Young Writers Society

Odris gave a little nod at Colleen's comment before heading out of the room. He left the room with his body going on autopilot - he barely registered that he was following CB's instructions as he kept his hands tightly closed together at his side. He was speedwalking at this point; it was the kind of walk he used to do when he was hurrying between meetings he didn't really want to go to.

He passed the bedrooms. The bust of Sir Hagglethorn, whoever he was, came into view - but the bust was still a decent way down the hallway.

Tara walked ahead of the rest of the group. She didn't feel as though she had much in common with them, and was sick of the games.

She wanted answers. She made a beeline for the door and gave it three knocks, just like CB had instructed.

Queenie kept up her pleasant but confused facade as she traveled with her assigned group like an obedient little kid at some screwed up summer camp. Honestly, Queenie's summers as a child were more normal than this bullshit.

She read the inscription on the door while Tara went and did her thing. It was written in gold, of course, because CB was a pompous prick. Even more so than Queenie herself, if that was possible. A rhyme.

When spoken by the chosen three, what’s safe inside will be set free. This spell by now is centuries old, now to be read by those foretold:

We speak the key upon our tongues and fit into the lock - a harmony that we decree hits wood just like a knock.

Whatever the hell all that meant.

She turned her attention to something else, something less YA-trope-y. "So, is Odris your real name, or just your full name, or what's the deal with that?" Casual tone, casual question, not in any way accusatory. If she wanted an answer she couldn't just accuse him of lying out of the gate.

Colleen and James walked in silence, and James was absolutely fine with that. The hall was long, and the candelabras on the walls lit their windowless prison well enough, but everything still felt eerie. When he thought about it, he didn't think he'd actually seen any windows, or any doors that led out - which only served to feed into his anxiety.

This wasn't like the other times. This felt different, and yet, he couldn't pinpoint why.

For a minute, they didn't pass anything. No doors, no statues, no displays of armor or art on the walls, just wallpaper and candles flickering. It felt like an eternity had passed by the time a door finally came in sight, on the right, just like CB had said.

It was a very large door, and it was golden, just like the one to the dining room had been. Ornate patterned carvings lined the edges, and in the center of the door at eye-level, there were two names, and the outlines of two hands, with their pointer fingers and thumbs touching.

James and Colleen.

Well, that couldn't be more subtle. Their names were written in a swirly font, and the swirls intertwined together. James wasn't sure he liked what it implied. Colleen was a stranger to him - their names beside each other looked strange on a door.

He looked at he hand-prints under their names, and slowly lifted his hand. Without laying his hand on the door (because he had a feeling if he did, it might trigger something) he assessed the sizes. The hand-print under his name looked like it would match his hand perfectly in shape and size. He assumed it was the same for the hand-print under Colleen's.

He knew they were probably supposed to open it, and at some point, put their hands in the spots made for them, but he hesitated.

He looked over at Colleen. It would be pointless to ask what was inside, as if she would know any more than he did. Both of them were clueless.

"What kind of magic is uh, on your world again?"

Odris stiffened.

What he had been hoping to avoid had finally happened - someone had finally asked him about his name. He let out a sigh, ran his fingers through his too-short hair, and tried his best to fight the panic attack that was threatening to overtake him. He couldn't deny it. CB knew everything about them; why wouldn't their kidnapper know what his real name was?

"...Odris is my real name," he finally admitted. "I use Oliver now to fit in more, but CB must have known I'd go by Odris if I could."

His hand fell back to his side. He clenched it into a fist, turning his attention to the door that Tara had just knocked on. Even if he did like going by Odris more, CB didn't have the right to make that choice for him. That was his choice. Not some stranger he hadn't even seen the face of.

He glanced between Tara and Queenie.

"Maybe we each have to give it three knocks at the same time," he guessed. If not that, maybe they had to speak what was written on the door - even though CB hadn't said anything about it. At the very least, it seemed like they needed to do whatever they were supposed to do at the same time. Why else would CB send three people and instruct them to stick together?

Colleen stared at the door. Their names were written with a sort of splendid motion, only adding to an odd sensation filling this house stuffed with personalized decorations and strangers who now had a task to complete together.

“Ah, magic? Every few villages have a rumored practicer. Most often they’re a fake, but I’ve seen my fair share of what can only be something fantastical.”

She raised her own hand, after witnessing James raise his. Colleen could not help but shiver at how eerie seeing her name and her hand decorating this front side of a door. But wait, if he asked her about magic, could she ask him too?

“Does that mean there’s magic where you’re from too? How does it work on your end?”

Queenie rolled her eyes, "Why not," she said with a defeated sigh. It was stupid. So, so stupid. A childish little game CB was playing on them all to dance around the point.

Queenie was the only one allowed to play games with her prey.

The elaborate nature of this was overkill, too.

James sighed through his nose. It was a long shot, hoping that Colleen might've been familiar with whatever kind of magic was on this door - because obviously it was magical. The voice speaking in their head was magical, right? There was no way human technology could do that, not to his knowledge. He'd been to earth quite a few times, and while they were worlds beyond his home in advancements, they didn't have anything quite like this.

Fine. Fine. He'd put his hand on the door.

He lifted his left hand and put it under his name, and it fit perfectly into the outline.

