You're Cursed

by Kat Quinn

  Two hours and… Nothing. Nothing at all. Nobody coming, nobody going. This doesn’t seem to phase anyone? Nobody questions how an empty, un-trafficked daycare is even opened? Yeesh. Are we really all so wrapped up in our own lives that we don’t notice something so blatantly suspicious? Then again, we’ve been sitting in a parked minivan for hours with the sliding door wide open, so either Miss Fern’s protections really are amazing, or this town is full of self-absorbed dinglehoppers. Shaking my head, I skim my hand over tied-back dreadlocks, a long sigh accompanying the movement.

  Kieran jabs me in the side with his elbow, “She’s moving. Get ready.”

  Sure enough, the receptionist starts collecting her belongings, tidying up the minimal clutter on her nearly barren workspace.

  Kissing Dizzy on the forehead quickly, Lin unfolds himself from around her and slithers lithely out the open door, gliding past Kieran’s bulky frame like a swift breeze through the smallest of cracks. Before the rest of us can move, he’s already casually skipping towards the daycare, both hands in his slack pockets, whistling a jaunty tune as the swords once again strapped around his hips clack together merrily. Quickly, we scramble to catch up, somehow leagues behind Lin by the time he reaches the door, just as the receptionist flicks the lights off.

  “Hello, gorgeous!” Lin declares, flinging the door open, arms wide and welcoming. He takes the unsuspecting woman into a hug, kissing her cheeks before stepping back, both hands still gripping her shoulders. “You don’t remember me, but we’ve met before! Don’t worry, I’m not offended, but I’m going to tell you we’re supposed to be here and need to be let through to the back. You aren’t paid enough to worry.” He takes a step away, tucking both hands behind his back just as we step through the slowly-closing door.

  To her credit, the receptionist blinks twice, almost seeming to have half a mind set on overlooking Lin’s truth. The thing is, when he alters the truth by not using even a single drop of a lie in the process, it becomes even harder to find holes in… And Lin is a master of never quite lying.

  “Oh, hello… You?” The receptionist says. “What are you doing here so late?”

  “Ah, did no one tell you we were coming? There’s no need to worry, we’ll stay out of your hair if you just let us pass through!” Lin reaches towards the woman, straightening the collar of her shirt. “You know how the boss can be sometimes. I’d prefer if neither of us got in any trouble. Would you kindly clear the path?”

  I hold my breath, not sure if she’ll be able to poke any holes in his statements. Not sure if she’ll accept them either; let them make even more sense once they filter into her head. When we first met him, Lin was conning people out of their whole lives just because he could, but he hasn’t needed to really flex this muscle in years. What if he’s too far out of practice?

  “Tch,” the receptionist sucks on her teeth. “Yeah, I know how the boss can be. I’m not staying, though, so you’ll have to get someone else to let you out.” She turns around, holding her hand over a spot on the glossy, white desk, murmuring something under her breath. The far wall, a completely unadorned sheet of white, splits open; revealing a blindingly lit space, stark against the darkness of our current room.

  Lin bows, one hand tucked behind his back, one against his stomach. “Thank you kindly, we’ll be sure to steer clear on the way out.”

  Shuffling into a clump of bodies, we scoot off to the side, letting the receptionist through as she waves her hand, slightly irritated to be bothered in the first place. As she steps out, locking the front door behind her, I finally let out that breath I’d been holding. Maybe being locked inside what could potentially be the headquarters of whoever’s been mucking things up for us isn’t something to be relieved about, but it’s at least the first hurdle successfully jumped over.

  Straightening up, tucking both hands behind his back, Lin looks around at the clump of us. “Well, that went swimmingly.” He nods his chin towards the now-revealed entrance, weirdly angelic in its blinding contrast. “Shall we?”

  Not waiting for confirmation, he kicks one foot out enthusiastically, starting a chipper stroll towards the unknown.

  I hesitate. Always, always, I like to plan, like to be prepared, like to make sure we know enough about any situation and have a backup plan to our backup plan… But this has been one fly by the seat of our pants decision after the other, so much so there’s barely been any time to land steady on the ground. Around my frozen state of insecurity, everyone starts to move… But a hand squeezes my forearm.

