Writing Prompt

The lights were all off, but I knew this place like the back of my hand. And unfortunately for me, so did they.

“She’s over here!” a voice cried out.

I turned and jogged silently, running my hand along the left brick wall. It was my way of throwing them off.

“She knows this place too well,” a frustrated voice shouted. “We’ll never find her.”

I slipped into a small nook in the wall, folding myself inside and covering my mouth to stifle my frantic breaths. Charlie’s voice had been among those I’d heard. Tears sprang to my eyes at the thought of him being controlled.

Around me, voices argued about who lost me and when. Their bickering was almost laughable. The organization I worked for had fallen under our enemy’s dark influence, their minds twisted to His will.

But not mine.

No, my resolve was unshakable. I would never join him, despite his persistent whispers. He was determined to crack my resolve, but I held strong. Unfortunately, the Light Organization had powerful ability users. I prayed He wouldn’t use them against me.

Of course, my luck was nonexistent. A wave of nausea and pain hit me, and my vision blurred. I cried out, realizing they now had my location. I dropped to my knees, and suddenly, I was in the central room, the only place where the lights still worked.

Gasping for breath, I looked up to see Charlie, his gloved hand gripping my chin, his face twisted with something akin to contempt.

“Well, well, look who I’ve caught,” he said softly.

I tried to bat his hand away, but he held it easily.

“That’s not how you treat your leader,” he tsked.

“Charlie, snap out of it,” I pleaded. “You’re being controlled. Please…”

Another wave of agony surged through me, and I crumpled to the floor. The person responsible for this wasn’t part of the Light Organization; it wasn’t one of our abilities. Which meant…

“Charlie, don’t listen to Him. After everything they’ve done. Snap out of it!” I gasped.

Charlie stepped closer, grabbing my braid and yanking me up to my knees.

“We are the Dark. And soon, you will be too,” he said with a cold amusement that wasn’t truly his.

“I don’t understand,” I panted. “He will never get me to join the dark.”

Charlie shook his head and motioned for someone to approach. A figure in dark robes appeared, holding crystals that gleamed in the dim light.

“You see,” Charlie continued, “you’re the last person in the Lights. No matter how many times he’s tried to make you join us, it never works.”

The hooded figure flashed a cruel smile. “Don’t worry, little birdy. It should be relatively painless. But if you resist, it will be anything but.”

A pulse of pain shot through my mind, reminding me of the agony I felt moments before.

“Bind her,” the figure commanded sharply.

In minutes, rough ropes were wrapped around my wrists and ankles. I thrashed and writhed against the restraints, but they were too tight, digging into my skin. I fought to free myself, kicking and pulling, but each movement only tightened the bonds further. My struggles were futile, and the ropes cut into my flesh, sending waves of pain through me.

Desperation fueled my efforts. I twisted and squirmed, trying to loosen the bindings, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I could see Charlie’s eyes, clouded with dark influence, watching me with a detached curiosity. The ropes bit into my wrists, the sharp sting intensifying with every attempt to break free.

When I could fight no more, I slumped to the ground, panting heavily. The hooded figure leaned in, a cruel smile visible beneath the shadow of their hood. “Sweet dreams.”

“No.” I whispered

Then, the world dissolved into nothingness.

The lights were off. I knew the place like the back of my hand, but unfortunately, they knew that as well.

I stood still, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness that had suddenly enveloped the room. The old warehouse had always been a second home to me—a labyrinth of forgotten crates and dust-covered memories, a place where I had spent countless hours exploring every nook and cranny as a kid. But now, the silence was thick, broken only by the distant hum of a generator somewhere far off.

Footsteps echoed softly from the far side of the building, methodical and deliberate. They were closing in. I took a deep breath, keeping my movements as quiet as possible, and slipped behind a stack of wooden pallets. My heart pounded in my chest, but I forced myself to stay calm. This was a game of cat and mouse, and I needed to stay one step ahead.

