Young Writers Society

Author's note: 

Hey, guys, Jake here! This one has taken up a lot of time and energy, but I think (i hope) it's been worth it. It's not a short read, I'll give you that. But a review would be awesome if you have the time. I think this one's gonna be a turning point for me. Cheers,

Jacob.

Lana Pierce closed her eyes, trying to shut out the bright lights while she prepared to make her entrance. It was no use. She was standing at the very edge of the black curtains, and the light was spilling out into the relative darkness of the backstage. It was bright enough to shine through her eyelids, carving blue-green afterimages into her corneas; she was reminded of those tattoos some people got done on their eyeballs. It was one of the more recent fashion trends on the cosmetics market. Lana thought it looked ridiculous, but then, she had never been one for the whole beautification thing.

Lana almost never wore makeup. She didn’t like the feel of it on her face. She only wore it for special occasions, and even then it was limited to your basic red lipstick and mascara. She didn’t wear earrings, either. The idea seemed stupid to her – why would you want little metal ornaments dangling from your earlobes? What was she, a Christmas tree? And she’d only ever got one tattoo. A stylised arrow, on the inside of her right forearm. She’d got it when she turned eighteen. To remind herself to always shoot straight.

And look how that turned out, Lana thought to herself. That tattoo was worse than useless, now – just a reminder of days gone by, of days she wanted so badly to forget about.

But she didn’t have time to think about that, now. It was almost time. Her cue would be coming any second now...

The moment was narrated by a little film-maker’s voice in her head. Lights, camera, and... action! She grimaced as her name was called out in a big announcer’s voice from the stage. An automatic response. But she dispelled the expression as she walked out, replacing it with a wide, happy smile. She hoped it looked real enough. The studio audience gave a polite applause, as Lana walked up towards the set of blue couches at the far side of the stage. She passed twelve reclining seats along the way. They looked like dentist chairs, and beside each were desks with strange metal helmets set on them, connected with wires to small computers. Lana did her best to ignore them.

‘Please, have a seat, Mrs. Pierce.’ That was Mr. Johnny Callahan talking, the show’s host, a man with dark hair, big, round glasses and a pleasant smile. He waited for her to sit down before shaking her hand.

‘Nice to meet you, Mrs. Pierce! Or may I call you Lana?’

Lana swallowed. Her throat felt like it was coated in sawdust. But she didn’t let the nerves get to her. ‘Lana’s fine,’ she answered with another false smile.

‘Fantastic! You can call me Johnny, then. I understand that you’re not precisely a local here – you grew up in Vancouver, correct?’

She nodded.

‘Brrrrrr,’ Johnny Callahan shivered – the audience laughed, Lana along with them. ‘Bet the weather’s a bit of a change for you, hey? Nearly Christmas, and not a drop of rain or snow in sight! How long have you lived in Los Angeles, now?’

‘Only a month,’ Lana answered. ‘I lived in San Francisco, before – and Portland before that. I like to travel a lot.’ Which was true – since she’d graduated from high-school, she hadn’t been able to stay in one place for very long. She couldn’t quite bring herself to settle in. Couldn’t quite commit.

‘So, why did you decide to join this show?’

Lana paused. Mr. Callahan smiled encouragingly as he waited, but that just made her feel more nervous. What was she supposed to say? That she was broke? That her shitty little job at the bar next to her shitty little apartment wasn’t cutting it?

‘I guess... I guess I’ve been stuck in a bit of rut,’ she answered. Which was true. ‘I was hoping this would be my chance to get out of it.’ Translation, participating as a contestant in the show paid well, and paid even better if you won. The prize for winning was fifty-thousand dollars, and Lana wanted it. No more shitty apartments.

‘Well, hopefully tonight will scare you right out of that rut!’ Mr. Callahan said encouragingly.

Lana kept the smile plastered on her face; she was only asked a few more questions, then told to sit down on one of the reclining chairs. She didn’t lean back, and she forced herself not to look at the metal helmet on the desk. She might want the money, but she didn’t relish what she had to do to get it.

One of the girls Lana worked with had told her about the show; it was called Madhouse, and while Lana had heard about it before, she’d never actually seen it. She knew her mother used to watch it all the time, though. It was a virtual reality game show – twelve participants were placed in a joint simulation, and had to escape from a horror-themed maze to win a prize of fifty-thousand dollars. The first to escape won the game, and the entire simulation was streamed onto a screen for the viewers to watch. Lana’s friend had been a contestant, one time – the maze theme was a haunted asylum, and she said she’d come dead last, but it paid to play. Ten-thousand dollars up front. Mostly because it was scary enough that money was one of the few things that would get people to participate. It was much more comfortable on the viewer’s side of the screen.

Lana didn’t particularly like horror, but she wasn’t easily scared, either. She could watch a scary movie without screaming, at the very least. This particular game’s theme was a haunted house; she’d been told that much when she applied for the job. There would be jump-scares. The show could be mentally taxing. Once you were in, there was no getting out until you escaped the house, or died. The death part, in particular, could be terrifying for some people, as the simulation was designed to feel completely real. She’d had to agree that she didn’t have any heart conditions, or pre-existing anxiety disorders before joining.

