You're Safe Now

How long had it been? Legs clutched so tightly; knees underneath his chin, hunched up and cramping. Precariously perched on the sodden pink tasseled toilet-seat cover -he must look absurd, and maybe that was the point. Like a horrified, naked gnome who had lost first his fishing rod and now his sanity. He started shivering uncontrollably again; the weight of the last few days crushing him. He tried crying but the steam had boiled his tears away. His tremors and the sweat which now coated his entire vulnerability made it difficult to stay in one position. He lost the grip on his legs and they suddenly dropped to the wet-room floor. A jolt of electricity coursed through him and he jerked his legs back underneath him and sobbed. What was happening to him? Why?

It had all been so innocent at first. 1313 Birch Drive the piece of paper had said. The tourist Information Centre had spent a while finding the best place for Jon to stay and had finally written it down for him. Jon was embarrassed but didn’t want to say anything as they had been so understanding, so he asked to be shown where it was on a map, which was happily responded to. He was also shown photos of the B&B on the website and it looked perfect.

Jon was only staying for a couple of days in Torquay before moving on. He didn’t know where yet, but that was part of the fun; part of the adventure. He liked his holidays totally unplanned; took the train and arranged his B&B upon arrival. The Tourist Information places were brilliant.

It was only a twenty minute walk to the B&B and he checked the address on the piece of paper before walking in through the front gate. It looked perfect from the outside; homely. Even down to the climbing ivy and well kept front garden. There were a few cheeky seaside gnomes hidden in the undergrowth which made him chuckle.

The rang the doorbell and noticed that it had a flashing blue light around the button -it was one of those Ring-Cams. He introduced himself, explained about the Tourist Information place and was overjoyed when the door opened of its own free will. Impressed, he walked in and put his 

rucksack down before looking around. Everywhere felt odd; homely but clinical. Artificial sunlight portrayed a subtle clean light but without the warmth, The wallpaper was a creamy grey with a creamy orange ceiling. The staircase had the same greyish hue with the creamy orange carpet; just lighter; more gradual.  There was a touch screen monitor on the wall to his left, just over a dressing table. It was flashing with white letters on a red background, it read: “Turn me on”. He chuckled and pressed the screen. Suddenly it filled with writing; green on a red background -it looked like a welcome package and safety briefing all rolled into one.

“I’m sorry.” Jon found himself saying. “I’m somewhat dyslexic. I’m going to have a hard time reading this.” He then heard an auditory click as if a microphone had been turned on. The voice was calming but artificial, carefully modulated to sound less than human.

"Welcome, stranger.. You are very welcome to stay for as long as you like. Everything will be catered for. This is the latest Smart House design so let it do the thinking for you." Jon grinned at this. "Place your hand on the monitor screen and it will take an imprint of your palm. All the doors and fridges, freezers and ovens will recognise your print." Jon was skeptical at first but did as he was bidden, placed his hand on the cool surface of the tablet and watched a fluorescent line run underneath his hand like a photocopier. "Now place your hand on the door and it will open for you; the locks are electric so no need for handles!"

"What if there's a power cut?" Jon asked.

"It depends on which side of the door you're on." The voice replied as the door opened to Jon's hand-print. This was amazing but more than a little unnerving. Jon tried not to be a Luddite; technology was neither good nor bad; it depended on the intent. Technology just sped things up without checking the braking procedure -who would recognise the failure signals before it was too late?

"Your bedroom is on the first floor; third door to your left. The door will be open; the other doors are for the other residents who aren't in at the moment. Maybe you will meet them later. Enjoy your stay."

Jon acknowledged the voice, picked up his bags and walked up the stairs. Everything had an antiseptic smell; a faint mix of pine and lemon, with a touch of peppermint. The peppermint gave it a fresh smell and worked well with the pine. He found his bedroom with no problem, it was the only door open as he had been told, and he was amazed at the size and comfort of it. The bedroom seemed bigger than his entire studio flat at home; and the bed was a King size, There was even a wet-room: a combined toilet and shower combo, with a wash-basin as well. It took Jon a few minutes to work it out, but it was the recessed drain-hole near the centre of the room that made everything click; that and the rubber seal to the main door. Everything had to be water tight otherwise he'd be sleeping in a water bed! The wet-room was a pale cream colour and his bedroom was a creamy green. There was a dresser; a canvas easy chair which looked really comfortable and a flat screen television opposite his bed. He put his bags down on the floor and put the piece of paper with his directions on the dresser top. He made a mental note to thank the Tourist Information Centre on his return journey: this had been an amazing recommendation!

There wasn't much of a view out of his bedroom window, and the window itself didn't actually open, but he did notice that there was a temperature control on the wall which reminded him of the air-conditioning wars at the office. Luckily he could regulate his body temperature pretty well and rarely needed the air-con or the heater on; and the weather was just right for April. Not too cold at all. 

He was tired after his journey and it was nearly ten. He'd had the foresight to bring some food along with him; a cooked chicken, some salad; some milk and cereal but he wasn't hungry... so he lay in bed watching television for a while before falling asleep.

It was gradual at first. There wasn't anything that he could point to; he awoke slowly and felt listless. He tried licking his lips but his mouth was dry, and noticed that most of his body was actually damp with sweat. It was really hot for some reason. He got out of bed and walked over to the air conditioning and was shocked when it read thirty four degrees. He didn't remember touching the system, so turned it down. He was thirsty so managed to find the bottle of water he had kept in his backpack but banged his toe on the way back.

He went back to bed again and it wasn't long before he fell asleep once more... Only to wake up an hour later shivering. The damn air conditioning was now billowing our arctic air! He switched it off and was bemused. He couldn't believe that he had set it at that temperature, but something must have gone wrong; it wasn't a model he had seen before so there was every chance he had touched a timer button, or something similar.

This ended up happening twice more, at three hour intervals: first really cold and then really hot. There was a definite glitch in the system that the owner had to be told about.

The next morning Jon left a note on the tablet to explain what had happened. He didn't feel like talking as he was too tired and crabby. It was probably just a glitch in the system but there was no reply forthcoming.

After breakfast Jon felt like getting some oven-chips and a few beers to go with the chicken and salad and walked down to the local shop. It felt odd not having a front door key; he was used to having that fear of either leaving it behind or losing it somewhere. It was an irrational fear because he'd never lost or mislaid his own keys. Luckily the shop had everything he wanted and he was looking forward to an evening in front of the television. It had been raining for most of the day and didn't really feel like investigating Torquay's delights. He could spare an extra day to explore; it wasn't as if he had a schedule!

He was so used to the smart technology that he was expecting the door to start opening as soon as he placed his hand upon the door handle and actually ended up walking into it when it didn't budge. Initially he thought it was down to his hands being damp so he wiped them on his trousers and tried again. Nothing happened.  He rang the doorbell, hoping that it might activate the camera so he could talk to the owner, but again nothing happened. No chime, no light, no noise. Jon tried gripping the handle really hard; tried pushing it; tried tugging on it; tried banging on the door, banging on the window but none of the other residents were home yet it seemed. There was no other way in so Jon had a couple of options -wait in the cold and wet for the door to suddenly open or find a cafe somewhere and hold out until something changed. But what? The nearest cafe was about twenty minutes away, he was already soaked through and at least the porch offered him some kind of protection from the elements.

Huddled in the enclosed porch he pondered what was happening. The only thing he could think of was whatever systems glitch that happened last night with the thermostat had also affected the hand recognition so his palm print was no longer in the data banks. Well, that had to be it... He just hoped that the system would reset before he either froze or caught a chill.

Twenty sodden minutes later the door opened of its own will and Jon made a dash for it. It then took a further ten minutes for it to close again, making a damp patch in the hallway where the elements had seeped in. Jon was more concerned about getting changed and eating; he was seriously hungry before he left for the shops so was now ravenous and cranky; like a miserly  lion.

He unpacked his groceries and opened the fridge to put the beers in there for later. He should have been surprised to find another calamity but he was getting used to the idea now. So it was of no surprise that the fridge was off; probably at the same time as the thermostat went haywire the night before. He opened the freezer to find everything pretty much frozen solid. This house was really starting to piss him off and wondered whether it had suddenly gained sentience like that awful AI precursor novel Demon Seed, by Dean Koontz, which was late made into a film;  but he was no Julie Christie and this wasn't Proteus, just a badly wired house that was more like a Frank Spencer than a mad despot scientist! 

He took stock of what he had left to eat as the chicken smelt so bad and had pretty much tainted everything else in the fridge. That left dry cereal and oven chips. He went over to the air-fryer and was not surprised to find that it was no longer working either. So dry cereal and beer it was then! Or a takeout of some kind!

No charge on his phone either and his laptop battery was strangely empty as well, even though he had actually charged it on the train the day before. He found his phone charger in his knapsack and plugged it in to one of the many plug-sockets. He'd barely let the phone go when a sudden plume of acrid smoke came out of the phone and it just went PFHAP!! Disconnecting the charger from the mains he was very careful before he investigated what had happened. It must have been a power surge because the phone looked fried. He couldn't help but see the irony -his phone had been cooked but he had to eat his food raw.

It was still raining outside, although the front door had finally sibilantly shut and Jon resided to make the most out of the rest of his day. He didn't want to go back outside and no real destination in mind for the next leg of his exploring so he poured himself a beer and settled in the living room.

The living room was a dichotomy. Had it been of all of one homely colour scheme then it might have been inviting; but the walls were off yellow and a green-blue which made him feel disconcerted. The television was huge and was the latest in Smart technology again. It rested on what looked an entertainment unit -a sold cube with very shallow shelves and a handful of blu-ray titles such as the latest Pixar and Marvel films.There were prints of lonely, misty forests and foggy mountains on the wall and. the sofa look it might have been really comfy, with a soft pile cover but it was also coated in thick, transparent plastic -a body-bag for sofa cushions as if it had been the scene of too many crimes in the past.

