Fir Lodge

by Sean McMahon

  She saw Gavin scanning through what was now the communal mobile phone from across the room, searching for the next track to play. She was about to call out a preference to him, then hesitated. Gavin saw her brain ticking over, and sensed a request was imminent.

  ‘Any requests?’ he asked her.

  ‘Spirit in the–’ said Kara, then hesitated again. ‘Actually, not right now, you decide Gav, I’m good…’

  Gavin shrugged, and pressed a button, activating a random playlist. As music erupted through the speakers, filling the room, the track skipped without warning to a familiar ditty, presumably from Jon’s Royal Air Force playlist.

  An inexplicable blend of foreboding and uneasiness swept over her, causing a slight chill to run down her spine. She shuddered, and the feeling retreated.

  Stacey span around, armed with a bottle of prosecco, knocking over one of the champagne flutes that were all stacked precariously on the counter next to Kara, who continued pouring a hefty measure of her American liqueur. The glass fell from the counter, causing the other flutes to ripple threateningly. Without looking, Kara instinctively grabbed the falling glass before it could continue on its collision course with the floor, and casually placed it back on the worktop.

  Grabbing her drink from the counter, she took a sip, then flinched, as a large bottle of wine collided with the floor next to her, the glass shattering viciously.

  ‘Dammit,’ she said, looking over each shoulder in search for a tea towel to wipe up the mess. She looked over at Daisy, who was standing on the opposite side of the staircase, dutifully changing her trajectory and making her way over to help clean up the mess.

  ‘Oh,’ said Stacey, waving at Daisy, ‘can you pass me that glass on the side babe?’

  ‘Sure thing,’ said Daisy.

  As she walked around the opening of the staircase, a huge balloon in the shape of a number “three” dipped in altitude, obstructing Daisy’s path. Daisy successfully dodged out of the way of the balloon, only to find herself accosted with a second helium-filled nuisance. The “zero” shaped balloon bounced off of her face, causing her to lose her footing, resulting in her accidentally tipping the glass of prosecco she had in her hand all over Stacey.

  ‘Oh my god, I’m so sorry!’ apologised Daisy, feeling incredibly embarrassed.

  Fearne, more than a little tipsy, tightened her grip on the currently-sealed bottle of prosecco she was holding, and shook it with far too much enthusiasm, readying the cork for popping. With a vibrant pop, the cork dutifully flew across the room, down the stairs, and set off on its preordained trajectory, which in this instance meant into the back of Hal’s head.

  *

  As the music kicked in from the speaker above, Hal felt a strange sense of uneasiness that, unbeknownst to him, was equal to what Kara had just experienced. He couldn’t quite rationalise what had triggered it, as he reached behind his head and plucked a cork out of the air, turning on the spot and throwing it back up to the girls, who were on the floor above him.

  Reacting to his incredible display of ninja-like reflexes, Jon stood there frozen, his pool cue suspended mid-shot. Jon stared at Hal, slack-jawed, until eventually he was able to shake off his disbelief and laughed, as the pool-balls on the table moved of their own accord.

  ‘Mate, that was awesome,’ said Jon.

  ‘That’s the coolest thing I’ve ever done in my life,’ said Hal, ‘I’m glad someone saw it.’

  Heading to his room to discard the more cumbersome components of his costume, the sense of déjà vu was diluted somewhat, and he continued on his way, unaware that Peter was following him.

  Peter arrived, then left, after Hal had advised him on where he could potentially source a phone charger, and Hal headed out into the rear garden. He could see Peter through Robert’s window, illuminated by the blue-hue of his smartphone, and he once again experienced another surge of familiarity coursing through him, as he casually dodged one of the gazebo struts that were obstructing his path without so much as a second thought. Hal chuckled at the sight of Robert, who was snoozing in the hot-tub.

  *

  Remembering that she had seen a broom propped up amongst the sports equipment in the storage area downstairs, Kara stepped over the broken glass, and made her way to the staircase. Her progress was halted, due to the pile up of people now blocking the stairway, so she waited patiently for the chance of clear passage to present itself.