  “Monty. It’s going to be okay. We’re all here together, and like hell we’re leaving any other way but together.” Dizzy bumps me with her hip, “Heck, you’re stuck with me no matter what.”

  Braving a small smile, I look down at the woman standing up straight, chest puffed out with confidence. Amazingly, she seems ready. Lin’s started walking through to the other side, everyone else in tow except the two of us. I can’t be the only one not ready. Reaching over with my other arm, I cover her hand and give it a squeeze. “I’m ready.”

  We step forward together, head-first into that terrifying unknown.

  66. Zeke

  The space is larger than expected. As suspected, it’s clinical in appearance; white walls on all sides, visible through the clear panels of dozens upon dozens of individual, brightly-lit, transparent enclosures set on a grid, walkways on all four sides. Each contains a bed, some with occupants, all apparently adolescents. Almost instantly, the bracelet on my wrist begins to vibrate insistently. It’s impatient, and impossible to ignore. We’re close.

  Monty and Dizzy step into the space, the wall behind them closing up as we assess our new environment.

  “What the…” Monty says with a breath, unsettled by the stark change.

  Dizzy immediately scurries up to the first occupied space, putting both hands on the glass and bending down. “Hey!” She whisper-yells. “Hey! Are you okay?” What is this place? Are these cages? Are these kids in cages?! Why are they all kids? Are we wrong? Is this really a daycare? Oh cotton candy pudding pies, if it’s really a daycare then we should probably skedaddle.

  There’s a small boy in the center of the space, unmoving. Short, dark hair hangs just loosely enough to shadow his eyes under the intensely bright beam spotlighting from an unknown source. There are no bulbs in his space.

  Dizzy taps her nail against the glass with a sharp plink, but the boy doesn’t move. She looks back at us, then at the boy again.

  “AAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!” All of us jump, except Miss Fern, turning towards the blood-curdling scream that cracks open the eerie silence. Fern remains stoic, calmly standing with both hands on her cane at the center of our cluster.

  Ducking low, moving quickly, Lin hurries towards the sound—short blade appearing in his hand from an unknown source, longer blades still sheathed safely.

  “Wait! Stick together!” Dizzy shouts. In one step, I glide to her and clamp a hand over her mouth from behind. She tilts her head back, looking at me with wide eyes. With the other hand, I place a single finger above my lips in the universal sign for silence. Dizzy nods, using her pinky to make an “X” over her heart. Got it. Promise. Hush hush, Dizzy, super secret mission of silence.

  Another scream sounds. It is shrill and unnerving.

  Mere seconds pass, and Lin returns before any of us began to follow, though his semi-distorted form remains visible for the majority of the impromptu path. “Another kid in a box,” he whispers. “Laying in bed, just screaming in their sleep.”

  “What the heck is going on here?” Monty asks, eyes darting over every space in their path as he turns his head. “Why aren’t they… doing anything? Kids never just do nothing.” Monty’s nostrils flare, brow furrowing.

  Nobody has answers.

  As a group, we advance. Dizzy stops to peer in at nearly every occupant, but none acknowledge her, not even when she taps on their walls lightly.

  Our exploration is punctuated by intermittent shrieks,
our hearts jumping at each one. Our wrists are assaulted continually, but the pattern never changes. We don’t see Connor.

  There must be at least a hundred occupants in this room alone, captives if the stark minimalism of their barren accommodations is any indication. Many sit or lay on a bed that cots would feel superior to, others do the same on a completely empty floor. Regardless of size or gender, they all wear only a large, plain gown, some in greater disrepair than others.

  Another row of cages, another shrill cry from our friend the screamer. It more than masks our soft footfalls.

  Kieran perks up, sniffing the air, suddenly urgent in his weaving through the bizarre paths between enclosures before coming to one with an occupant who isn’t completely frozen in place.