It took a while for Jon to make himself at home, he kept sliding off the sofa but found he could wedge himself tightly. "I'd like to watch Sky Arts." He said to no one in particular, so no one heard him; even the TV was non-plussed by his choice of channel. "I want to watch Sky Arts." he said again but nothing. "SKY ARTS!"  Disgruntled he pushed himself off the sofa and realised that it hadn't been plugged in to the wall socket. He laughed; it didn't matter how smart the damn tv was, it couldn't do much if it wasn't plugged in -much like humans! "Sky Arts!" he said again and it sprung into life and turned the channel over to CBBC -a children's television channel. "SKY ARTS!" He shouted and the channel flickered and moved to "Bravo". So maybe the television needed to be calibrated to his voice print as well?

He took a swig of beer and a mouthful of sugary sawdust cereal and resided that maybe there was possibly something worth watching, even on Bravo. Ten minutes later and he was just starting to get into the television programme when he felt his eyes go heavy; probably down to the beer. He blinked, put the can down on the ground and tried to sit up straight. His transition to falling asleep was only marked when the television suddenly swapped over to Film Four, which had just started re-running Jaws. The screams of Casey Becker shocked Jon back to wakefulness in one horrific moment. As soon as he eyes jolted open the television switched itself off.

Had it been on a timer? Quite possibly, he was too drunk to care. He wasn't much of a drinker any more, just the occasional beer, so it made it easier for the booze to affect him; making him the cheapest date imaginable. He staggered upstairs to have an early night. The alcohol made it easier for him to fall asleep again and he had a blissful night ahead....

...until the Rammstein song "Angst" suddenly blared out of his speakers like it was World War III. Not again; this couldn't be happening again... Were the other residents back and having a party? The music was so loud and this time it didn't stop when he woke up. It made him so disorientated that he actually fell over the bed when he tried making it over to the bedroom door. It opened with a hiss and luckily the hall light was still on. All the other doors were shut and there was no noise coming from any specific door; but it just seemed to come from everywhere else!

It stopped as sudden as it had started and the lights went out at the same time. Luckily he was close to his own bedroom and could make it back without tripping. However he banged his nose and head on the door as he walked into it; his bedroom door, which he had specifically left open, was now shut.

He was not going to get stressed about this. He was not going to get freaked out by this. There had to be a rational explanation but he didn't really care. There were only a few more hours until morning and then he would just leave and put it all behind him. He walked to the stairs to sleep on the sofa when his bedroom door opened slowly. Taking his chance he ran for it and leapt on to the bed. Just a few more hours... All he had to do was shut his eyes.

Had he been more aware of his surroundings he might have seen the faint red glow of a camera on top of the television, watching his every move.

A few hours later Jon felt his eyes open involuntarily, as it he had unwittingly overslept. He opened them completely and was shocked to find the television on; the screen showing a red background with blue letters with one word: "SUBMIT" before flicking back off again. How long had it been on without him being aware of it? Sleep took hold of him again before he could think anything more of it. 

The next morning his head was like a bar full of brawling drunken louts. He stumbled downstairs to get some water and some paracetamol but the tap was dry, barely a drop. That was it, he'd finally had enough! It took him five minutes to get dressed and pack his bag and he stood at the door with incredulity. It would not open. Nothing worked. The door handle wouldn't budge, the door was locked, the windows now strangely blackened out, and upon walking into the living room he saw blinds down over the windows as well. He was trapped.

"No fucking way." Jon shouted; this was real life not a horror film. This was not one of those creepy escape-the-room games and nor could it be a glitch in the system! One of the other room mates,  all of the fuckers, were playing a practical joke on him. Well, enough was enough! Storming up the stairs he bellowed out: "Little pigs! Little pigs! Let me come in! Not on the hairs of my chinny-chin-chin! Well I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your doors the fuck in!" It was inanely apt but he was trying to stop himself from getting hysterical.

He got to the first of the other bedrooms as he ended his tirade and kicked at the door.  Surprisingly it opened without the least provocation. He was a little disappointed as he was spoiling for a fight; anything to alleviate this tension. There was no one in the room but it still had signs of life. The chest of drawers had clothes scattered within; there were toiletries in the wet-room and discarded  and sodden clothes in the corner. Someone had been there and recently too. The bed even looked slept in and there was a faint aroma of aftershave, probably from the morning before. Jon visited the other three rooms and found the same sense of lived-in disarray. All three rooms abandoned and he felt like the only one left alive.

"SUBMIT" The voice boomed from everywhere. It was a soft, firm voice but resonated with such force that he felt it deep within his guts. It was strangely possessive and persuasive as each syllable felt stretched for maximum impact. He heard it again: "SUUUBMIITT." He felt his head go light with the almost concussive force and staggered downstairs again, clutching to the banister as it bellowed out a third time. The extra space in the hall and stairwell made it so much more impactful. He barely managed to sit down on the sofa again without slipping off and held his head in his hands, rocking slightly. Suddenly the television switched on and Jon was  watching footage of himself. First in bed the previous night, just sleeping; then him trying to get in the front door, getting soaked. Then the last five minutes of him breaking in to the other rooms but from lots of different angles.  The screen went blank with a puce background and then yellow letters flashed up: "You will submit." Then a single window appeared in the top right hand corner of the screen and it showed another young man sitting in a similar position to him. Then another in the top left; a different man. A third bottom left; a fourth, a fifth; a sixth.. ten in total, all in the space of 30 seconds before the screen went blank and the writing appeared again: "You will submit."

"noooo." Jon groaned and launched himself at the television. He had glimpsed the camera in the top mount  and managed to smash it. He slumped back down again only for it to switch back on, slightly skewed by the interference patterns but the camera angle was coming from behind him. He lurched behind and found there was a statuette which he threw against the wall. The television went blank again. This time, when it switched itself back on the angle was at 90 degrees. This went on for almost ten minutes. Every time Jon thought he'd found all the camera's another took its place.

Finally Jon picked the television up and just threw it against the wall and found that he couldn't stop laughing. This turned into hysteria when he heard a click coming from the entertainment unit in front of him. Another television set suddenly rose, like a phoenix, showing his startled and haggard face in all its despair. on the screen  Then the text: "This is the last shot.... honest." Jon couldn't stop shaking his head as he lent to touch the television, but as soon as he brushed its surface an electric jolt shocked him. Then the screen was a mass of frames within frames of him from every conceivable angle from the moment he walked in that fateful day.  

Faintly at first, but with each second increasing in intensity, he could hear laughing. Like one of those old joke-boxes children get in Christmas crackers; canned laughter like the Laughing Clown; but this was different. As the volume increased Jon could make out a sound within sound; not an echo exactly but layers of depth and resonance. There was an intensity, as with the earlier SUBMIT, but this was deep pulsed within him. The pitches scraped together making his internal organs violently contract as if he were being poisoned by the laughter. The malevolence stacked up, bile coating his throat and it was if he was swallowing the sound like crude oil. His head was numb, his teeth hurt whilst his tongue turned to copper, pins and needles made him blind and all he could do was wretch and vomit.

Then silence.

Just the sound of his regurgitate; the dry heaving and a small part of his mind that clung on to sanity finally understood why the sofa's were covered in plastic. It took some minutes before Jon could walk up the stairs again; his clothes  covered in vomit and his stomach cramped; and all he could still see was all a blur. Maybe that was a good thing.

He made it to the wet-room and piled his clothes in the corner. He shut the door and stood underneath the shower. He was relieved when the water cascaded down. It felt like a miracle. The water wasn't too hot, wasn't too cold -for once it felt marvelous. He spent twenty minutes just standing under the shower trying not to think about what had been happening to him. The outside world didn't exist for him at that moment. It was only when he heard a click from the wet-room door that he was jolted back to reality. He walked to the door and tried to open it.  Nothing. The handle wouldn't even turn. He groaned and died a little more inside. Walking over to the shower controls he was more dismayed to find that the water couldn't be turned off either. Then he noticed his feet were making splashing noises when he walked but that shouldn't happen because of the recessed drain. He got down on his hands and knees and checked to see if it was blocked but the vents were closed. There was still a curtain of water emanating from the shower and it was showing no sign of abating. Unscrewing the shower head he picked his dirty socks from the corner of the room and stuffed them into the shower pipe. That seemed to work. No more water.  All he had to do was find a way out now.

He walked around the room assessing every corner; checking every tile to see whether it was loose and could be used as a tool but there was nothing. Everything was water tight as possible; it had been impeccably made and, if it were any other set of circumstances Jon would have called the architect a genius.

CRASH! The over-head shower head suddenly exploded sending metal shrapnel across the room; cutting Jon in several places. Water now streamed into the wet room and what made it worse: it was fucking cold. He dashed over as quick as he could; the water up to his knees now and tried the door handle again but it wouldn't budge. The water stung the cuts on his legs and he remembered the shrapnel from the shower head. It could possibly be used as a way out; a tool! It took a few minutes for him to find some but even then his hands were too number to make use of it and he just ended up cutting his fingers instead of the door.

When the water got up to his shoulders he stood on the toilet seat. Its fluffy pink seat cover so incongruous to everything else around him it was almost monstrous. There was no point him shouting as there was no one else around; all he could do was stay alive for as long as possible. Part of him wondered why though, what was the point? He was being played with, that much was clear now; being whittled down piece by piece until he really did submit.

But people had been doing that to him all his life. From his parents who just didn't understand where he was coming from and most of the time didn't give a damn; to his work 'colleagues' who used him for everything they could and then discarded him at a moments notice when overheads got too tight. Well, not now; not again, He was NOT going to submit, he would stay alive. Whoever it was obviously wanted him alive otherwise he could have been killed at any time so he WOULD stay alive and bide his time until he could escape.

The water was up to his chin now and he was swimming with the internal current. There was still a pocket of air in the wet-room and he managed to maneuver his way there. As the water got higher and higher still he spied an air vent that hadn't closed -he could put his mouth over it and breathe, at least for a while. It was so uncomfortable but it worked.