So no, Lana wasn’t afraid. But she wasn’t entirely keen on it, either.

It was another fifteen minutes before the interviews were finished. She didn’t really listen carefully, just picked out snippets of conversation. As one man sat down next to her, he met her eyes briefly – he had blue eyes, and short, blonde hair. What had his name been again? Alaric, or something? He looked away quickly. She saw his hands were shaking a little. Apparently Lana wasn’t the only one who was nervous.

‘Now. The moment we’ve been waiting for,’ Mr. Callahan declared in the grand tones that only a seasoned television host could master. ‘Contestants, if you would please put your helmets on?’

Lana picked hers up – the inside of it was strangely sticky. Electrodes, from the look of it. She placed it on her head, knowing she must look like an idiot wearing it – the thing was like an oversized bowling ball, and it kept making her head tilt to one side. The front of the helmet had a black visor that could be brought down, assumedly as a sort of sleeping mask.

She leaned back on her seat – a lady in a white coat walked onto the stage, brandishing a syringe.

‘This won’t hurt,’ the woman said as she approached Lana, seizing her arm – Lana winced. The needle jabbed into her skin, and a strange trickling sensation followed; like ice in her veins. A horrible, trickling cold that made her shiver. Won’t hurt, my ass, Lana thought as the lady closed the black visor down on her helmet.

‘Now, in just a minute, the contestants will have fallen asleep,’ Mr. Callahan was saying to the audience. From within the helmet, his words sounded all garbled, and Lana struggled to understand him. ‘The injection will induce a dream state, and the helmet will link her to the simulation...’ Well, maybe it wasn’t just the helmet. The voice was starting to sound distant to Lana, like he was shouting from the furthest end of a narrow hallway. She blinked slowly, feeling her eyelids droop...

And all of a sudden, it felt like her body was floating away – her limbs were locked at her sides, unmoving, reminding her of sleep paralysis. She supposed that was exactly what this was. Just happening at a much faster rate. Her thoughts drifted as Mr. Callahan talked – which faded to a soothing background noise – and she watched, bemused, as the world outside of the helmet slowly dissolved. Her last thoughts: she wondered if her mother was watching the show. She slipped into darkness...

. . .

For a while, there was nothing. Just silence, emptiness – like she was floating through starless space, or was at the bottom of a black ocean. She had no sense of time, but it was passing. And far away, there was the sound of humming machinery, a steady whine like an insect buzzing at her ear...

And everything surged into focus. Lana inhaled sharply, her eyes snapping open. She was standing in an unfamiliar room; she almost stumbled over with the sudden rush of sensations. She smelled must and stale air. Velvet green walls, dusty wooden floor. A door in the right corner – a wooden desk, underneath an old light bulb hanging down from the ceiling. The filaments burnt with a quavering orange glow; it made a loud buzzing noise that stung her ears. She watched dust motes swirl through the air, like snowflakes in a souvenir globe.

She walked slowly forwards, not trusting her legs. This was the strangest feeling. It was so... lifelike. So real! Almost more vivid than reality itself – she brushed one wall as she went by, marvelling at its texture.

But her mind snapped back into action mode fast. She had to move if she wanted to win this game. She made her way to the desk, spying a flashlight and a folding knife on it. She picked them up, and hoped she wouldn’t need the knife. Fat chance, Lana thought to herself. She was in a haunted house with eleven other players intent on winning – the question was whether the knife was for the monsters, or the other contestants. Maybe both. Her friend at work told her Madhouse got pretty bloody, sometimes.

She flicked on the torch as she made her way out the door – it led into a dark hallway. She kept one eye on the shadows, keeping careful watch for movement.

She didn’t see anything. Nothing but shadows, shifting in the yellow torchlight. It only made her more anxious. She wondered if she shouldn’t have watched a few Madhouse reruns before doing this, so she knew what to expect.

At the end of the hall, there were two doors on either side. Left, she decided. She didn’t have time for indecision. She walked through, into yet another hallway; another two doors. She went left again. She tried to commit which turns she took to memory – Lana was pretty good at remembering things, so if she kept all the turns she made in her head, she might just be able to map this place out and get out of here.

She remembered this one time, during maths class in high-school, when her teacher had the students race to solve paper mazes. The lesson was that any puzzle can be solved with the right logic. Trial and error, Ariadne’s thread. Exhaust every possible option through backtracking. She smiled at the memory. Maths had always been her favourite subject at school. And while that sounded nerdy, as well as masochistic, the truth was she loved solving puzzles. Puzzles were her jam, her hobby. She was really, really good at them. She’d been a straight A student, not just for maths, but for all her classes – learning just came easy to her. In year eleven, she’d had the whole world laid out before her. Any job she wanted was almost certainly hers for the taking. She thought about becoming an engineer, or maybe a pilot. Maybe she’d try them both out. She was so confident, so sure of her own future – that was the year she’d gotten the tattoo on her forearm. Shoot straight.