  Eventually, she saw her window of opportunity and skipped down the stairs, as Jerry trotted past her, making his way to the pool table. Jon was standing there, having just opened the front door, a look of happiness on his face that their guest had returned.

  *

  Checking his phone, Hal decided Jess would probably be busy, but reached for a cigarette regardless. He noted that he only had three left in the box, and ultimately decided that he didn’t really need another one. In fact, he strongly considered that maybe now was the time to finally quit. As if to insinuate that some divine force agreed with him, it was then that he heard his name being called.

  ‘Hal, get in here!’

  Pocketing his box of cigarettes, Hal walked back, past the tub, past Robert’s room, and approached Kara via the hallway. Suddenly, apparently stirring from his dehydrated slumber, he heard Robert calling for his brother Alex to restart the tub. Had Robert not called out for Alex, Hal wouldn’t have known that he needed assistance.

  ‘Don’t worry bro, I’ll sort it,’ shouted Hal.

  Walking back out into the rear garden, he made his way into the sauna room, and flipped the switch back, causing the hot tub to spring to life once more.

  ‘Cheers Hal!’ said Robert.

  Hal gave him a mock salute, and headed back to Kara.

  ‘You okay Kara?’ he asked, with the tone of a man that was being nagged.

  ‘Look,’ she said, pointing to Jerry.

  ‘Oh, hey buddy!’ said Hal, as his line of sight locked onto the mischievous pooch, who was busy darting between everyone’s legs, sniffing everything he could get near. Jerry began to run up the wooden stairs, when Daisy called down at them.

  ‘No Jerry! Don’t let him upstairs, we’re still cleaning up this mess,’ said Daisy, uncharacteristically stressed out.

  From his poor vantage point, Hal was unable to see the smashed bottle of wine that had fallen off of the counter. He heard Daisy utter an apology to Stacey, who was currently sporting a damp top for some reason.

  ‘What should we do?’ asked Kara, directing her question to Hal.

  She didn’t feel comfortable just kicking him out.

  Hal stepped outside, the gravel crunching under his large boots.

  ‘Jerry, GO HOME!’ he said, pointing into the darkness.

  Jerry stared at him for all of two seconds, and then tried to walk back the way he came, clearly eager to return to the warmth of their lodge.

  ‘Yeah, that’s not working, shall we take him home? Can’t be that…far?’ suggested Kara, the familiar, strange chill taking hold of her once again.

  ‘Yeah I don’t like the idea of him…’ Hal trailed off.

  Something didn’t feel right.

  ‘Being outside in the dark on his own like this?’ said Kara, finishing his sentence. ‘Same. Come on Jerry! ‘

  Hal took the lead, as Kara closed the door behind her, and they proceeded up the driveway of Fir Lodge. Neither of them asked the other which way they should go, they didn’t even need to check Jerry’s collar. They knew exactly where they were heading. They just didn’t think to ask each other how they knew.

  *

  As Hal and Kara reached the end of the driveway, the handle of the entrance door to Fir Lodge, which Kara had just closed, moved downwards. Submitting to an unseen force, a barely audible click could be heard, and the door then opened outwards slightly, as if caught by the wind, despite there being no breeze to speak of.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  Turning the Screw

  Saturday Evening, 10:59pm


  Kevin awoke, his mind swimming amidst a nauseating grogginess. His thankfulness that it was pitch-black quickly dissipated, devolving into panic, as his need for a dark room to sleep off this hangover-from-hell transformed into a complete lack of locational awareness.

  A sliver of blue-hued light cut across the floor, two metres away from him on his right-hand side. His brain quickly processed a list of likely options, and he slowly realised it was shining from the other side of a doorway. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, familiar shapes began to crawl into focus. The fogginess of the pounding headache that was debilitating his eyesight began to retreat, allowing him to assess his surroundings more deductively.

  He felt a sharp pain in the back of his neck, like a blunt blade of a guillotine. He pulled his head away from the cold, jagged metal, and attempted to use his hands to push himself up. It was then that he noticed his hands would not separate, bound by a force he could not see.