  A preteen girl stands in the center of her space, eyes completely dead to the world, mad, savage grin stretched wide across vicious teeth. With one hand, she repeatedly and methodically scratches at the skin of her other arm, a single long, pointed fingernail splitting the flesh in rows. Rows that heal one after the other, almost as quickly as Monty’s mother can regenerate from wounds. The girl doesn’t flinch, doesn’t cry out, doesn’t do anything except slice her arm open again and again, completely unaware of the world around her.

  Kieran paws one hand at the glass, breaths starting to stutter in his chest as his mouth parts slightly. “She’s…. She’s pack.” Much like Monty’s constant assessment, Kieran’s eyes start to frantically flit around the room, taking in as much as he can, possibly searching for something he’s hopeful and afraid to find. “What the fuck are they doing here?” He growls under his breath, mouth snapping closed to stop from making more noise.

  We jump at the next scream, not ready for it despite expecting the abrupt explosion of sound. The noise is so loud, you can nearly feel it vibrating your skull.

  “There’s something very wrong going on here. Lin, can you open any of these?” Monty asks.

  Shrugging, Lin steps forward, fingertips of his swordless hand lightly gliding over the cage’s surface while walking its perimeter. With closed eyes, his face pinches tight, leaning in closer. Lin’s entire body jerks, muscles seizing involuntarily while he’s otherwise frozen in place. Monty immediately grabs him by the waist, yanking them both away from the container. Dark hands clamped tightly on either side of Lin’s face, Monty stares intently for impossibly-stretched seconds until the previously distressed man opens his eyes.

  Holy forking shirt balls, my asshole just clenched so hard it almost turned me inside out.

  Dizzy’s stress is echoed through the group as the screamer continues their auditory assault.

  “Whatever they’ve done here,” Lin whispers, “I would advise against getting too curious. Seems they dabble in some particularly nasty defenses, to say the least.”

  Mournfully, Kieran holds his hand against the glass, watching as the girl inside continues her endless loop of self harm. “I’ll find a way to make this right,” he murmurs, resting his forehead on the cool surface.

  We give him a moment. Dizzy places a hand on the large man’s forearm, guiding him away from the dangerous cage, on to the next. And the next. And the next. We walk through the isles, around the edges of the room, zig-zag along paths we’ve already traversed. No sign of Connor among the captives. No change in intensity from the S.O.S. in our bracelets. The screaming continues. Our search pauses as we realize we’ve exhausted any obvious options, nothing in this jail but blank walls and bright cages.

  We can’t be this close and fuck it up! We can’t be here and do NOTHING. Dizzy’s hands ball into fists as she thinks to herself. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I at least know it’s not right, and it would be so not right to ignore it and just bail on everything and everyone. I can’t stand this feeling—that I’m here to help but can’t help at all! She stomps one of her feet at the same time another scream fills the room, ground shaking hard enough to reverberate visibly through the glass walls.

  A few occupants stir, but make no significant movements.

  No progress has been made by our subtle, methodical approach. Perhaps the unpredictable route of disaster is exactly what this situation calls for.

  Tapping Dizzy on the shoulder, I point at the foot she stomped. “Again.”

  She tilts her head, but obeys. Her conviction is weak, it barely leaves an impression.

  “Again. Harder,” I order.

  Stomp. Weak vibrations, but the captive still screams.

  “AGAIN,” I raise my voice.

  She scowls, and stomps. More conviction, more vibrations.

  “Again,” I insist. She stomps. I command, she stomps, I command, she stomps again. Each time, she gets more and more irritated with the demand, cursing me out in her head while glaring directly at me. Anger blinds her to the fact that around us the clear walls are starting to bow inwards and outwards with each stamp of her foot. The screaming captive’s shrill cries become overwhelming, hammering railroad spikes into our ears relentlessly, the pain nearly unbearable.

  “Again.”

  “STOP IT!” Dizzy screams at me, slamming her foot down harder than any time before, shockwave emanating in a sphere from the point of impact.

  Diving, toppling her to the floor, I activate a shield as the room around us explodes, crystalline shards plinking safely off my defenses. All throughout, the screeching continues.

