by MB Mulhall
dangerous looking sharp points. Instinctively I back away, only to have more sets of hands grab at my clothes, hair and ankles. I cry out as they pull and pinch. The clown’s face stays, thankfully, in the shadows, but the arm continues to grow.
My breath comes in fits and bursts and blood is playing a rapid drum beat in my head. I’m going to die. I’m so going to die here. I feel a warmth travel down my pant leg. Oh God, now I peed myself.
The nails reach my chest and I moan as I feel the sharp points through my thin shirt. I wave the torch in the hopes of scaring it away or burning the arm, but it seems oblivious to the fire.
The ripping sound is loud and the pain sharp as the nails trek down my chest to my stomach. I feel liquid warmth following the trail that has been made. The arm with the torch drops and I squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t want to see the end.
“Simulation to end in 5…4…3…2…1.” The creepy electronic voice is back and behind my closed lids I sense that a light has come on.
I open my eyes and have to shield them from the sudden bright light. I find myself in an empty white hallway. No mirrors, no disembodied hands, no killer clown. Looking down, I see my shirt is not in tatters. I pull it away from my body and look down. Nope, no bloody red nail marks either.
“Please proceed to the exit,” the voice commands me. I turn my head and see a glaringly bright red neon exit sign. Bewildered, I head to it and slowly open the door and peek out. I’m greeted by the cheering sounds of my friends.
“Yay! You made it!”
“Haha, Anna! You look like hell. Amazing how real those simulations are, right?”
“Ew…did you pee your pants?”
The heavy arm of my boyfriend appears around my shoulders. “Fear, one hell of a drug, huh? I knew you’d make it through. You’re strong, unlike some of my other exes. Shame what happened to them…,” he whispers in my ear, the implications of his words make my knees shake. “Want another go round? I’ve got my Black card, let me treat you again.” His nose rubs my neck as he inhales loudly. “Mmm, you smell amazing. Fear’s a great high and an aphrodisiac. We could always go to the back of my car first…”
Eyes wide, I shake my head hysterically while scratching at the back of my neck. “Get it out. Get the damn chip out!”
His arm drops. “Chill, babe. None of it was real. Just an adrenaline rush. No need to freak. They’ll remove the sensor chip…unless you want to go again? It wasn’t so bad, right?”
I feel myself sway, the edges of my vision going black. “Not…so…bad?” My last fleeting thought as the darkness closes in is that perhaps our definitions of bad greatly differ.