The footsteps paused, and I could feel them listening, waiting for a mistake. They knew I was here. They had planned this well, cutting the power just as I had entered, leaving me no time to react. And now, they were using my familiarity with the place against me.

A faint creak sounded from a nearby metal door—one I had always known had a rusty hinge. They were testing me, trying to draw me out. But I wouldn't fall for it. Not yet.

I slipped out of my hiding spot and began moving silently along the wall, keeping low. I knew every twist and turn, every dead end, and every shortcut. If I could just make it to the east wing, there was a trapdoor that led to the basement—a place they might not know about. But it was a gamble. The basement had its own dangers, and once down there, I would be cornered if they followed.

The sound of something metallic being dragged across the floor made me freeze. It was close, too close. I glanced around, spotting an old pipe on the ground within arm's reach. I picked it up slowly, feeling its weight, hoping it would give me some advantage if it came to a fight.

I continued moving, my mind racing. Who were they? Why were they here? And how had they known I'd be here tonight, alone?

The lights flickered suddenly, a brief flash of blinding white, then darkness again. But it was enough for me to catch a glimpse of a shadow—a figure just a few feet away. They had seen me too. The chase was on.

I bolted down the corridor, my shoes barely making a sound on the cold concrete floor. I could hear them behind me, fast and relentless. I took a sharp turn, then another, trying to lose them in the maze-like structure of the warehouse. But they were just as quick, just as familiar with the layout as I was.

I reached the east wing and found the trapdoor, yanking it open with a loud creak. I hesitated for a split second, then jumped down, landing hard on the dusty ground below. The air was damp and cold, the smell of mildew strong. I pulled the trapdoor shut above me, plunging the basement into pitch-blackness.

For a moment, all was silent. I held my breath, listening for any sign that they had followed. But all I could hear was the distant sound of water dripping somewhere in the darkness.

Then, suddenly, the trapdoor creaked open, and a beam of light sliced through the darkness, blinding me. I raised the pipe, ready to fight, but the light flickered out as quickly as it had come. They were toying with me.

A voice echoed through the basement, cold and mocking. "You can't hide forever. We know every corner, every hiding spot. You can't escape."

Panic gripped me, but I forced it down. I had to think, had to find a way out. My mind raced, searching for options. The basement was vast, with tunnels that led out to different parts of the city, but navigating them in complete darkness would be nearly impossible.

Then it hit me—the old generator room. It was somewhere nearby, and if I could reach it, I might be able to restore power, at least temporarily. With light on my side, I would have the advantage again. But it was risky. If they caught me before I got there, it would be over.

I moved carefully through the basement, feeling my way along the damp walls. My heart raced with each step, every sound amplified in the oppressive silence. The voice echoed again, closer this time, "You're running out of time."

I found the door to the generator room, its handle cold and rusty under my fingers. I pushed it open, the hinges groaning in protest. Inside, the generator loomed like a sleeping giant, its controls faintly visible in the dim emergency lighting.

I hurried to the panel, flipping switches and pressing buttons, praying that the old machine would come to life. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a low rumble, the generator sputtered to life, and the lights flickered on.

The sudden brightness was blinding, but it revealed the figure standing just outside the doorway, watching me with a cold smile. They had been waiting, letting me think I had a chance.

Before I could react, they stepped forward, blocking my only exit. The game was over, and I had lost.

But I wasn’t ready to give up. I tightened my grip on the pipe, ready for the fight of my life. If they thought they could take me down easily, they were about to find out just how wrong they were.

The final showdown was about to begin, and I was prepared to do whatever it took to survive.

The lights were all off, but that didn't stop me from finding my way. I knew this place like the back of my hand - and unfortunately for me, they knew that. I felt their eyes on me as much as I felt the coarse wood under my bare feet, even though I could not see them through the darkness. I felt their intensity lurking in every corner, waiting to torment me.