"SUUBMIIIT" it was like an aquatic whisper; an echo from a historical sonar. "Subbbmitttt".

The room shook slightly and there was an audible rumble and the water suddenly started to drain away. Slowly at first but then more rapidly. Just a film of water stayed at the bottom of the room, like a paddling pool and despite himself Jon whooped with joy at having survived. He sat on the toilet again and put his head in his hands as he tried to figure out what to do next.  He didn't notice at first it was so gradual. His body had been so numb from the cold that it wasn't until he saw some steam coming from the wall that he tried touching it. It was hot; almost too much to hold.

A few minutes later and he realised that this room also had underfloor heating and pretty soon he couldn't even stand on the floor it was so intense. He perched on the toilet seat, thankful finally for its cover. This was torture, plain and simple. First psychological warfare through the breaking down of his routine, lack of eating and sleeping, and then the attacks on his sanity through the surveillance. Now he was being pushed to his physical limits, but he hadn't broken yet and nor would he. He'd seen the movies; knew what the techniques were.

Pretty soon the entire room had become a sauna but, as hot as it was, Jon was resolute. He would not break. He found himself thinking that too many people paid the earth for treatments like this; he should think himself lucky, and he started to laugh. He had to physically restrain himself though; biting on his knuckle before he became too hysterical.

"SUBMIT!" The voice boomed through the steam. 

"NO!" Jon shouted back.

"SUBMIT!" The voice commanded again.

"Fuck OFF!"  Silence. Was it that easy he thought? Was it really that easy? The water then came from everywhere; vents at the top of the walls suddenly opened and hot water now cascaded from every direction. There was nowhere for him to go now and the water was too powerful for him to swim anywhere and it buffeted him; throwing him like a drowning puppet. It would have been so easy for him to just drift off, open his mouth for one last hurrah and succumb... but he wouldn't. Surely there couldn't be much more?

Again the water drained away, quicker this time -still a thin film underneath him. There was something different this time; no steam and he instinctively moved to the sodden toilet seat and sat on it. He pushed his knees underneath his chin and just squatted there and observed, his feet firmly on the sodden cloth. He tentatively put his toe on the ground and his worst fears were realised. A snap of electricity forced him to pull his foot back underneath him. There was a faint smell of ozone and he cursed himself for ever getting into this mess.

"Submit" the voice whispers, conspiratorially so now. 

Jon shook his head, whimpering.

"You will submit." the voice affirmed as the water started again. This time a gradual trickle coming from all the corners. It wouldn't take long for the water level to reach that of the toilet and if there was still an electric current running through then he wouldn't last... he would surely die.

"Submit." But surely that's not what was supposed to happen. If he was supposed to die then why keep him alive for this long? His foot slipped again and the jolt coursed through him and he whimpered uncontrollably. The water is hot; too hot... But what if torture was the reason for all of this? What about the other people he had seen; what had happened to them? Had they been put 

in similar situations? Had they all died because they wouldn't submit?

"SUBMIT!" The water was almost up to the top of the toilet now and Jon felt his head lighten. He was going to faint.

"SUBMIT!"

"YES.... I SUBMIT!!! I SUBMIT!!!" and then blackness.

Upon waking he realised he was still naked, lying on the dry floor of the wet-room, the door open and a cool breeze wafting through. 

"Get up and get dressed." The voice is encouraging now, Jon's head feels full of cotton wool and it's difficult to think clearly. The voice makes sense, why was he lying on the floor like that. There are clean clothes next to him and upon dressing he feels much better. "Walk downstairs and wait at the stairwell." The voice is so friendly, it seems impossible it had ever been anything else. Each step he takes is slow and measured and the stairs, although initially difficult to circumnavigate, he copes by clinging to the banister. At the stairwell he's amazed to find a new opening; a new open door, leading down. The air sweet but acrid. There was nowhere else for him to go but down, and as the darkness slowly swallowed him he could make out the forms of the other people. The other men who had no choice but to submit.

"You're safe now." and then the door slides shut behind him.

The house is empty once again. No more surprise visitors. This one had been such an unexpected pleasure it would have been churlish NOT to entertain him. One thing still puzzled and a camera zoomed in on the piece of paper which was still where Jon had left it, on the dressing table a couple of days earlier. "1331 Beech Grove" Well, that explained everything...

What would you do?

I used to think that I was boring. The truth would have been far more complex had I not accepted my gift. I could put people to sleep by just talking to them.

For years, especially throughout my more formative years at school, I just thought I was the most asinine of children; everyone always yawned within minutes of talking to me. I thought I was bright and interesting with lots of things to say, it’s just that no one could stay alert when listening. The yawning and nodding off started within a minute of me talking. No one made the connection, luckily, but I certainly did. I was a sensitive child and was very careful not to talk to many people. It was also lucky that I didn’t really have much to say for myself; I was a loner, even back then.

It wasn’t too pronounced until I hit puberty and then the effect became more intense. No one dared argue with me; and still no one put two and two together. I suppose it’s quite a leap of the imagination to say that I was the source of everyone's lethargy. Soon it became obvious that I didn’t really need to say much at all to have an impact. When I turned 18 I realised that I could work from home and found a job doing telemarketing to start with, but I soon understood that I didn’t have to be within close proximity of people to affect them. I then tried becoming one of the 0800 sex-line models. I made so much money on those calls initially, the company who employed me thought I was an absolute marvel to start with -my calls were the longest they’d ever had, and every minute was a premium rate. The calls were so long because all the women had fallen asleep a few seconds of ringing me!That fell through though when the complaints came in.

I tried talking to the Doctors about my condition but that didn’t get me anywhere either. I could make an appointment via text or email but the moment I tried visiting the Doctor the same thing happened. It didn’t matter how detailed my email was, no one seemed to believe me! I soon gave up trying to talk to people and living like a recluse seemed to suit me.

One day I took one of my regular jaunts up the town to catch up on my weekly shop. I had figured out that I could write my instructions on a small dry-wipe board using a marker and mime to people that I couldn’t speak to them. It was surprising how effective that was; most people were very understanding and even had a go on my whiteboard -the amount of times I lost playing tic-tac-toe was embarrassing.

Then Amelia let me win, but I should have known better. She knew what the whiteboard was for and her need was actually genuine. In some ways our should have been a match in heaven. She was deaf and had been since birth.

She read lips and nothing I said made her feel drowsy or made her pass out, or sick to the stomach… She even encouraged me to speak my mind, especially when we were on our own. Whether her deafness lent her an elusive quality, I’m not sure, but she felt ethereal to me; too good to be true (which, of course, she would be). She had long waterfull hair, blond and translucent in the morning sun. Her eyes were like diamonds on a moonlit night. I could finally wax lyrical; become as literary as I wanted. Her kisses tasted of lychee and her tongue was teasing and gentle.

She was fascinated by my talent, as she called it; and loved to see me practice it on people. She thought it was a gift as well, could be used to distract and dissuade; break up arguments and dissolve tricky situations. Her favorite trick was introducing me to her parents. She delighted in watching me be really polite and obsequious to them only for them to blanch upon falling asleep. They would then apologise profusely to Amelia and promise her the stars on a stick. Amelia would play on their guilt and blame them for all sorts of foulness over the years. This was her chance to get her own back; and I could see no reason why not. I was so topsy over her that I wasn’t thinking straight -passionless sex will do that. Not that I knew the difference. She was purely going through the motions with me; her groans were more out of her inability to vocalise articulately rather than being in the throes of ecstasy.

Nor did I think anything of us visiting her older sister. She pretended that I was deaf initially to get us in the door; and her sister seemed very shocked to see her; especially with me standing next to her. Amelia could sign but chose not to; she used her own whiteboard to deliberately annoy people -which she was doing now. In actuality her speaking voice was pretty damn clear and coherent for someone who had been deaf from birth; she had been tenacious in becoming proficient in it -she just didn’t allow the majority of people know about it. Her parents and sister were among those who were not in the know. 

Ten minutes of mounting sororal annoyance Amelia finally said, “My sister is getting het up again,.., why don’t you put her at ease?” So I finally introduced myself to her. The shock and dismay was soon overtaken by the yawns and eventual somnambulism. Amelia clapped her hands in glee and told me to go back to the car and get the engine running.

This was strange but I did as I was told; went outside into the chill morning and into the car to get the engine ticking over. I felt as if I’d just helped rob a bank. Five minutes later Amelia walked out the front door, almost skipping, carrying a plastic bag. She opened the car door and put the bag in the well next to me, slipped in and shut the door, but not before kissing me suggestively on the cheek -slipping a bit of tongue as if tasting me,

We drove home in silence.

I didn’t need to ask what she’d done. I slyly looked into the bag on the way home and noticed jewelry, lots of it .  “She stole it from me. It should all have been mine but she was always daddy’s favorite… You should have seen the way they judged you! It’s alright, she’ll never do anything about it -who would believe her?”

It was my turn to keep quiet. What was going on? I wasn’t the brightest of the bunch; a match who had been struck prematurely; but even I was pondering on whether Amelia was using me for some reason. My subconscious must have been leaking for Amelia confronted me once we returned to her flat.

“I know you must think me wicked, but I need that money… For years I’ve wanted to hear… I know it sounds corny but you can’t understand how much I’ve always wanted to… Well, there’s such a thing as a cochlear implant -and no, it’s nothing to do with having an penis enlargement!” I shrugged. “Mommy and daddy never wanted me to have it; they always gave their money to baby sister… but now it's mine.”