  Bringing his hands up to his face, he tried to ascertain what he was up against. The light from the crack under the doorway glistened against his wrists, and for a terrifying moment he thought it was blood. Kevin inhaled deeply, which sent him off-balance and caused his neck to collide once more with the thin metal surface. Expecting the feeling of inertia to afflict him forever, he was relieved to discover that his mind was able to focus once again.

  He brought his hands back up, then realised it wasn’t blood.

  “Tape,” he thought, allowing his panic to subside.

  Instinctively, he then tried to move his feet apart, rolling his eyes at the fact that, predictably, they too were bound. Kevin tried to yell, the noise a feeble whimper that was dampened exponentially by the fact that that he was also gagged. Kevin tried to push his fingers underneath the tape wrapped around his head, but eventually gave up.

  Dragging himself forward, he rolled onto his side, edging towards the slice of eerily-glowing light that was creeping beneath the bottom of the doorway to his right. There was barely enough of a gap for him to see a hint of the other side, but it provided Kevin with just enough information for him to know precisely where he was.

  ‘Um herrrrm!’ he muffled, then instantly froze, realising how stupid he was for disturbing the silence. What if he had heard? What if he was coming for him right now?

  Now he knew he was in his own home and, more specifically, in the storage room of his own basement, he realised the sharp metal was actually the shelving unit for his old paint tins, discarded creosote, and reserves of dog food that he kept a safe distance away from the potentially hazardous chemicals. He also knew that he wasn’t going to escape by doing an Ethan Hunt, and creating a ballistic weapon with crusty old paint and dog biscuits.

  He shimmied along to the far corner of his prison cell, searching for anything that he could use to aid his escape. Eventually, his hands fell upon an old coffee table, concealed under what he remembered to be a dust sheet.

  Using his head and hands to form a pincer, he pulled at the sheet to reveal it. The table was ready to fall apart, and the wooden legs would have made a poor weapon, as he recollected why he had demoted the thing to the basement in the first place. The table was held together with wooden dowels, cheap glue, and a hefty dose of willpower. He grimaced, as he realised there wasn’t much in the way of resources.

  The blue light reflected back at him. He cocked an eyebrow, and shuffled his way under the table. He felt around in the darkness and felt something square.

  “Cardboard,” he thought.

  Oddly, it was weighed down by something heavy, making it difficult for him to move it easily. Using his free pinkie-fingers, he felt his way up to the top of the container, then used them to drag the box closer to his face. He dunked his hands inside the box, and recoiled in pain, as whatever it was inside punctured the tips of his fingers. The sudden motion as he recoiled caused his wrists to snag on the box, spilling the contents all over the floor. Wincing at the noise, which to him sounded like a million ball bearings tumbling onto a corrugated tin roof, he lay there in silence, listening intently to see if his clumsiness had attracted the unwanted attention of his captor.

  Realising he hadn’t exhaled for as long as his lungs could tolerate, he quietly allowed his breath to flow between his pursed lips. Rolling onto his stomach, he felt the ground around him and discovered the sharp objects that had previously filled the box.

  Good, ol’ fashioned, four-inch-long wood screws he realised, as the inanimate objects quickly climbed the ranks to become his best friend in the whole wide world, second to Jerry of course.

  It took more attempts that he would care to admit but, after he set aside his frustration, he had finally managed to find the perfect method to pierce holes in the tape between his bound wrists. Each hole he made brought him closer to the end result. Eventually, the holes amassed to form a jagged line in the crude, yet irritatingly effective, handcuffs. Deciding that he had caused sufficient damage to the structural integrity of the tape, he felt bold enough to make an attempt at pulling his hands apart. The tape buckled under the pressure, the holes joining to form a satisfying tear, until eventually, the elongated tacky glue surrendered to his persistence.

  Kevin stretched out his arms, revelling in the newfound freedom his upper body was now able to indulge in, and he applied himself to phase two; freeing his legs. To his joy, it was a much quicker process with two free hands.