  Raising up on one arm, I look at the woman pinned beneath me. “Good girl,” I praise, pulling us both up. I am unsurprised to see Miss Fern holding strong in the center of the others, a golden field lit up until she releases the head of her cane, its gem looking slightly tarnished. She raises a coy eyebrow and shrugs one shoulder. Around us, the children begin to rouse, movements sluggish and uncertain.

  “Everybody okay?” Monty asks.

  BANG!

  Somewhere, a door slams open loudly, drawing our focus to the previously smooth wall before any answer can be given.

  “SHUT YOUR FUCKING SCREECHING UP OR I’LL SHUT IT UP FOR YOU!” A furious woman storms through the abused door, halting almost immediately at the sight of our destruction. Sudden silence reverberates as the screaming finally stops. It takes barely a second for her to hone in on us, and barely a second more for her to shout “INTRUDERS!” behind her.

  “It’s her!” Dizzy squeaks, covering her mouth with both hands.

  Immediately, Kieran charges full-force towards the woman, missing her by inches as she steps backwards into darkness and a familiar, red-eyed shadow blocks his path.

  67. Kieran

  Fuck.

  Not fast enough, I slam head-first into David as the goddamned worm shoots up in front of me, blocking the path. For a piece of shit shadow, he sure is fucking solid.

  “MOVE!” I roar at him, pissed I even have to deal with this fucker in the first place. Yeah, sure, it’s not him in there or whatever, but my Fireball’s made it clear she doesn’t want any of us to kill him. Tch. Would solve a lot of problems. …But make more in the process. Stupid excuses.

  Compromise.

  He makes a swipe at me, I duck it and ram my shoulder into his middle, forcing my way through to chase after the haughty-looking woman that sounded the damned alarm. Might be able to stop her before things get too fucked; definitely not worth the chance if these fucks are as locked and loaded as it’s seemed so far.

  “Wait! Stick together!” I just barely hear Dizzy scream, leagues behind me, as I’m swallowed up by darkness in the hallway beyond. The path splits in two, one a narrow strip of blackness leading out back, the other a poorly-lit staircase leading downwards; faint, sharp echoes of pointed heels clicking along them. Obviously, that’s the one I choose, leaping down the stairs two and three at a time.

  Behind me, I hear shouting and grunts, the others finding their own way past David while I’m the only fucking one who might be able to buy us some time by stopping this goddamned whistleblower. Maybe it’s too late, maybe it’s not, but I’m not going to sit with my thumb
s up my ass waiting to find out.

  Down here it’s still clinical… but gloomier. Everything’s clean, shiny, and clearly white, but the lights are so dimmed they may as well be completely turned off. There are proper rooms with desks and tables and little fucking pictures in gilded goddamned frames next to opened books and wastepaper baskets, but each room still has glass walls and doors. Some actually have solid, black surfaces in the back, others have opaque white walls, and all the ceilings and floors are smooth stone. Every single one of them is fully visible from the hallway like rows of fucking fish tanks at a pet shop. None of them are anywhere close to empty.

  A disturbing number are littered with medical equipment. Some have people strapped to stretchers. Some are visibly pregnant women.

  Growling, I’m fucking appalled at the glimpses I catch while I race by, regretting my decision to charge forward alone as plenty of the rooms’ occupants burst out, making chase. I regret it even more when a klaxon blares, the alarm drawing out even more opponents ahead than were already filling in the space behind. My chase is fucking pointless anyway, the hall forks ahead in too many goddamned directions, and I lost sight and sound of the bitch I was running after to begin with.

  “Fuck!” I roar, skidding to a halt, trying to catch my bearings. Well, in for a penny, in for a fucking pound. Reversing course, I turn and tackle the closest person blocking my way back towards the rest of the group; easily lifting them up and throwing them like a log at the growing crowd preventing me from seeing more of this fucked up place.

  “I’m coming back to you,” I bellow, gruffly swiping aside two more people, slamming them into the walls where they drop like limp dicks. Smartly, a few of the others scramble to lock themselves back into the transparent rooms, others stand their ground and start to charge at me as well, or draw weapons. Doesn’t take a fucking genius to realize the cowards aren’t fighters, and the brave ones are guards of some sort.