It used to make me more afraid when I was young, but sometimes it brings me comfort in a morbid way. After all, they are ghosts here just as much as I am. All of us longing for escape, dreaming of freedom beyond these dilapidated walls. I yearn to hear something beyond the wind howling outside, or floors creaking under the heavy weight of all of us forgotten souls.

Maybe knowing they haunt me is better than being entirely alone.

See I grew up with Tyler and Mike. Every time we travel, we stay in the dark so we hide. We hide because we were hunted, we were what humans call angels. We don’t come from God nor do we come from the Devil. We came from earth, the same way humans do. Now we’re almost ready to go make the choice. The choice of above or low, good or evil you people call it. Most of the time we stayed on the edge of Olive Road. That was where I was going to stay, I just hope they don’t go there two. If they do we’re all screwed

I should have realized from the beginning that something was seriously wrong with me. Some part of myself was always aware of the other side — the darker side. However, anytime I told my parents there was a creature in my room the night before, they would wave it off and tell me that it was “just a nightmare” and I would “grow out of it.”

_I never grew out of it . . . _

From where I stand now, I wish I was still young and all I dealt with were little shapes in the dark, small, frightful dreams here and about. But, as my parents emphasized, I would grow older. Believe me, I have. Now those mere silhouettes haunt me wherever I go. They lurk in every shadowy corner of every room in every building.

One would hope themselves to be good at something. My specialty is running. In fact, that is the thing, above all, in which I excel at. My teachers would be proud that I am great at at least one thing.

I take a left into my History Classroom. Everyone is there. Right when I step in, a row of skeptical eyes follows me to my seat. The whole room quiets.

I am back. Of course I am. As I stated earlier, I know my way around this place. I grew up in this school building. The dark is only one more obstacle to tackle.

I set my backpack down next to me. Gazes are locked onto me, still, but I do not satisfy them by returning the action. Who cares how odd people think I am? I am telling the truth — a truth that they will never experience or believe. Perhaps that is for the best.

“What’s up, _freak,” _Hunter Cray says to me. The others spit out their own insults. This is what I am used to, so I remain quiet. Nothing can phase me more then the other world that pulls me in.

I lift my hand and tuck a piece of long, brown hair behind my ear.

Just then, my teacher walks in wearing his usual gettup. He wears a brown jacket with a lime collared shirt underneath. Of course, Mr. Toeman also wears his typical khakis with sandals and socks. The class chuckles as Toeman sets his things down under his desk. This teacher is usually late for his classes. He is also always sweating and fogging his own glasses with his excessive energy.

“That’s enough, class,” Toeman wheezes. The man must have ran a marathon to get to this room — by that, I mean possibly two hallways.

My classmates let out another wave of silent laughter. The sun shines in through the windows of the room and reflect oil off of people’s faces.

“Take out your notebooks. You have a quiz coming up, so be sure to write- uh- things down.” The teacher slaps his history book down onto the podium infront of his round belly, and begins reading.

I reach down into my backpack with a groan. My hand searches around for my book the the mess of random things I carry. Pens and pencils and mints and gum wrappers make noise.

There it is.

I pull my black notebook out and set it on my desk. Suddenly, I feel a harsh pull on the back of my hair. My head jerks back.

And then when I go go sit right again, everything is black. Sounds of dripping water echo and everyone is no longer present. The voices of fellow students are replaced by the overwhelming obscurity. A sense a dread and helplessness follows soon after.

I’m back.

How could I return so soon? I have little time to consider this. All I can do now is run and hide as long as I have to until the lights turn back on. I swiftly feel my way through the tight isles of my classroom.

"вα¢к ѕσ ѕσσи, ℓιттℓє вυg . . ." The voice speaks.

This is new. I do not recognize this creature. These voices. These figures and tremors in the dark that creep and crawl. I call them Amates. It means “to terrify.”

Back so soon, I think. _I’ve never met you before. _

My fingers meet the cool metal of a doorframe. Right when I touch it, I feel possibly the most dreadful thing I have ever experienced. It is an odd oozing liquid. That much is obvious. I do not believe an Amate has ever produced such a thing before. Usually, all they do is chase you and shake you to your core with nerve wracking words the sound of nails on chalkboard.