  He could hear Jerry crying for him upstairs, as he made short work of the tape around his ankles.

  ‘I’m coming boy,’ he muttered, his focus shifting from merely saving himself and onto reaching his faithful, admittedly ill-behaved, best friend.

  Attempting to stand, a spell of dizziness brought him back down heavily onto his backside. Compromising with himself, he decided to kneel instead, as he made his way towards the doorframe.

  Trying the door handle, he was predictably whelmed by the fact it was locked. Using the door for support, Kevin pulled himself up and felt around the frame, looking for anything that would indicate a weak spot on the door. A weak spot he knew wouldn’t exist, because he set this door himself.

  He stretched his arms out against the door, looking down at the floor, trying to get his next plan together. His foot knocked something that wasn’t a screw…something bigger. Leaning down, and exercising caution, he reached out into the darkness, as his left hand make contact with a cold, plastic baton that had no place being there. Bringing his right hand up to inspect the object, he realised it was a screwdriver.

  “Probably a cross-head” he figured, certain the universe wasn’t done with toying with him just yet, if at all.

  But it wasn’t a cross-head, it was a flat-head, one that would soon graduate to become his most favourite inanimate object of his entire life, his fickle friendship with the wood-screws now little more than a distant memory.

  Kevin licked his lips pensively.

  Bringing the screwdriver up to the metal bracket at the top right-hand side of the door, and using his fingers to guide the edge of the tool, he positioned the screwdriver into the indentation of one of the screws that kept the bracket in place. The first of many that prohibited his escape. As the head of the object connected cleanly with the head of the screw, he carefully turned it to the left, being careful not to shear it off by being too enthusiastic.

  Slowly, in the smallest of increments imaginable, the screw began to turn.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Time Heist

  165th Restart – Saturday Morning, 4:59am

  They stood outside his front door, their bodies poised to act, as the faint fizzle of blue energy sparked angrily between their interlocked fingers. Hal held his phone in his free hand, still staring at the door. They had the slimmest window of opportunity to get this right, and it had taken them five restarts just to get this part down.

  On the first restart, their task was learning what door Kevin would leave through. They had both covered a door each, only to learn that it was, of course
, the front door, but they had to be sure. On the first go around, they let events play out until the next time-jump. But on the second try, when only Hal had managed to make his way through the front door, leaving Kara outside, he sent her to the restart-point to trigger their next attempt, instead of waiting all day just to watch themselves die horribly once again.

  Hal and Kara waited, neither of them wanting to talk, in case it caused the other to lose focus. At 6:57am, they could hear Kevin navigating his way around the humble kitchen, fixing up what they knew to be his one-hundredth-and sixty-sixth cup of coffee.

  At 7:04am, they heard him let Jerry out through the back door. It wasn’t an option to run around the back and gain access from the rear, Jerry had seen them when they had tried this, and it resulted in Kevin coming to look for him, sending everything out of whack. Kevin had locked the back door, as well as the basement door, taking the keys for both with him, costing them another restart.

  At 7:14am, Hal and Kara stepped sideways, breaking contact for the first time in over three hours, taking up position either side of the doorframe, each of them ensuring the doorway was free from the obstruction their bodies would cause. They were almost corporeal now, what with the charge they were storing up, and Jerry wouldn’t run through them in their current state. If they hid at the side of Kevin’s lodge, like they had on a previous attempt, they would be too far away to get to the door before he closed it.

  Another restart.

  At 7:15am, Kevin opened the door, calling Jerry in from outside, and pulling the back-door closed, forgetting to lock it and, more importantly, leaving the key in the lock of the basement door. He held the front door open for Jerry, ushering him outside. Jerry dutifully obeyed, running to Kevin’s pickup truck, sensing that they were going for a walk.

  As Jerry rushed past them, the Restarters walked briskly through the now-open front door, Hal steering clear of Kevin entirely, but Kara being forced to brush past him. Kevin shivered, looking down at his arm, and then back through the doorway into his home. Shaking it off, he closed his front door, walked to his truck, and clambered inside, slamming the car door shut behind him.