Sure enough, after selling the jewelry via a few pawnbrokers she finally had enough to afford the implant. For a couple of weeks the Doctors said that she was doing brilliantly and she pushed for the early activation of it as there was virtually no swelling. I was there when it was switched on and all the arguments had been worth it upon seeing her eyes light up after hearing something for the very first time. To be fair, it wasn’t my voice, obviously, just the doctor counting to ten, but it was the mere fact that it worked. It would take around another three months, probably longer, of speech therapy, listening exercises and auditory mapping of the nerves and fine tuning, It was an intense time to be sure. She became very tenacious, very demanding of me and she was in constant discomfort, which meant that we could no longer share a bed together, I understood… of course I did.

She did occasionally ask for me to speak to her, but only at the end of the day if she was in too much pain, I acted as the perfect anesthetic to her. And I obliged. I knew that I was in a loving relationship and she would have done exactly the same for me.

Three months later her sister got in contact with her again; going so far as to turn up unannounced. She wouldn’t even look me in the eye, she was that mad. There was a huge row; her sister had finally tumbled what had happened and knew that her jewels had become the down payment for Amelia’s operation. She hadn’t told the parents yet but would do unless certain conditions were met….

I could tell that Amelia was threatened by this and there was a very good chance that she could become violent. I had never liked confrontations and did my best to break this one up. There was no point me signing so I found our communal white board and suggested a compromise. Yes, the money had been for the operation but it was only because it was so important to Amelia. Now it had been successful we would do our best to pay it back over time, Amelia agreed to this immediately, which surprised me… And her sister agreed as well and by way of an apology, Amelia suggested that we all go out for a meal the next day. 

We were going to take a taxi to the new Chinese that had just opened, and that should have been the first warning bell. We picked her up in the taxi. I was already wearing my seat belt but Amelia helped her sister with hers. Whilst on the dual carriageway we overtook lots of cars, the driver eager to earn Amelia’s tip. Amelia casually asked me to help her with her auditory exercises.I agreed without thinking and she joked with her sister that she had me well-trained.

It wasn’t noticeable at first, I thought the driver was simply nodding his head to the radio, but there was no music on. I was still speaking slowly and methodically so Amelia could hear me and I saw her sister slump and suddenly realised what was happening. I looked back at Amelia and was puzzled to see her relaxed, coveting a smile and a glint in her eye. The driver slumped forward but quickly regained his balance and tried desperately to stay awake. I had stopped speaking but it was too late now, the steering wheel slipped out of his grasp and there was nothing he could. His full weight was on the car horn, like a death knell, as the taxi jack-knifed, slamming into the partition before careening into the oncoming traffic. I couldn’t see what happened next but I was the only one still awake amongst the wreckage.

Both Amelia and I survived; our seat belts had held. We were battered and bruised and in some degree of pain but we were ok. The taxi driver was dead; dead upon impact. Amelia’s sister was crumpled like a pile of rags; her seat belt had failed completely. She too was dead. It was clear that I had been used to effectively murder Amelia’s sister; there could be no doubt about it. However to everyone else we were victims of death by fatigued driving.

We spent hours at the police station; obviously both of us had to go right to the written statement. Amelia explained that her cochlear implants had failed and I just lied my guts out. No one would have believed the truth anyway. It was then that I formulated my plan. I had to get out of the relationship anyway I could.

That night we argued; this time with something more genuine and fraught than most nights. I think Amelia just enjoyed the sound of her own voice too much now. I found it grating and hostile. I asked her when she would allow me access to her beautiful body again, to which she just laughed. I now knew she had been stringing me on for months; she’d gotten exactly what she wanted and would probably dump me before too long. 

I took her by surprise and managed to pin her arms behind her back whilst finding her implant. I’d spent so long helping her out with the fine-tuning that I knew exactly how it worked. I turned it on, and turned it up. 

“I love you so much, baby.” I said. “You’re mine now.” And with a groan of disgust and defeat her eyes closed.

Yes… I tied her up. Yes, I turned her implant to maximum and when she woke up she was horrified to find herself naked. And so was I. I started whispering as I made love to her. Each time she started to drowse off I’d stop and allow her to gain consciousness again. I kept this up for hours; an hour for each of the stinking months that she kept me strung up and used me; making me accomplice to her crimes; her lies; her degenerate life. This was payback. I did nothing to her that I hadn’t done before but I also knew that I had crossed a line. The deaths could not be pinned on me -the sister and that poor, unfortunate taxi-driver.. But she could easily testify against me now and nothing I said would make any difference. She looked at me and understood exactly what I was going to do.

With the implant still on maximum I started to sing to her. I knew her favorite song in recent months had been ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ by Queen and it was rather apt for it to be used as an eulogy. This would surely puzzle the coroner as there was no real way of determining her death -sleeping sickness, perhaps? I didn’t care. She had enough money in the flat to get a full tank of petrol. The moral line had been firmly crossed now -it was so far behind me that it looked like a dot. There was nothing stopping me from getting what I wanted when I wanted it. A robbery here; a bit of comfort there…. I mean, if you were in my position what would you do?

How not to interpret love

“Hannah… I’m sorry about last night. I can’t tell you how bad I feel; how I manipulated you..” It had taken a lot of courage to speak to her. He’d already sacrificed too much  but the look in her eyes was one of bewilderment and trepidation; not horror and betrayal.

“What?” She asked, taking a step away from him. “It is Mark, isn’t it?” She didn’t even wait for him to answer, just looked at her two friends and shrugged. Luckily they were all alone in the office kitchen. The friends grimaced back. “II'm sorry but I have no idea what you’re talking about. I was in London with.. “ She gestured to the two ladies next to her. “All weekend…”

Doug backed off, bewildered. He tried laughing at his stupidity as he inched his way to the door. One of the other girls asked if he was alright and as he opened the door he heard the other say, “so that’s the weirdo.”

He didn’t even bother going back to his desk. Something was very wrong. Hannah should have been angry; livid with him; but she wasn’t even the least bit inquisitive. She was, however, bound to talk to the rest of the office now about their encounter. Doug  was already seen as strange; an oddball recluse and this would compound it; possibly even leading to gross sexual misconduct!

But Hannah knew nothing about it. Doug had heard that severe trauma could bring on a form of amnesia but surely that was only in the films? He had to get home; find the web-page with the Incantation on and try to understand what had gone wrong?!

He walked to the train station, finally managed to get the ticket into the machine -for some reason his hands had started to shake, He stood on the platform and then realised his legs had become spongey as if the bones had been taken out He managed to sit on the seat and not make it look like he was drunk. The platform was still wet from an earlier shower and there was steam coming off the rails, leaving a gritty ozone smell behind. 

There was a muffled and nasal retort as another high-speed train was coming through. Doug had spent so long at various stations he could tell where all the ‘joins’ were in the announcement. There was some poor voice-actress who had to read out every time and every place name; and some key phrases; and then the computer put them together as and when the need arose. 

When the announcement halted Doug counted to seven before the train doppled past. The sub-sonic crash mili-seconds before the train bulleted through; each window offering a possible glimpse into the stations present and future. For a split second Doug thought he saw Hannah standing next to him, dressed similar to how she was last night: green, flowing trousers; a white blouse with lacework around the buttons and cuffs; her hair long and straight… But when he turned around there was no one there. There was one other thing; it was the glimpse of her smile. It seemed knowing and malevolent.

Whilst on the train home a similar thing happened travelling through the tunnel which bisected the South Downs. The new trains felt so exposed now. Gone were the cramped but discreet seating with the static-producing seats and cumbersome doors. Now everything felt open plan and no one felt safe to look up from what they were doing. Everyone seemed to suffer from agoraphobia. But there was plenty of glass dividing the seats now; not the wooden barriers separating one bank from another; but this created lots of reflective surfaces, and when the train delved into the tunnel the lights flickered and he saw again Hannah’s form, flickering in various windows. But Doug knew Hannah drove to work and would never have taken this particular train anyway as it went in the opposite direction to her home.

He finally got back to his flat, constantly checking around him and paying particular attention to shop windows and their reflections, but nothing untoward happened. As he thought, the flat was a complete mess. The kitchen was pretty untouched but the rest of it looked as if it had been burgled! It had been a wild weekend; tentative at first but increasing in intensity as it had progressed; and there had been no end to Hannah’s desires for him. He turned his Chromebook on, entered his password and found the web page with the text he had spent the whole previous week researching about:

“Animum tuum mihi vinculo perpetuo carnis ligo.”... ok, well that meant: “I bind your heart to me in eternal passion.” He read further. “Veni ad me, pulchra desiderii inferni.” well, even that was pretty easy to decipher: “Come to me, beauty of my desire.” and the last bit; “Devoret me totum spiritus ardens amoris.” which meant: “May you be consumed entirely by your devotion to me.” And on Friday he had finally made the translation; or at least he had found a website to do it for him. The hardest part would have been trying to find things intimate to Hannah in order to bind her to him, however the text also said that it wasn’t necessary as long as you had their photo which you could hold up to a mirror whilst reciting the spell. 

It was also customary to masturbate whilst chanting and thinking of the object of desire; then anointing not the photo but the reflection of the photo with the split semen.  The results wouldn’t necessarily be instantaneous but within 24 hours, which gave Doug a chance to have a scrub-down and make himself presentable.

Part of him was still worried that he had taken things this far. He was a ‘regular guy’; lonely, bordering on desperate, if he was being honest with himself; but had never wanted to do anything immoral. He had a shaky grasp of occultism and used to enjoy reading copies of ‘The Unexplained’ magazine as a child. 

And he would never have considered Hannah as a particular love-interest had it not been for the Christmas party. It had been the first one he’d ever been to and was shy; barely talked to anyone and hadn’t danced all night… That is until Hannah offered him her hand for the last slow dance of the evening. It was obvious that she was more than a little drunk, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer, so Doug finally agreed. He understood how Carrie felt during her first dance at the prom in the film of the same name; it felt as if the world was revolving around him and Hannah, and no one else existed. Her hair smelled of lavender and his hands around her waist felt exquisite. He couldn’t sleep that night and became infatuated with her… but she never remembered the dance and would never meet his eye again whenever they shared a lift or stood in the office kitchen.