Something is different about this one. The way it speaks is breathy and cold. Everytime he speaks, I feel goosebumps enveloping my whole body.

I make light of my feet and follow the walls of the long hallway, careful to avoid the disgusting liquid. I grit my teeth. My eyes strain against impossible darkness. All sense are wack besides hearing and touch.

The voice carries through the air like a slithery snakes, as it takes a long, uncomfortable breath in. "тнєяє уσυ αяє, ℓιттℓє вυg," it says.

What the hell is he talking about? How could he know where I am? I want to take a moment of inquiry towards the Amate, but that would be unwise. One thing you especially want to be careful of, is noise. If they hear you, it gives them an advantage. That is not something I want to add on to my worry.

My heart races and I feel my forehead sweat. Anxiety rises and creates an ill-fitted ring.

"αн," he says. "уσυ αяє тяσυвℓє∂ . . ."

I shiver and my breath hitches. Footsteps thrum slowly, not too far off.

I have stopped moving. But I must keep going. The sound emanates from far behind. Perhaps if I make it to a storage room, I can grab a hold of myself. So I force my shake bf hands to continue feeling their way around the bitterly cold walls.

My hand touches something too warm to be the wall and I pull it back. The sludge was not warm before. What is this creature playing at?

"мммм . . !" the voice booms louder. It carries a rasp to it and my hair is whsiked into my face by a sudden wind. "ѕσ яєνσℓтιиg," he says in more of a whisper, "вυт ѕσ αℓℓυяιиg . . ."

I lift my hand to my nose and sniff. I gag. The sound was louder than intended. Footsteps stop. I pause. Then I here the Amate inhale. He does not exhale. The footsteps return and I keep moving, slowly, careful not to make a sound.

The smell stings my nose and burns my lungs. It stinks of death and mold, all of the horrible things we are not meant to see. I hold my hand out and shake a good amount of it off.

My heart picks up again and I continue on in my persuit. I should be closer to a storage room now.

How long have I been here? Usually the lights are back on by now. What is going on?

"ѕσ ∂єтєямιиє∂ . . ." the things tone snakes up my spine.

I bend over and gasp. What is he doing to me? My stomach lurches. An undeniable sense of helplessness consumes my whole body.

"αωω . . . fєαя ιѕ ωєαкиєѕѕ, ℓιттℓє вυg." I try to pick myself up from the ground. My heart is hammering.

_Wait, _I think. That must be it . . . This Amate uses his rotten-smelling ooze to his advantage. It sticks to my fingers, and sends him little triggers when my heartrate increases. But how could he possibly find me with simply _that. _There must be another explanation.

I pause. The footsteps are closer now. Suddenly there is a large echo filling the building, and a slight breeze that passes through my soul. I shiver, momentarily. If I do not control myself now, then he might catch me.

I place grab a clump of the bottom of my shirt and close my eyes. At least, I think I close my eyes. It is too dark in here to be certain.

_C’mon, Libby, _I say to myself. This is so nerve wracking. At any moment, this thing could find me. Where are the lights?

No. No, I cannot lose control. I hold my breath and concentrate. Then, letting it out, I breathe in and hold it.

"∂σи'т яυи, ℓιттℓє вυg . . ."

_Click, drag. _

Click, drag.

My heart begins to race again. Damnit! I listen the grip on my shirt and repeat my process. He cannot hurt me. The lights will come on at any point, and I will be safe. I can return to school and pretend nothing ever happened.

The distant sounds faulter and dim out.

"ωнαт α ѕнαмє -- ωαѕтιиg ѕυ¢н ѕυρρℓє вℓσσ∂ . . ." An out of place dripping echo fills the halls.

What is he talking about? I focus on my breathing at the same time as I think. One wrong move, and I am done for. I rise and return to feeling my way around the school.

Whatever that sound is, cannot be something good.

