to march down, no monotonous continuation of dying colors and moving wallpaper. The swirling effect of the wallpaper – which they were now both certain moved – had given them both a headache, and so they now walked either looking at the beam or at the floor, thus minimizing eye contact with the walls.

  “Great. What does it want from us?” Helen asked before adding, “I’m sorry, I know you don’t have any more answers than I do, I just feel better asking questions. It calms me down; you should have seen me in school.” She smiled.

  “I had noticed, but I don’t mind. I’ve got the same questions in my head, too, and it does good to keep things out in the open.” Marcus retuned the smile. He had a friendly smile; a single glimpse of it was enough to put anyone at ease. Or so Helen thought as she stared and image of her husband Mark flashed in her mind. She felt tears coming, but managed to hold them at bay.

  She and Mark had always been in the same schools, right from primary school. Yet Helen never noticed him until they met several years after high school had ended. It had been a chance meeting that worked out great for both of them. A whirlwind romance followed by a stylish but not too over the top wedding, all within eighteen months. Despite the time that had passed, they both seemed to remember everything about each other. As if their subconscious had been one step ahead of them and decided to take matters into their own hands. They were best friends before they became husband and wife, and had remained so until the end.

  “I guess we just have to wait,” Marcus said. Helen saw he had turned his attention back to the wall, studying it as if it were a piece of art.

  The both stood and stared when, without warning, a crack appeared. It began at the bottom, just above the skirting board. It proceeded to trace its way upwards before taking a ninety degree turn to the right. A little later another right turn was made and the crack hurtled down towards the floor like a rollercoaster on that final descent, the one that everyone simultaneously dreads yet longs for.

  “It’s…” Helen began

  “A door,” Marcus finished.

  They watched as the doorway materialized before their eyes, and to their combined relief there was no sign of any danger, green or any other color. It was just a door, a real, solid wood door. It appeared like world’s largest Polaroid picture being developed.

  “Don’t tell me. We have to go through this one,” Helen said, once again taking the words from Marcus’s mind and making them fact.

  “Looks that way. Besides, we don’t have much choice,” Marcus answered her, gesturing with his head. The hallway was gone; there was no sign of where they had come from; only a black shadow-like cloud that successfully limited the options available to them.

  “What the hell is that?” Helen asked, panicked and unable to keep it hidden any longer.

  “I don’t know, but it started following us not long after you got shocked by the door back there. It could just be coincidence,” Marcus added, realizing that it sounded as though he was placing the blame at Helen’s feet.

  “But what is it? Shadows, is it them?” Helen asked, her words c
oming out so close together it was hard to distinguish between them.

  “Think of it like being trapped in a Mario game,” Marcus said. The strange image popped into his mind. He saw the two of them crashing through the door to find giant mushrooms wandering around and nothing but a thick green drainpipe protruding from the wall on the other side.

  “Great. Then I hope it’s unlocked.” Helen began to panic, her voice higher in pitch. Her eyes had begun to water – not cry – and she could feel her heart thunder like a stallion towards the finish line of the Grand National.

  Marcus reached forward, his hand shaking. The veins in his arms stood thick and proud, tracing their way up his forearms before disappearing beneath his biceps. He knocked on the door; careful, fearful, testing it for any current that might be lying dormant. He felt nothing. The wood felt warm, as if heated.

  “Come on.” Helen hurried him along, trying hard not to scream. She watched the ground disappear behind them. Only a few meters of flooring remained before the black abyss would swallow them. She knew what that meant: it would send them back to Hell… send her back to him.

  Marcus tried the handle. The door wouldn’t budge. He twisted it further and pushed again but got nothing. He pulled, thinking maybe it was all just one big trick, yet the door remained immobile in its frame.

  ‘It won’t budge.” Marcus grimaced as he pushed against the wood with all his strength.

  “Do something. Break it down. You were in the police. Try anything. Hurry!” Helen screamed. The shroud was less than a meter away and she could feel the vacuum grab at her. The pressure of the air around them increased with every second; Helen could feel it crushing her chest. Her entire body felt heavy.

  Marcus crouched down, shifted his weight and launched himself at the door. His shoulder struck and twisted. The sound of it popping out of joint was loud enough for even Helen to hear above her own screaming mind. The door wouldn’t budge.

  “Help us! Somebody, please! I don’t want to go back. Not to him. I can’t take it anymore.” Helen was crying, stinging tears that felt like concentrated acid burning her cheeks, peeling away strips of her flesh as she wept. She kept glancing over her shoulder at the approaching shadow, and that was when she saw him… Luther. He stood – no, floated – in the black center of the void.

  Marcus turned to face the door. He gripped the side of the frame, raised his foot and brought it crashing down against the lock. Once, twice, three times – and finally the door gave way. It flew inwards, crashing against the wall. The lock splintered and the frame buckled, causing Marcus to fall into the room, his momentum carrying him forwards. He turned, with reflexes honed through years of police training and gym work. He grabbed Helen by the arm and pulled her through the door just as the void ate the spot where she stood. She fell; her arm slipped through Marcus’s sweaty hands. He grabbed at her again, but felt her slip father away, as if a greater force pulled on her than he could counter.