So Doug became desperate. To have been given this chance, even such a small one; only for the happiness to be snatched away again, and not even remembered, was almost too much for him to bare. And it was then that he recalled the love potions; it would be possible to bind her to him, for just a little while so she could understand how much she truly loved him… and that maybe he wasn’t such a weirdo after all.

And he was so sure he’d gotten the incantation right…. It seemed perfect at first. The day afterwards he was browsing in his local bookshop, in the New Age section, and suddenly there was a tap on his shoulder. He turned around and Hannah was beaming at him as if he were a long lost friend. “I didn’t know you had an interest in ‘weird shit’!” She remarked. Doug was bemused and totally out of his comfort zone, didn’t know what to say. “That’s what I call all this occult stuff: weird shit." She continued. "It helps to keep a sense of humor about things. Take things too seriously and you don’t know how messed up you'll become…”

She talked for ages about manifesting destiny and ‘The Secret’ before asking if he wanted to have a coffee. He could only agree and was literally swept off his feet by her. Doug couldn’t believe how well the spell had worked! There was no initial hesitancy, which had been his first quandary: how to initiate contact with Hannah, but she was doing all the heavy lifting here; it was amazing. Coffee turned into supper, which turned into a shared taxi back to his place and a nightcap… followed by the most intense and passionate lovemaking he had ever experienced. None of the films he’d watched had ever girded him for the sheer depth of desire he felt for her; all of which seemed to be reflected tenfold in her.

She left sometime in the early morning and the flat was a mess. He was far too tired upon getting up, and he ached as well - his groin felt numb with overuse…. 

But he racked his brains about this morning: Hannah had no recollection of what had happened. What was going on? He read the Latin again, and then re-translated words. Something was wrong and he couldn’t figure it out. He copied the Latin and pasted it this time into Google Translate and what he saw stunned him completely:

“Animum tuum mihi vinculo perpetuo carnis ligo - I bind a spirit to myself for eternal flesh.

“Veni ad me, pulchra desiderii inferni. - come to me, beautiful-demon of the abyss.

“Devoret me totum spiritus ardens amoris - May I be consumed entirely by a devastating spirit."

This wasn’t a love spell that he’d created -the fact that there wasn’t anything to bind Hannah to him should have been the obvious clue! The only rational conclusion was that he had created a Tulpa…. A thought form made entirely of his lust; and because he had anointed this reflection it had taken the form of Hannah. This meant that he actually hadn’t forced the real Hannah to do anything! He hadn’t coerced her in any way; no psychological mind-fucks and, more importantly, no statutory rape; which was the worst case scenario had things come to light.  Doug was so relieved by this that he actually turned the Chromebook off, walked to the kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee.

Consequently, when he met 'Hannah' in the same section of the bookstore later on that day he was relieved and more than a little turned on. It helped that she was dressed far more provocatively than Hannah ever would, almost as if she knew that he had seen through her disguise now.

Hannah had been everything that he had ever lusted after in a woman. She was tall, thin without being anorexic, long straight black hair and high cheekbones which elevated her smile to the divine. This 'Hannah' was wearing long trousers and a tight, white blouse which was semi-translucent and showed off her shapely breasts. Again they were not overly large but perfectly in proportion to the rest of her. She also wore circular glasses that only helped accentuate her almost cherubic looks. However there was now a glint of erotic intent, the likes he had never witnessed in anyone before, and he felt his loins girdle in anticipation.

"I know someplace we can go where we won't be disturbed." The Hannah-Tulpa whispered in his ear; her breath warm and sensual. He nodded and couldn't believe it when she took him by the hand and led him out of the bookstore. 

The observant ones in the store saw a strange gesture; a rather flustered man holding his hand out in an almost effeminate manner; sporting a blush as red as his distended bulge in his jeans, as he walked out the store alone.

Doug was in a trance; her touch was divine and sent tingles down his spine. Things became hazy then; he couldn't seem to remember how he got into his car; let alone driving into the country or even parking outside the remote cabin he now found himself in. He felt lightheaded; the tingling sensation he'd noticed earlier had become 'pins and needles'; his tongue felt odd and he had a distinct coppery taste in his mouth similar to blood. He was also lying in a makeshift bed, completely naked... But it was less of a bed, more of an old mattress in the middle of the empty floor; but there were strange signs that had been drawn on the walls around him, and even on the ceiling. None of them looked even vaguely like writing of any kind; more like pictograms or glyphs. He looked at his stomach and initially thought similar had been painted there as well; but as he touched them he was horrified that they had been carved into his flesh somehow. The skin hadn't been cut exactly but it was painful to touch, almost as if he had bled through the skin.

He was frightened now. He tried to get up off the mattress but was horrified to find he didn't have the strength. His body just wouldn't obey him any further, and he then saw Hannah standing in the far corner of the room just staring at him. She was almost completely in shadow, but how long had he been trapped there? He could barely discern her naked outline from the darkness that surrounded her except her stomach looked distended and her breasts sagged more than he remembered. But what really chilled him was, not only the way she licked her engorged lips with her serpentine tongue, but the way her eyes glowed a malevolent orange.

"Ah good." She almost hissed. "You're awake again."

"This can't be happening." He moaned. "I created you." The Hannah-thing laughed throatily at this.

"Oh, you are funny. You have far more entertainment value left in you. I think I might have to let you live a while longer.. Let's see how long you can hold out and I'll try not to let my own passions get the better of me." She walked towards him and with every step he felt his fear rise until he could bare it no longer. With a whimper of shame he lost control of his bladder and micturated onto the mattress. The Hannah-thing shook her head, almost for his own embarrassment and knelt down by his side. She lent over and kissed him on the forehead, as one might a child before, moving down to his cock. She looked up at him and winked, before taking his still moist member in her mouth. To his dismay he couldn't help himself. The utter fear from before was replaced by an erection filled with self-loathing and bile. Had he been able to Doug would have thrown up or at least try to knock her away, but with ever gesture and movement of her mouth he felt himself drift away into oblivion. He hoped and prayed that this would be the end of his nightmare....

...But that was no to be the case for upon his awakening he found himself back in his own bed. The bed-sheets and mattress were damp and he felt as if he was hung-over after a weekend of drinking heavily.... He managed to get off the bed and stagger into the bathroom before looking in the mirror at his haggard reflection. He was beside himself with shock. There were still red lines that covered his ample stomach like a macabre etch-a-sketch, but this time they had been scored by blade of some kind; a lot of them had even scabbed over.

What the hell had been happening? What was it that he had summoned for it could not have been a Tulpa. Tulpa's were a manifestation and responded to your thoughts and desires. They could not harm you, or at least so Doug thought. But that... thing had almost drained him completely; using his own passions against him. In the back of his mind something was triggered and he went back to the website again to re-read that text he had mistranslated the first time.

“I bind a spirit to myself for eternal flesh; come to me, beautiful-demon of the abyss. May I be consumed entirely by a devastating...." This wasn't poetic or an analogy of some kind, he had actually bound himself to be consumed by a devastating spirit and that meant one thing... He had inadvertently summoned a succubus. Succubi were female demonic spirits who devoured men's life force, normally through sexual acts, and he had willingly succumbed to its powers and through the markings on his chest he was now hers for as long as she desired him; or for as long as he could survive. Soon she would grow tired of him and drain him completely... but what could be summoned could also be banished, surely!

He couldn't rely on the website from which he found the original text; he doubted its origins entirely now. That might not have been a case of it being an accidental mis-translation; it might have been a deliberate attempt to trap the unwary and he had fallen for it. He had no choice but to visit the occult bookstore again, but he would go with protection.

After rummaging through his drawer of keepsakes Doug found some crystals: Hematite;  black tourmaline... but had he really been a scholar and not in so much of a rush he would have realised that the crystals he now had on his body were obsidian and spessartine, and were the worst he could have chosen.

On the walk to the bookshop he was aware that every reflection now looked like the Hannah-thing; she was watching him with amusement; a cold but patient glint in her eye. There was nothing he could do, she knew... He walked into the bookshop like one demented and didn't see the people in his way, just had his eyes on the occult section; but which book? He was desperate. Suddenly he felt a tap on his shoulder and the saleswoman stood behind him. He tried explaining what book he was after without trying to sound like he was totally demented.

"I'm.., researching a story on... how to create a succubus... and how to banish one... Is there a book for that?" He asked.

The woman thought for a second. She was old, smaller than him and looked like she would have been happier reading a Mills & Boon romance story than recommending a book on etheric parasites, but after twenty seconds she pointed to a thin and neglected title. Doug picked the book out and read the cover: "Removing the shadows". He went to the checkout and tried to find the woman who made the recommendation, but there was no one there. By the time he'd paid for the book he'd forgotten all about her.

The book was very thin and had only one sentence in Latin to banish a succubus. The rest of the book had been explaining why summoning such an entity was never a good idea, and it just made Doug more frightened for his soul and his sanity. 

He needed to break the mirror in which he had made the earlier incantation, and use it to score a circle around his own cock and balls, very carefully -the aim was not to cut into his flesh but to draw a circle of protection around his groin; a symbolic act. He had never been so careful in his life; the circle took ten minutes to complete and he was shaking by the end of it. After re-arranging pieces of the broken mirror around him he read the words out loud three times:

"Ut umbram auferas, corpus ipsam interfice!" He had taken extra time to translate this and knew that it meant: "To banish the shadow, murder the true body."  That could mean only one thing... The true body meant the original object of his desire: Hannah. She had to die.