The walls are so much colder now. The further I go, the more it starts to feel like ice. But I cannot stop here. Sitting still means leaving myself vulnerable — more vulnerable than I already am.

First nips at my fingers. Every inch of me is pleading to let go, to just walk. But if I let go, then there is a chance I might run into something.

I have memorized every square inch of this place. However, I did not take the time to note where all the trash cans and lonely chairs are.

Suddenly I feel something cold and smooth. It has a spherical shape to it. No doubt, this is a door handle. I recognize it. I must have finally found the closest storage room.

My chest flutters with excitement.

_Finally! _ __ __ __ I turn the handle—

Before I can push open the door, I begin sinking into the ground.

"αωω . . ." A far stronger wind smacks me in the face. I let out a scream and struggle.

The Amate’s ooze surrounds me. It sinks into my clothing and traps me in its sticky, unrelenting cocoon. The smell is back. My hands reach for something — anything. I choke at the awful smell.

The liquid is up to my chin as I sink further down, slowly. It begins to inch my tongue the end of the hall. Unfortunately, this part of the building does have a dead end. I thought I would be safe once I was inside that little room. I was wrong.

"иσ σиє ¢αи ѕανє уσυ . . ."

_Click, drag. _ __ _Click, drag. _ __ _Click, drag. _ __ __ The darkness falters and glitches to a dimmer light. I make out a shape not too far away from me.

A tear slips from the corner of my eye. I am suddenly frozen, petrified.

It is a thing of nightmares. Long, dark limbs and a crooked grin. Sunkin, hollow eyes. He reaks of his own sludge. The skin of his body peels and crinkles. One leg extends behind him, longer than the other.

"мм . . . нσω ι ℓσνє тнє ѕмєℓℓ σf ғєѧя!"

But then everrythinf goes white. I am transferred back to the same desk I sat in before. My heart hammers in my chest, and my head raises. I gasp for air.

“I- it wasn’t my fault! She just passed out — I swear!” Hunter begs.

The teacher tells him to go to the principals office. Everyone stares, wide eyed at me.

“I’m okay,” I try. Mr. Toeman does not look convinced enough to be satisfied.

He commands me to the nurses’ room, even though I repeat, in multiple, my recovery.

I open the door and walk out of class. As I walk down the same, doomed-full hall, his voice sends shivers down my spine. My heart quickens at his words.

"υитιℓ тнє иєχт . . ."

This is no longer a game . . .

“Join me? I won’t ask again,” prince Raphael said. “You surprise me Tailor. I thought you too clever to bite the hand that feeds, but all mortals are stupid I suppose.”

Even wrapped in moonlight the royal bedchamber glimmered. He knew the palace like the back of his hand vMimeo had handsewn the coverlet ever mindful of his wife’s exquisite beadwork. Golden threads for a golden bed for a royal head all while the villagers shivered for lack of fuel. Legs trembling and arms raised, Mimeo approached his lord and master. With a bored gesture from the prince a small gilded table with a brandy decanter walked across the room.

Mimeo shakily poured himself a generous goblet and sank into the armchair that had appeared behind him. He drank and watched the prince. With dead eyes, Raphael had the closed expression of a cat with a clumsy mouse.

“See if your daughter had been as gracious she would still have have her head,” Raphael said with a chuckle.

Sloshing the jewel red liquid, Raphael gulped a mouthful of his own brandy. Mimeo howled. Jumping up, Mimeo allowed his goblet to slip from his fingers. The prince’s enchanted table caught the golden snifter and danced out of reach. Sobbing Mimeo sank back down.

“I didn’t do right by my little girl. Fates know I tried. Petra says we were too much alike to get along. But really Estelle was too much like me mother Esme. Full of fire my mother was. She beat into my head that mortals united were more powerful than we realized. She told me—“ Mimeo said.

“Blasphemy! This rabble rousing is futile. Our kingdom has known prosperity for generations because we stick to our traditions. We all know the natural order, Tailor. You have one chance to save yourself. Reveal your fellow traitors.”