"Yes," he answered. "My world has a very elemental magic. People can manipulate the elements. But we don't have any kind of spells or... mind-reading and speaking stuff like this."

The three of them stood in front of the door.

Odris counted down underneath his breath - 1, 2, and 3. On the third word, the three of them all knocked simultaneously. It hadn't been as weird in his head, but he couldn't help but shift uncomfortably as they awkwardly squeezed together.

He waited.

A moment later, the door opened with a click. Odris hesitantly pushed it further open to step inside.

Colleen tried to keep her mouth from falling open. Wow, actual elemental magic? She wished she could have caught some kind of rumor about that back on home. The closest she got to spying on that sort of magic was closer to witnessing someone skip rocks on the sea.

“Ah,” she said, wanting to keep the silence away for a few more seconds. “I guess I should follow in your, er, hand-steps?”

Colleen blushed. “I’ll stop.”

She raised her hand, about to mimic James, before glancing at the door fully. Making things interesting seemed fun, so she might as well.

Her hand slammed onto where her palm was labeled with her name, sending a loud thunk into the hallway.

Ow, that kind of hurt.

James flinched as Colleen slapped the door for no apparent reason other than to - he didn't know - be loud? The thunk reverberated down the hall, but James's attention was stuck on the door. The moment Colleen's hand met the door, their hands sunk into it with a click, followed by the sounds of gears being triggered by some inner mechanism. The outlines around their hands and their names glowed a vibrant gold, and they could hear a faint, low hum.

Instead of opening inward like expected, the floor beneath them started to move, rotating them along with the door. The half-spin happened so quickly that James didn't have a moment to think about leaping out of the way before they were swept into the room.

The room was dark, and he couldn't see a thing. The only light was the light from the door, around their hands, but hardly a second passed before there was another click and the indents in the door popped out, leaving their hands flat against it again. The lights faded.

In complete darkness, James slid his hand along the door. There was a handle, right? There had to be a way out.

But when he felt for one, there was nothing. He knocked, and he pushed, but the door didn't give way.

No. He couldn't do this. Not complete darkness.

He hit the door again, and again, and again.

What followed when the door opened was like that one scene in Beauty and the Beast. There were books everywhere, and the room itself was like a Victorian fever dream. Classical music was playing the background.

Tara walked over to one of the bookshelves, and noticed something interesting. This wasn't her bookshelf at home, but it could have been.

Shout! The True Story of the Beatles by Phillip Norman.
Truman by David McCullough

Every one of the Wrinkle In Time books.

And then... no, not that one.

The One I Loved by Joanne Davis. There was a black and white photo on the cover. Her mother's face was there, so beautiful and so carefree at seventeen. Alongside Amy's mom. And Alex Altman. And her godmother, Helen. The girls wore their hair long, their clothing loose as they posed in front of a row of pine trees.

She'd never read the book. Amy had. She had no interest. God, could she go one day without being reminded of her family? Reflexively, she screamed and threw the book across the room.

Tara sat down on one of the couches, cupping her face in her hands.

Guess the cat was out of the bag.

A grandfather clock rang out the hour as the little group walked into the room. It was a library. Another. Fucking. Library. Complete with a sliding ladder on the ceiling-height bookshelves that covered every one of the walls. Ornamental rugs and plush seating areas, knick-knacks placed decoratively on every available surface and fancy, lion-head bookends gave the whole place a pretentiously lavish feel. Like someone had taken a look at her father's study and tried to replicate it from memory, with a few personal touches. If that had been the case, Queenie would roll her eyes at how badly CB missed the mark. This place had too much personality for that.

Queenie wandered into the room, half-expecting CB to chime in with another set of instructions like they were lab rats in a little maze of CB's own creation. She scanned the bookshelves. Or maybe they were supposed to figure it out on their own. Like some dumb escape room.

She was hardly paying attention to the titles, just browsing over them in search of something halfway interesting, when her gaze caught on a specific title.

The Hounds: A look into the real criminal underground of Kroy

She was broken from her reverie by Tara screaming and throwing a book across the room. Damn, Queenie thought, looks like someone else here has a frustrating past CB wants to dig up.

The books really were a stupid way of doing that. Underhanded as all hell, for sure. Of course, no one would have noticed Tara's book if she hadn't reacted like she had.

Queenie went over to where Tara was sitting with her head in her hands. The book was sitting on the table beside her, and Queenie quickly picked it up and studied the cover. The black and white photo displayed a few...familiar faces.

She rolled her eyes up toward the heavens, mentally flipping off whatever dumbass god thought this bullshit was funny.

"You're not related to a godsdamned narcissistic pervert going by the name of 'Jay', are you?" she asked Tara, more to see if she would tell the truth than anything. Once she saw it, the resemblance was undeniable.

It took Tara a minute to process what Queenie just said. Once she did, she stood up.

"I don't know you think you are, or how you know my father," Tara snapped. "But I've only ever met him once. He's not a part of life. How would you like if everyone judged you for something you didn't do?"

Queenie snickered, "Oh yeah, certainly don't know what that's like," she said sarcastically. "I wasn't judging you for being the offspring of some murderous pedophile, but now I'm definitely judging you for being a bitch."

She tossed the book onto the seat Tara had abandoned and crossed her arms.