  “Don’t let me fall. Please… Oh, God, don’t let me go back there, please!” Helen begged, her eyes were wide with fear. She was caught in the threshold, her balance thrown. Leaning backwards, her arms flailed wildly, trying to pull herself forwards. Marcus gritted his teeth, set his feet and pulled her as hard as he could, grabbing hold of the sleeve of her shirt for extra leverage. With one final heave he felt the momentum shift and Helen fell through the doorway. He caught her and they fell backwards into the room, stumbling to keep their balance.

  Marcus hugged her close to him, and Helen hugged him back; her entire body trembled, and the tears she had kept locked away for so long flowed in a tide.

  “It’s okay. I’ve got you; you’re safe now. Look; it’s gone; we’re safe here,” Marcus said, badly shaken himself now that the he had time to reflect on it. He showed Helen that not only had the encroaching void disappeared, but so had the door. Once again they were sealed in a bedroom.

  The room they had been lead into was similar to the one they had just left, its decoration just as sparse. It was the mirror image of the room they had just left. Even the pictures above the bed and in the small alcove were exactly the same. While the decorations were the same, the walls were a pastel yellow, with a matching carpet. The only difference that Marcus saw was that the window was smaller than the one in their first room. It was about half the size and framed by long curtains that stopped just short of the floor.

  “Let’s split up; there has to be an exit,” Marcus whispered to Helen. “I’ll take this side and the window; you have a look along that wall, and see if we can’t find a door or something.” He gestured with his head as he spoke.

  Helen nodded, too shaken to find her voice. Helen ran her hands over the smooth painted finish. The walls felt warm and strange to the touch; they didn’t feel solid, not in the real sense of the word, but rather fluid. Helen had the feeling that if she pushed hard enough she would not break through but fall. And she knew what darkness waited for her.

  “I don’t see anything. Do you?” Helen said once she reached the end of the long sidewall. The room was narrow but deep, unlike their own, which had been square. She looked over at Marcus. She watched him pace up and down, staring at the wall as if he just expected something to happen. She noticed that he never passed the window, stopping each time about a foot or so short. Probably some cop thing, being seen through the window or something, Helen told herself.

  Marcus raised his arm, and without turning to face her he beckoned her to him. From the simple, short way he directed her, Helen knew that she had to remain quiet. Marcus seemed happy to take charge, and she was grateful for it. Helen crossed the room, holding her breath without realizing it.

  “What’s wrong?” she whispered in Marcus’s ear like a lover.

  “There’s someone inside the cupboard. I can hear them breathing, moving.” Marcus was calm and rational, as if he making a simple observation, such as advising her of the time of day or the date. “You don’t have to do anything. I just wanted you to know,” he added after he saw Helen tense up and the color drain from her cheeks.

  “You’re not going to open it, are you?” she whispered at him, sending a glare out to accompany the words. It said volumes; WAKE UP, MAN. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU PLAYING AT? DON’T WAKE A SLEEPING BABY AND LET’S JUST FIND A WAY OUT OF HERE.

  Marcus didn’t answer. He moved to one side, and approached the cupboard from the left-hand side. It was the larger of the two doors in the unsymmetrical piece of furniture and with just a big enough angle to allow Marcus’s body to be hidden, and also gave him the maximum space and reaction time should whatever it was decide to jump out at him, or – God forbid – pull him back inside.

  IV

  The door opened smoother than Marcus had expected. Helen held her breath and wished for her eyes to close, but they refused. The door swung open and there he was, standing before her. Luther, his suit neat and freshly pressed; he had chosen pinstripe just for this special reunion. His gleaming blade was sharpened to the point where it no longer looked like a scalpel. It wasn’t a surgical blade at all, but a cut throat razor, opened to full length. He had added an additional attachment on the other side; another blade, sharpened to a needle point. The world around Helen went black as Luther was picked up by a large spotlight. His mouth opened and he hissed at her, bearing his teeth like an angry dog. His head dropped lower onto his shoulders before he threw it back, jaw stretched open a hundred and eighty degrees. He bellowed at the top of the closet. Blood erupted from his mouth, jumping in spurts as Luther gargled with the iron fluid. It was a rich red, too red to be real blood, and the longer he gargled, the taller the bubbled spurts became. Blood splattered against the walls and ran down his throat, staining his suit. As Helen watched, the blood turned from red to maroon and finally to black, no longer blood but a thick sludge. The gargles changed to choking sounds and when Luther’s head snapped back to face Helen once more the flesh was gone. What remained was the wet, meaty face of a partially rotted skeleton. The mou
th began to close, but before it did a burst of the foul smelling waste shot towards her.

  Helen screamed and covered her face with her hands. Her heart hammered in her chest. She braced herself even in her blind panic for the impact of the slimy liquid. Nothing came. Against her better judgment she spread her fingers, peeking through the gaps like a child watching a scary movie. The cupboard appeared empty, but Marcus stood looking at her, his attention diverted from the task at hand just long enough for the person who had been hiding there to spring out from behind the other door. The woman leapt through the air, her hands curled into claws, her sharpened nails ready to do damage to whatever they came into contact with. Marcus caught her with ease, his reactions quick enough to stop her before she did any damage, but not quick enough to shift his balance, and so the pair tumbled backwards, and once again Marcus found himself on the floor. Marcus moved fast, his body a writhing shadow: he pushed the woman – whether he knew it was a woman at the time Helen didn’t know – away from him. He was on his feet and had her arm twisted behind her back in a simple yet painful looking hold. He pulled her from the floor and drove her forcefully up against the wall. The woman soon stopped her struggles and as soon as Marcus released his hold on her she fell to the floor.