The town hall clock chimed. Mimeo sighed with relief. He reached for the brandy from the reluctant side table. He saved his drink as the table wobbled and collapsed.

“Don’t you want to know what my dear old mum used to say? She was a royal servant, practically raised here. Mum told me magic is fed by the belief of mortals. I thought she was being poetic. She wasn’t. But what would happen to you and your wizard friends if all your subjects stopped believing in magic,” Mimeo said coolly.

The grand clock tower chimed again. Raphael looked confused then pained. With each strike the prince grew more pale. All around the village shocked cries rose and drifted away. By midnight Mimeo sat alone surrounded by finery.

I moved silently, the familiar creaks of the floorboards underfoot barely whispering my presence. As I navigated the shadows of the sprawling old mansion, my mind raced through all the possible scenarios that could unfold tonight. They had always known I would come back; it was just a matter of when.

Reaching the main staircase, I paused, listening. The house seemed to hold its breath along with me, the silence a heavy, expectant shroud. I took the stairs two at a time, avoiding the third step from the top that I knew groaned under the slightest weight.

At the landing, the moonlight spilled through a large stained-glass window, casting fragmented colors across the dark wood of the corridor. I slipped into the study, the room where everything had started, and where I hoped it would end.

The desk was cluttered with papers, just as he always kept it, as if he had just stepped out for a moment. But the layer of dust told another story. I went to the fireplace, running my fingers along the mantle, feeling for the slight discrepancy in the woodwork. Finding it, I pressed, and a section of the mantle silently swung open to reveal a small, hidden compartment.

Inside was what I had come back for: a small, unassuming key with an ornate handle. As my fingers closed around it, a chill ran down my spine—not from the cold, but from the realization that I was not alone. The faint scent of tobacco, his scent, hung in the air, impossible and alarming.

"I knew you'd come for it," a voice rasped from the darkness, familiar and chillingly calm. I turned slowly to face him, my heart hammering against my ribs.

He stepped into the moonlight, his features gaunt, more from obsession than any physical ailment. "You always were predictable, even if you think you know this house better than anyone."

His stance hardened, and a dangerous gleam flickered in his eyes, an unspoken challenge. He knew every move I could possibly make, just as I knew his. But desperation lent me an edge—the need to uncover the truth that had haunted me since I'd left.

"You won't stop me," I said, my voice steady despite the thundering of my heart. "I have to know what's behind that door."

The smirk vanished from his face, replaced by a grim line. "And you think what lies beyond will set you free?" he asked, his voice low and taunting. "You might find that some doors are better left unopened."

"But not this one," I countered quickly. "Not anymore."

With a swift movement, more agile than I remembered him to be, he lunged toward me, his hand outstretched to snatch the key. I dodged, relying on my intimate knowledge of the room. A quick sidestep brought me behind the heavy oak desk, creating a barrier between us.

"Enough games," he growled, circling the desk slowly. "Give it to me, and perhaps I'll let you leave. You know I can't allow you to open that door."

"Why?" I challenged, buying time as I edged towards the door. "What are you so afraid I'll find?"

He stopped, his gaze piercing. "I'm not afraid for myself, but for you. What's hidden there can change everything you believe, everything you are."

His words struck a nerve, the sincerity in his tone chilling me. Could there really be something so transformative, so dangerous behind that door? Doubt crept in, but the weight of the key in my pocket bolstered my resolve.

"We both know I can't live with the mystery. I need to see it for myself," I said, meeting his stare with a defiant look.

He sighed, a sound of defeat mingled with concern, then stepped back, gesturing to the door. "Then go. Do what you must."

I hesitated, thrown by his sudden acquiescence. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," he confirmed. "But remember, some truths cannot be unseen. You must be ready to face whatever comes through that door."