The next day he tried to make himself presentable; it was going to be his big day; a chance to free himself from his man-made purgatory, He couldn't look in any mirrors as that was where she dwelled now, spying on his every move... and through any reflections. He had smashed all the mirrors in his flat; pulverized them into so much dust and flushed that reflective ash down the lavatory. He had taped up all his windows and smeared any metallic surface so there was nothing she could travel through.  It was going to be difficult travelling to work but he knew that if he went when it was busiest, and stood in the middle of the train, among the crush and shut his eyes he should be fine. He hadn't washed in days; the water itself could be used against him. He urinated into the sink and defecated into buckets which he emptied in the middle of the night. Other commuters found it difficult standing on the train next to him, due the stench and his very unkempt nature. He made it into the office but had forgotten its mirrored windows on every floor. He had to make a run for it, stumbled up the steps and barely made it through the sliding doors  into the lobby. The receptionists didn't recognise him and tried their best to stop him, but he managed to duck into the opening lift and pressed the buttons repeatedly for the 4th floor.

She was there, reflected back at him; taunting him to infinity in the mirrors of the lift. She was barely recognisable as Hannah now, barely even human and  his own reflection had been warped into the visage of a madman.

"You're mine... Just surrender yourself to me and it will be as pleasurable as it is quick." She hissed in his every ear. The lift doors finally opened with a hopeless sibilant.  He knew that reception had called security to find him, and they knew what floor he was on now, so it was only 

a matter of time that they caught up to him. He ran to the door of his office but stopped short when he realised he hadn't brought his identity card; it was an electric keycard and he couldn't get into the office without it. He could hear the guards panting up the stairs, saw the other lift coming up after him; so he had a matter of minutes.

Just then the miracle happened and the door to the ladies toilets swung inwards and Hannah stepped out, gasping at Doug's shabbled ravings. It had to be now! He lunged at her; hands grasping her throat, pushing her back into the toilets. She couldn't scream, could only claw at his calloused, grubby hands; rake the flesh of his face but he wouldn't let go. He didn't hear the security behind him, just felt a blow on the side of his head which stunned him. Hannah then regained some of her wits and kneed him in the groin, exactly where he had carved the circle only a couple of days before. He fell hard and was restrained by the guards.

"Don't.. please don't... don't you see, I have to kill her! She's killing me; she's killing me! Don't you understand!"

The police arrived minutes later and placed him in handcuffs, took him down in the lift again; one of them a police-woman. She became a vehicle for the succubus who gloated at Doug through the reflection.

"Poor mortal. Ut umbram auferas, corpus ipsam interfice..." She said and chuckled throatily. "You never were any good at translation were you? It didn't mean kill the true body... Silly boy.... It meant: To remove the shadow, destroy the entity itself."

Doug shook his head slowly and felt it as a tickle at first; slowly building in intensity as he realised his folly. By the time he had reached the lobby again his body was racked with uncontrollable laughter. Hannah could hear the laughter even from where she was sitting in the office kitchen; being consoled by friends of hers. 

"What the hell was that about? Who was he?" Her friend asked. Hannah replied, after a second:

"I just don't know.. I have no idea at all!"

Vestiges

 It is impossible to observe without feeling, and by feeling she is failing. Is that why she was placed here? Told to observe one and only; prove herself able to withstand the stresses.

Water warps reality; all knew that though it was never truly understood, only by the Gods. Water is not a true reflection, even children grasp that but the liquid replicates more than the outward experience; it magnifies the emotion. if you feel good then the joy becomes amplified; depressions spirals out of sadness. Stare too long and you will be lost in the paranoiac well. A stagnant pond to be avoided.

So someone had to observe. Underines were burdened to ensure the void was kept in check. Vestige became too concerned, allowed her own emotional state to interfere with the mortal realm. She only wanted people to feel good so she had reflected back joy, heightened peoples sense of well being until delirium set in. No one died but many lost their connection and so the void became larger.

She was given a last chance; if she could not prove herself now then she would be sacrificed. Souls could either keep the void at bay if karmically balanced or add to it if they were unstable. For every unstable soul another had to be sacrificed to keep the balance.

Vestige was now merely a reflection, bereft of physical form; barely enough will of her own to hold her attention; and she was assigned that particular stretch of river due to the feelings of longing and haunted beauty that had been associated with it. Yet as soon as Vestige saw the freshly pupated soul of Camellia and saw the light shine forth she knew that she would transgress against the Gods again; she was going to fail again.

Camellia was virgin; a new soul born to the world without any karmic debt or clutter. Only a few came into existence each generation as so few people attained enlightenment that the karmic cycles became more impenetrably dense and never ending; more opportunities to lose themselves to the void.Camellia shone pure; unsullied and she represented all that was longing in Vestige.

It wasn't a life that she had; it wasn't even a shared existence. She could barely hold the reflections firm. Many of the Underdines were experienced, their ego-scaffolds firm which made the loneliness palatable.Camellia, being a virgin soul, knew of the Gods only by proxy; as concepts only. She knew of sacrifices, knew who to kowtow to when but not why. She was not allowed to take part in the sewing of autumnal seeds in case she upset Demeter, but did not believe in her. 

So when her reflection in the Lamus smiled at her for longer her first reaction was one of existential horror. The Gods existed after all! Her reactions were torn between running away in abject terror or sobbing uncontrollably, so she chose the latter.

"Little Sunshine, do not cry! Please, do not cry." Vestige whispered.

"My mother calls me little sunshine. How do you know? Are you a Goddess?"

"I am no Goddess, just an underdine." Vestige replied.

"You are too beautiful to be 'just' anything..." Camellia said, unable to take her eyes off the waters now.

"I am but a reflection of you, Little Sunshine; your inner beauty."

"I am not as beautiful as you."

"To me, you are."

And so developed something secret but doomed. Camellia would come to the waters edge and they would bathe in each other; the love flowed and for a time that was enough. The girl was growing though, her womanhood beckoned and the innocence soon gave way to a longing; reflected back and amplified. One day it was desire that was cast about in the eddies of the reflection and the warp initially frightened them both.. but it soon became too powerful for them to ignore any longer.

"I want you." They said to each other, bare fingers intertwining in the waters.  A faint breeze perturbed the waters.

"Your desire for me is too deep, you will drown." Vestige warned, and the reflections slowly tumbled in sympathy.

"But to live without you will surely mean my death regardless. I will wither, never again to bask in your cool embrace." Camellia felt another breeze on her cheek and the water fluctuated in tune to her desperation.

"I am but your reflection, little Sunshine."

"That I can only see once... that may have sustained me for a whole day at one time but I crave your succor more and more. Without you I am nothing."

"But I am your reflection; I do not exist without you."

"Then there is no alternative for either of us." The first caress was tentative, brushing the surface of the water, sending shivers along their reach. The strokes became deeper, urging, desire formed from despair; stronger currents than either had experienced before. The urges stirring deeper and deeper until they could hold out no longer. Abandonment, a frenzy; a drowning of passion....

When finally sated the surface was smooth, no eddies or whirls to betray their presence and where there had once been a spring, a gentle flowing of sweet nectar had now become a stagnant pool, sullied by the void, punctuated only by the vestige of tears.

The Ruins

“'It stands, a cankerous blot on the horizon; a syphilitic.and... phallic silhouette waiting for us to enter it’s rotting ruins… and like the condemned awaiting the journey to limbo I know I’m damned…'

"Don’t you think you’re laying it on a bit too thick, Dominic?” Serena harangued.

“Fuck off, Serena - it’s my last chance to make an impression.” Dominic snapped back. He always acted superior; yet he was squat and balding with square glasses that made his already rotund and flustered face more porcine.

“Oh, you’ve made an impression alright… as a complete and total fraud. You’ve ruined whatever reputation we had as serious paranormal researchers. So you're the one that can fuck off, Dominic.”

“Guys, you do know this is still being filmed?” Ian interjected, ever the diplomat, shifting his weight again; the ladder he was trying to carry more uncomfortable with every step.

“Don’t stop… Don’t stop! This is great, if nothing else it’ll help boost the ratings on YouTube!” , Chris, urged them to continue, tightening the focus on Serena who just nodded, trying to push back the nagging headache that had been getting worse the closer they walked towards Racton Ruins.

“Look, I’m getting a really bad feeling about this place.” she said, hoping that, for once, someone would listen to her. “I think we should just call it a day. Treat it as the disaster we know it to be and walk away.”

“You can walk away if you want, and good riddance!” Dominic sneered. “Then the show will be mine.. And I’m not sure you could live with that.” Dammit, he was right. Serena sighed and motioned to continue towards the tortured ruin.

Ghostings wasn’t much, but it used to be a fun Youtube channel and seemed to have a certain degree of credibility, travelling around Sussex looking at haunted places. Dominic's bio stated that he was a genuine psychic and Serena believed him. It was Ian who realised that Dominic was using stooges and wikipedia articles to get all his information and he set Dominic up by amending the page he knew Dominic looked at. 

No one confronted him on air, but afterwards all laid into him. Serena had to be physically restrained by Chris. Dominic didn’t even try to deny it merely shrugged his piggy shoulders and smirked. He wanted one more show -it was the springboard to something else he had his eyes on -he was going to leave anyway but needed to end on a high note.

Serena would have decked him there but Dominic pulled his trump card: either he was allowed to do this last show or he exposed himself as a fraud thereby destroying whatever credibility they had. Serena couldn't let that happen so she begrudgingly acquiesced. Dominic was now determined to make this as uncomfortable as possible and deliberately chose Racton Ruins because of its notoriety. “Are we going to start this or not?” Dominic said snootily. There was going to be another murder here before too long, Serena thought. Chis made the 3-2-1 gesture and Dominic started his nasal delivery as everyone walked up the pot-holed, muddy track towards the folly.

“Known more for its arcane significance and profane historical activities than its architectural prowess, Racton Ruins has stood here for over 200 years and who knows how many more it might stand? In a departure from our normal mediumistic nocturnal activities; for this, our last foray into Ghostings history, we are going to spend the night in the ruins of the notorious…”

Just then the night sky was gutted by the eerie sight of blue flashing lights from an approaching police car. Serena nodded to

Ian, who quickly moved the step-ladder into the ditch whilst the rest walked down to greet them.