How had things gone so wrong for her?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a faint creaking noise from up ahead. Lana froze. Her knuckles tightened around her knife. She covered the lens of the torch with her left palm, so there was just enough light spilling through her fingers to see by – but she didn’t turn it off.

She saw a light under the crack of one of the doors up ahead. It swung back and forth, for a few seconds – Lana could hear muted voices. They sounded like they were getting closer.

It sounded like an argument. There were two voices that she could make out, and one was tense, angry – the other calm and reassuring. She couldn’t make out the words just yet, but it sounded like the calm one was trying to convince the other to do something.

‘...be stupid if I thought I could trust –’

‘You know, it’s an advantage to both of us if...’ there was the calm one again. It was a man’s voice, low and musical, a pleasant Southern lilt to it. All but exuding trust. She didn’t know who it belonged to. Suddenly, she found herself wishing she’d paid attention to who had been interviewed at the start.

‘I’m not doing it, okay? I already –’

The argument stopped suddenly. Lana’s eyes widened when she heard a loud crashing sound. Like someone being thrown against a wall. A strangled cry – then silence.

After a long, quiet minute, the light went out. The sound of receding footsteps... and then nothing.

Lana exhaled, equally relieved and terrified. Oh, God. That man had killed the other contestant! She knew that the man wasn’t really dead, but she couldn’t help the fear. This place felt too real. Guess the knives are for the contestants, then, Lana thought.

Something moved behind her.

Lana screamed – but a cold hand clamped down on her mouth. She bit down – a voice swore in the darkness. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth.

Her kidnapper steered her down the hallway, through another door, and his free hand ripped Lana’s knife away from her. Lana bit deeper into his occupied hand, but he didn’t loosen his grip.

‘Stop squirming,’ a voice hissed in her ear. ‘Everyone nearby will have heard you scream, we need to get away from here.’

Lana didn’t stop, though – the owner of the voice swore again, and dragged her through two more doors. They reached a small room dominated by the looming, skeletal shadow of a chandelier. The man let her go, and she stumbled forwards, falling onto her knees.

She spat the blood from her mouth, and shot back to her feet, whirling around. She jerked her torch towards the silhouette in front of her.

In the shaky light, Lana made out blonde hair. Blue eyes. She recognised him as the man who’d been sitting next to her. She saw dark red liquid dripping from his right hand. In his left, Lana’s knife.

‘Sure made that easy on me,’ he murmured.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ She demanded.

The man put a finger to his lips. ‘Keep it down. There are people nearby.’

She glared at him. What did he want from her? Was he going to kill her? But then, why hadn’t he already? If he was trying to make an alliance or something, she wasn’t taking it.

‘I’m Alaric,’ the man said. ‘And you’re Lana, right? I’d shake your hand, but...’ he shrugged, gesturing to his bloody hand.

‘Sorry,’ Lana muttered – though she instantly regretted it. She bit her lip, furious with herself. Why was she apologizing? The man had just kidnapped her, for God’s sake. Too many years of ingrained politeness...

Alaric smiled a little. ‘Guess I’m sorry, too. But I had to get you away from there – you were walking right into the slaughter.’

‘Why would you care? Isn’t that an advantage to you? One less contestant?’

The man shook his head. ‘It’s always safer to have a partner in the first half of the game – less risk of getting killed.’

Lana opened her mouth to retort – did this joker really think she was going to team up with him? But then the man’s gaze snapped towards the door of the room. She froze. Alaric motioned for her to turn off her flash-light, his eyes wide and panicked.

For a moment, she was stranded in darkness. Then she noticed a strange glow from the corner of her eye. It was coming from under the crack in the door.

The lights moved slowly, casting weird shadows – throwing an eerie spectrum of colours across Lana’s body and face. The colours shifted as the lights moved. Greenish-blue to purple, bloody crimson, and other colours that she couldn’t put a name to. Like a ghostly parody of an aroura. Accompanying the lights was a bizarre rattling sound, almost like... breathing?

Lana’s heart thudded against her chest, sounding loud enough that she was afraid it might give them away.

After one long, terrifying instant, the lights passed, and she could no longer hear the rattling noises. Her chest loosened as she allowed herself to breathe again. Her muscles relaxed – only a little though. She didn’t let her guard down. She flicked on her torch again, pointing it at Alaric’s face. He winced a little.

‘What was that thing? And how did you even know it was coming?’ Lana challenged him.

‘It was a Night Knocker,’ he said. ‘They were in last year’s season, too. I saw the light under the crack in the door.’

Lana narrowed her eyes. ‘How do you know so much about this game?’

‘Because this is the third time I’ve been on the show.’

Lana blinked.

Alaric shrugged, a bitter smile crossing his face. The girl noticed his hands were shaking a little, when he offered Lana her knife back. ‘You’re going to need this,’ he told her.

‘What, you’re just... letting me go?’

‘Well, that’s up to you. We’d be a lot safer watching each other’s backs, if only for the first little while – but it's your choice.’