Nodding, I walked past him, my steps firm but my insides churning. The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly as I approached the final door—the one that had haunted both my dreams and waking thoughts for years. I slid the key into the lock, the metal cool and smooth against my fingertips. It turned with an audible click, the sound echoing ominously in the silence.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open and stepped into the unknown, bracing myself for the revelations that would soon unfold. Inside, the room was dimly lit by a single overhead light that cast a stark circle on the floor. And there, in the middle of the circle, lay a single, dusty tome—a book whose secrets were meant only for those daring enough to uncover them. The truth lay within its pages, waiting to be revealed, to either liberate or destroy everything I thought I knew.

"I had to come back," I said, gripping the key tighter. "You know why I need it."

He nodded slowly, a smile playing on his lips that didn’t reach his cold eyes. "Yes, to unlock what you believe is rightfully yours. But did you ever think, perhaps, it was never meant to be found again?"

The air between us was charged, the history we shared thickening it. I had made my choice long ago, and now, standing before him, the key in my hand, I knew there was no turning back.

"Maybe," I replied, stepping forward. "But we both know I can't leave without trying."

As he moved to block my path, the old grandfather clock in the hall struck midnight, its chime echoing through the house like a starting bell. And so, with the key clenched in my fist, I prepared to confront the past, whatever the cost.

Despite the darkness I find my way. Quickly pressing my fingers to the wall to feel the bends and turns, the difference in wallpaper as I got to the study, the frames in the hallway between the study and the dining room, the change to stark cold stone as I descended to the maid quarters.

All of these feelings familiar to me, after 18 years sightless and an unflinchingly rigid father I had to find my own way around, as he would not dare of the social suicide it was to have a daughter with a cane. Despite my new elixir based improvements on my sight, much to Father’s happiness, I still knew this place like the back of my hand.

The clicking creature in the shrouded darkness behind me knew this too. Speeding to run after me. It’s gait sounding that of 40 bulls.

I find the worn part of the railing. Despite the darkness I know exactly where I am. 10 spiral stairs from the bottom. Despite my night gown and slippers I clamber up on it in a mess of limbs. With a quick confident jump I reach the hard bedrock floor of the maid’s quarters. A trick I learned to rebel against my nearly impossible tutor who fretted over my every move. Due to the spiral it looks much higher up than it is, I had horrified my tutor and the many many after. An additional bonus.

The creatures gait got closer and closer. I felt in the dark cobwebbed area under the stairs. Still noting that no one seemed to be populating the entire household. Not a maid, a cook or even a butler.

Despite the class divide I still always had bonded to them so. The maids didn’t care if I was blind or sighted, just as long as I could core apples and skin potatoes.

Finally, feeling the cold stone wall concave inwards , I begin to tug it loose. A fake wall created for easy transition between the maid and servengs quarters. Some of the cooks said it was from a butler and a young maiden wanting to meet in the dead of night. That reason aside. I fall to my back, no longer the springy youth I couldn’t fit with a crouched crawl. So, awkwardly I pushed with my legs, feeling layers of dust coat my back and hair I attempt to move faster.

The creatures nails scratch and scritch its yelp ringing from the stair wells. After reaching the men’s servent quarters I break out into a sprint, I’ve never been in this side of the quarters but my desperation came over my logic. My knees hit into chairs, my shoulders into doorways, I see a slight sliver of light ahead. A window just above some sort of china closet blocking me. Maybe the tears of fear pricking in my eyes incited my will to fight, maybe to prove everyone, my father, wrong. Either way I reach up to the highest shelf I can reach and pull myself up. Only operating on the small sliver of light I hitch up my legs further up. As a deafening animalistic screech rings out I find myself nearly high enough to reach the window.

The creature seems to double its speed. I feel its horse like breath on my back as I try pitifully to reach the windowsill and pull myself up. But when I do I’m gripped by hands that seem human. The rancid smell of elixir hits me again like that night. The hands pull me down, I can no longer decipher reality or what even chased me. As I am flung down the sliver of light goes dark, my hands in front of me do too.