“What.. the fuck..do they want?” Dominic swore; he had been in mid-swing and was arrogant enough to believe that no one should interrupt him, especially when he was monologuing.

"Don't say a fucking word to them, Dominic." Ian hissed. "I don't want you mouthing off to them; I'm not sure whether we're even allowed to be here..."

"Brilliant -I wish you'd told me that before!" Chris replied, lowering his camera. "I don't want to get in trouble with the law."

"Yeah, you're still getting over the last set of charges, aren't you?" Dominic mocked.

"Fuck off." Chris snapped back. Chris was usually laid back , she didn't let anything get to her.. but no one liked Dominic. Two police officers got out of the patrol car and seemed faintly surprised to have a small camera crew facing them.

"Is that thing off?" The driving officer asked. Serena nodded. "So what brings you lot out on a chilly night? Not the most glamorous of places to set a student film."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Officer." Serena replied and smiled. ""My name's Serena; this is Chris, Ian and Dominic. We're filming our last ever episode of Ghostings -it's a paranormal research thing... y'know.."

"Kinda like Ghost Watch." The driver nodded and smiled. Dominic was about to say something but Ian trod on his foot hard .

"No, it's alright Pete -I've actually heard of them." The other officer replied. "My wife loves all that kind of stuff... They're legit."

"I don't suppose I have to ask what you're doing at Racton then... you're braver than me!" Officer Pete said.

"Is it ok for us to be here, Officer?" Ian asked.

"I don't see why not..." Officer Pete replied. "I personally wouldn't as it's a well-known place for druggies..."

"We've got enough time to just check the place over with them, haven't we Pete?"

"You'll do anything to appear on tele, won't you Steve?" Pete quipped as he turned the flashing lights off before locking the car doors behind him. "I don't see any reason why not. It's better to be safe than sorry -they can be right little thugs...."

Everyone walked back up to the ruins and Serena found herself talking to Officer Pete whilst Ian and Chris did their best to keep Dominic as far as away from the officers as they could. Pete gave some fascinating information about the bizarre happenings he'd either been witness to or heard of: odd sounds and strange bangings from the vicinity. The strangest one was the ghostly tractor, ploughing the fields at dead of night."

The one that had me personally spooked was one misty night and I was on my own, still a rookie and I'd landed this and Kingley Vale to patrol. I'd seen some activity up ahead so went to investigate. I couldn't see for nothing but heard lots of rustling.... It was then that I heard a very loud cough and I've never jumped so high in my life."

"What was it?" Serena asked.

"It was a sheep!" Steve interrupted, already laughing. He must've heard that tale a hundred times and it still had the capacity to make him laugh.

"Yup.. it was a bloody sheep." Pete replied.

"I didn't even know sheep could cough." Serena laughed.

"Nor did I... but when I looked into the next field that's exactly what I saw... and one even looked at me with a guilty expression on his face." They laughed even harder as they made it to the ruin itself. Nothing had prepared Serena for just how dark and ominous it really was. Dominic had actually described it best; a cankerous sore on the horizon, but up close it was so overwhelming, as if it was towering over you, ready to fall at a moments notice. The central turret stood easily four stories high with two smaller appendages... like concrete testicles to complete his earlier observation. Dominic could be so accurate and quick to assess things that it made his betrayal even more hurtful.

The inside of the building was hollow. It was incredibly dangerous to even try to get up to the upper floors, but for some reason that was exactly where Dominic wanted to venture. Serena knew there was no way the police officers were going to let them even try, so it was deliberately kept from them.

The group walked around the ruins, each one carrying the requisite torches and a spare, just in case. Everyone had watched their share of horror films and had no desire to be caught in this particular location without a light! As Serena followed Officer Pete noticed him constantly brushing at the back of his neck for some reason.

"Are you blowing on my neck at all?" He asked.

"And risk being arrested for indecency?" She quipped.

"No.. silly question. It just felt as if there was someone right there.... I suppose it could have been cobwebs." Serena smiled but also felt the hairs on her arms stand up. She was very aware of situation bias and wish fulfillment in those kind of situations.

"Where did you park your car, anyway?" He asked.

"Just down the road, near the church." Ian replied.

"That's alright. There's less chance of it being nicked or vandalized there. Had you parked it nearer here than anything could've happened!" Serena blanched; she hadn't thought of that! The last thing any of them wanted was to be stranded there..

"Well... it all seems ok." Said Officer Pete. "I'm not sure I'd want to do this but I can't actually stop you. Look.. I'll pop round intermittently to see if you're ok; or at least keep an eye out for your car. Here's my mobile number -I don't normally give this out, but I have a bad feeling about this. Please ring me when you leave, just for my own peace of mind... I reckon I can trust you not to keep ringing me for anything else..." He handed Serena his business card The officers nodded and wished everyone well before walking back to their patrol car.

"Oh.. be careful where you walk and what you pick up." Officer Steve said before he got too far away. "This place is a druggies paradise, there'll be broken bottles and discarded needles... and who knows what else you're going to find."

They got into the patrol car and reversed back the way they'd come, illuminating the ruins one last time with their headlamps; this time making it look like an unholy maw ready to swallow everyone up.

Using the torches to create a safe path into one of the ante-rooms, Dominic, Chris and Serena set up a temporary base and recorded the first bit of feed whilst Ian went to fetch the ladder.

"The origins of the this tower are shrouded in mystery," Dominic said when given the cue from Chris. No one wanted to move too much in this space as it was far more perilous than they had at first thought.

Once into the ante-room and through the main chamber there was a nasty surprise: a huge, gaping hole where there should have been a floor. It must have been a cellar of some kind as there was a seven foot drop; the floor littered with sweet wrappings of all things, but there were things glistening and glinting. Using the telephoto lens they realised that the Officer Steve had been correct -not only were there lots of broken and damaged syringes but also rusty razor-blades, some of them actually wrapped in the sweet wrappers. It was fortuitous everyone was taking it slow, had they rushed and fallen....

"And although Lord Hallifax built this as a banqueting hall and statement piece back in the late 1700's it's been the sight of much worse activities, including a brief stint as a brothel in the mid 1800's." Dominic stated. The crash came out of nowhere and made them all jump.

"Fuck! Where the fuck are you guys, anyway?" Ian snapped loudly. He dragged the ladder with him, making more noise.

"Why don't you just let everyone know we're here, eh?" Dominic hissed. "We're supposed to be doing this on the QT. The last thing we need is a group of drugged up psychopaths stumbling on us here!"

"Yeah -about that... As I walked up here with the ladder (and cheers, by the way, for someone giving us a hand!) I saw a group of people standing at the roadside." Ian said nervously. "I've no idea who they were and didn't really want to stop and find out."

"They're probably no one in particular." Dominic replied, albeit flustered. He checked at his watch uncomfortably, which made Serena nervous. Why was he getting fidgety? Serena suddenly realised just how vulnerable and stupid they all were. She looked around for something she could use as a weapon and remembered a part of a tree branch that must have fallen in a recent storm; it would make a decent club.

"Somewhere you'd rather be?" Dominic asked sarcastically as she went to find it.

"Trying to be sensible; just do what you do best and ignore me." Serena motioned for Chris to start the camera again and Dominic continued his monologue whilst Ian set up the ladder. It was incredibly tricky to maneuver the ladder into the right place. They wanted access to the upper floor, Dominic said that's where he'd get the best 'readings', not to mention the best views of the Weald... No one knew what he was on about but thought it was worth a shot. There was a lot of graffiti sprayed around though no one had paid much attention to it -it was going to be part of the investigation once we'd set up camp on the first floor.

Serena volunteered to climb up the ladder first with Chris holding it. Every step was fraught with danger and carrying the club made it harder -nothing looked structurally sound. There were also stories about bricks being hurled around by ghostly forces. No one was looking forward to that sort of thing happening though it did present an alibi if someone got fed up with Dominic.

It took Serena quite a few minutes to get up to the first floor and a lot of noise and grunting, much to Dominics chagrin. Ian then climbed up, slowly and looked nervous with every rung. Serena had never been so scared in her life. Chris stayed below with the camera so she could use 'dramatic' angles and uplighting to make it all more dramatic. Dominic seemed reticent to start the climb and kept looking to the road for some reason.

Serena was too busy checking out her immediate environment to register this. This was the infamous first floor which used to be the site of a brothel at one stage, but it was less like a a pleasure palace and more like a death trap; a rim three foot thick that ran round most of the interior of the central structure.It disappeared to nothing when it met the two silos and there was barely enough room for the four of them. Serena glanced down and shone the torch on the black pit below. She saw it glisten back; it wasn't just sweet-papers and razor blades but a fair amount of broken glass. A pit from hell surely; they had to be so careful because if anyone fell in there they wouldn't be getting back up again.

Chris finally urged Dominic up the ladder and he was almost to the top when Ian hissed; "There's four  people coming up the bloody path towards us, and from they sound drunk and lairy."

"For all we know they could be the druggies that the police told us about.. fuck." Serena whispered. She looked down at Chris and said, "You'd best hide. You've got the camera. We'll never get down in time and if anything bad happens you can sneak off to get the cops back."

Chris nodded and quietly snuck into the hedgerow behind the folly. She was careful to move in a way to keep everything in her eye-line.

The group walked up closer and actually stood at the base of the folly. Whatever feelings Serena had that this was a coincidence were quickly dashed as one of them shone a torch directly at them.

"There they are.. just like he said." One of them said; a young bloke, but it was impossible to see what they all looked like. Dominic, who had still yet to make it to the top, clearly stated in a dramatic fashion:

"It's ok. I'll handle this." and started down the ladder, much to Ian's bemusement and Serena;s total befuddlement. Form the derisory laughs it was possible to discern that there were three blokes and a woman beneath them.

"Where are you going, fatso?" chided the woman. The other bloke stood on the base of the ladder and shook it. Dominic blanched and froze.