They tell me I’m ill. I never questioned it until recently.

I live in a room with another man, Gary. He likes to rhyme words. I grow annoyed with his incessant need for similar sounds. Today, it was spray, may, lay, pray, gay—and if he would shut up, I’d be much happier. They let us into the common room, a short walk down the hall from where I sleep. Today, my jeans and buttoned flannel seem good for the dark clouds.

I pass Edward, a ward of ours. He’s dressed like a pride flag. He says hi. I tell him where he can go, then keep walking. I have no tolerance for bull.

The common room is full of people I see every day, and would rather avoid, yet I’d never see harm come to them. Denny plays blackjack with Damien at the card table, Chris is ignoring Kaitlyn as her paranoia seeps to an absolute all high. When that happens, she eats her eyebrow hairs. Ew.

The rest of the room rings with daily noises that ebbs between silence and the howling of lunatics.

Nurse Candy keeps watch over the common room. Her scrubs are baggy. I’m not sure about her though. She stands in front of the exit door, kept locked with a padlock. She and Edward come to whisper to each other. At first, I figured it was idle gossip. But little by little, I believe they conspire against us.

Do not think me ill mentally speaking! I have a condition that leaves me paralyzed in my own skin and in need of constant care, but it doesn’t help that those around me suffer from depression, anxiety, and oddities like bulimia. That doesn’t mean I’ve lost it, if anything, I’m trying to save us. A few of us have gone missing in the last few weeks. When I ask Edward or Candy where they’ve gone, both of them answer,”To another home. They’ve been identified as capable of reintegration.”

Whatever their words really mean, how would they always answer the same with the same words, in separate instances over several days? It bothers me. It’s like they have their lines straight.

And with this, I’ll let you know I’m going to steal Edward’s keys. The procedure is simple. Gary has rage fits, and he owes me.

And now, looking down the hall, Edward is running to our room as Gary screams. A couple of crashes later, Ed walks out with Gary’s hands behind his back. As they pass me, Gary lunges forward, his arms break free and latch themselves to my neck. All planned, we fall to the floor, he slips a key ring in my collar.

Ed puts him in a sleeper hold, his arm firmly planted against Gary’s neck. Gary begs freedom screaming,”Uncle! I’ll go quietly!”

As they walk off, I go to my room and wait for the evening in my bed with an old magazine. Ed hasn’t become wise to where his keys went.

Under a dark room, I let myself out to the hallway, silent as the dead, then to common room.

I use the keys to open the lock and flee into a hallway with a glowing exit sign at the other end. Doors and turn offs line the hall, but I can’t help myself. I run with a heart beating for freedom.

Half down the hall, I hear an echoing voice,”Stop! One’s got loose!”

A man opens the exit with a flashlight in one hand. I panic to the nearest exit, which has a spiral staircase going up. I run up.

I hear them chasing behind me, but I’m fast like the wind. Up—up—up, and at the top, a door with a padlock. I fumble the keys, but searching the ring, Ed hasn’t failed me yet. I’m in. I grab the padlock as I notice there’s a way to lock myself up here.

A room with one window, a steel chair, and no other way out. And upon a table, a body with a blanket. I reach to see who. Pulling it back, it’s Gary. His eyes are dark, but looking closer, they’re gone.

The chair is a foldable one. I take it to the window. No luck, but I hear them at the door. “Come out!”

“He’s locked it from the inside.”

I strike it again and again as they try their hardest with no luck.

The window pane buckles against my strikes. Crack by blessed crack, it starts to give way. It brakes into chunks of thin plastic with small shreds of frayed edges. I go on until I could pop my torso through. And with sweet release, I kiss the air as I fall from the tower.

The two of them. It’s all I see Past the mist Past the lies Past the layers of hate I see them.

The two people who will always smile when they see me The two people who would kill to save me. The two are my best friends Even if no one else can see them I can And that’s all that matters.

I love you Nico and will. That’s the two of them. Idc if they are fictional. They are all I’ve got left.