"C'mon; that's not nice... That's not what we decided." He remonstrated. Serena and Ian immediately exchanged puzzled looks. This sounded suspicious, had Dominic set them up again?

"No idea what you're on about, Tubs." Snapped the first bloke. "You're on our property and you're all going to pay."

"I can't pay you.. I've got no money!" Dominic pleaded, suddenly realising just how wrong this had become.

"Then you're gonna get it ... " Said the second man and nodded to the one on the base of the ladder.

"FOUR!" Shouted the lad.

"You mean timber!" Snapped the woman who then giggled in delight as the guy shook the ladder harder. It was obvious that she was getting bored; crippled by a tiny attention span, she stood the other side of the ladder and gave it an almighty push. Dominic never had a chance to remonstrate; his infamous poison tongue useless; his eyes just widened in horror and slammed to the ground with a sickening thud,. Serena saw where he landed and tried not to think of the rag doll body now crushed by the ladder.

"Bastards!" She shouted and managed to pick up a loose chunk of rock at her feet, part of the walls no doubt. She threw it at the lad holding the ladder as hard as she could, and it hit him squarely on the shoulder making him cry out.

"You're for it now, bitch. You better learn to fly." The ladder was propped up against the wall again and the youth climbed it, furious at the indignation of being attacked. He pulled out a knife from his pocket when he was sure that Serena could see the full extent of what was going to happen next,. He made it to the top and had just raised his head up when Serena swung the tree branch she had been clutching so hard. The blow was lucky; it caught him directly underneath his chin; crushing his larynx. He flew off the ladder and ended up sprawled in the pit of glass and razors, the knife falling from his hands onto the rim in front of her. The two youths below screamed out insults and scrabbled around them to find things to throw. Unfortunately there was plenty of ammunition around: rocks and broken glass were flung at Ian and Serena.

"Flatten yourself!" Serena hissed to Ian and they become almost impossible to hit. The respite gave her a chance to think things through; everything had just been a rollercoaster since the police had left. This was supposed to be fun; she never dreamt that things could have escalated this far! Dominic dead and broken, lying next to the boy she had killed; but she couldn't afford to think about either of them,  Just then, Serena's pocket vibrated... it was her phone! 

Someone was trying to contact her. She assumed there was no reception, but being higher up on the first floor obviously made a difference. She carefully got it out of her pocket and saw that it was a Whatsapp message from Chris. Of course, she was still out in the sticks; the two yobs didn't know about her. The message was brief: "Get your belts off, I've got an idea!"

Thirty seconds later there was a lot of noise coming from the bushes on the outskirts of the folly. Dominic's bombastic voice reverberated around and Ian looked at Serena aghast. Serena shook her head and whispered that Ian should ready himself. The bloke and bitch went to investigate the noise leaving the other man to 'stand guard'. Chris snuck behind the remaining youth and smashed him over the head with a rock. 

Serena and Ian took off their belts and threw them to Chris who was staring at the boy she had just smashed, not able to comprehend the true horror. It was Ian who brought her back to reality. "They're coming back!" Chris snapped out of her trance and tied the belts together with her own. She fashioned a loop around the bottom of the step ladder and then trailed it to a hiding place round the inside edge of the folley and made sure she was safely out of sight. 

"It was the fucking camera! Someone else is out there somewhere." The remaining youth shouted to his now dead companion. 

"Yeah; and you're surrounded!" Ian shouted back. "Your mate's legged it... you're all alone now!"

"Yeah; just fuck off before it's too late!" Serena joined in. This really pissed off the guy. He couldn't believe the way the evening had progressed and started up the ladder. Seeing her opportunity Chris yanked on the belts forcing the ladder to fall on top of the man. Chris couldn't believe her luck, her plan had worked! She was so elated that she ran to try and secure the ladder again to get Ian and Serena down. She never saw the girl sneak around behind her of feel the blade as it entered her throat; just the sickly tug as it severed her windpipe and artery.

Ian poured pointless scorn at her, all the time Chris was still clinging desperately to life. Serena could hear her gasp for breath but it was a wet, desperate sound mingling with her sobs and tears.  Serena screamed in rage and shock, calling the girl every name she could think of which only angered the girl more. She looked around for something to throw. Behind her was the drop into the glass-filled cellar. To her left, the broken arch. To her right, only three feet of ledge before the wall ended. This time she picked up two rocks; throwing both one after the other in rapid succession. Ian managed to duck the first but didn't see the second and Serena could only watch the momentary shock as it hit him on the temple hard, making him step back. He never stood a chance and couldn't even scream before the sickening thud.  All she could do was look beneath her, but all that responded was blackness; all consuming. All it would have taken was one or two steps and her pain would be over now; there was no way she was in a fit state to stave off this mad girl. But that meant her friends would go unavenged; no one would know what really happened. 

It seemed to take ages for the girl to prop the ladder against the floor adjacent to the one Serena was standing on. The girl was being careful.. . but it afford Serena the first chance to really see her and it shook her to the core. Serena expected ripped trousers; scraggly hair, unkempt but she was now faced with a thin girl, in any other situation meek, and bespectacled. She was dressed in smart, stylish clothes and was confident in her own body. The girls started her climb up but before she reached the top she threw something at Serena's legs, making her lose her balance. For a split second Serena thought it was all over; to fall at this stage would have been ridiculous and her friends would have died in vain. With an intense effort she managed to twist herself and fell hard on to her knees. She stopped herself from toppling over but the pain was intense. Serena then realised that it was important to lull the girl into a false sense of security; there was a manic intensity in her eyes. The girl was close to jumping the gap now and Serena could see the bloodied knife in her hands. Serena just watched in desperation as the girl made the jump effortlessly. There was so little room for them to manoeuvre, and when girl just ran at her, she slashed the knife in wild arcs; Serena barely managing to avoid them. 

But the searing pain came seconds later; the girl had ripped a gash into Serena's side and was now trying to push her over. There was no time for Serena to think, just react. For the first time in her life Serena was pleased for the dancing she'd done as a child; she still remembered some of the footwork and managed to pivot out the way of the second thrust. At the same time she twisted her body to avoid the knife, but was still too slow to miss it all. It plunged into the top of her arm but Serena used that to her advantage and thrust her own, into the girls stomach and twisted it. She didn't stop there; she just stabbed; stabbed hard and stabbed fast. Serena never noticed the girl fall of the ledge.. she was too busy stabbing the air where the girl used to be. Eventually the reality of what had happened dawned on her and she knew it was over... Safe.. but trapped. The ladder, for all the good it did, might as well have been on the moon. Too badly injured to try and make the jump across and too high up to try and drop down. She had become the latest witness to the Racton sacrifices.

The immersive escape of the human condition

 The lift door stalled before opening, sending shockwaves across the nine of us. Not a great start, but it's going to get worse; it's just that none of us know it yet. There were no instrument panels in the lift so we had no way of knowing how many floors we’d traversed, or even if we moved at all; no vaguely sensual a-sexual voice reassuring us of upward motion, just the jarring revelation of an bereft office suite with a single table in the middle of the room.

Emma was the first one out of the lift; she was showing signs of claustrophobia and all of us felt her pain. Nine squashed in a lift; surely the subject of an extremely poor joke.  Even Nat let her dismount the lift first, and she was a bitch. We’d only been with each other for three minutes and it had been enough to figure out who everyone was.

Nat was obviously a middle-manager who could see the glass ceiling and let everyone else pay the price. Phil had already figured out that his best bet was to cozy up to her. He was chubby in a sadistic way and had obviously become the bully in school before anyone else tried to do it to him. Dido was a complete contrast; she was a lovely soul: quiet and observant. She made a joke: if we were stuck in the lift over a long enough period of time we might end up as diamonds in the rough. It was meant to lighten the mood for Emma, but I was the only one who got the joke.  Fiona laughed too but I could tell that she only did it out of solidarity, either that or she really was as docile as she looked. 

Paul stepped out of the lift, looked around casually and remarked that he could smell fish. When the rest of us stared at him blankly he remarked that it must have been all the cod philosophy in the lift earlier. Phil laughed at that and Nat just nodded. Debbie stared Phil and Paul down. She didn’t say a word, but it was enough. She walked over to Emma and checked to see how she was doing. Then there was Steve 

The room we were standing in didn’t make sense. The office building we had all entered was huge; a four storey block that was as wide as it was deep. This room was barely 30 foot by 30; the walls a dysentery brown with a pink frieze running in the middle; the CSC Logo stamped time and time again like a crude strip cartoon. We must have been in the middle of the office complex because the lifts were behind us. Those same lift doors suddenly closed leaving no trace of their existence. Steve walked up to the only remarkable feature in the room, the table.

There was a simple door bell randomly stuck on it, crudely glued with a single post-it note that had the words: “PrEss Me!” in erratic handwriting, scrawled using a blue biro almost close to running out. It looked like a four year old was learning how to write in cursive. Steve pressed the button.

Suddenly the lights went out and a video was projected onto one of the walls in front of us. A face we had only glimpsed in newsletters, and on the company intranet stared back at us. The brandy coloured background making the face of Dianne Bolus, the CEO of CSC, look almost oriental.

“Hello.” The voice chimed. “Here at CSC we believe that Escape Rooms are more than fright or flight. They can be a tool for pushing boundaries and understanding limits.” The acoustics of the room made her voice sound slurred, slightly robotic but what was even more bizarre was the way her eyes lined up with the frieze, making her eyes look quite demonic and maniacal. She continued as if aware of this. “Through cognitive mastery we can push people beyond what they thought possible. Through controlled stress we can understand people's breaking points and identify their vulnerabilities through social cohesion and erosion techniques. This would normally take years to take effect but using escape rooms we can affect rapid changes.” I looked around and saw people's expressions. Most were a mixture of trepidation and bemusement but Nat was nodding as if her life was depending on it; almost as if she expected Dianna to be watching everyone.

“The pressure stove,” the voice droned on, “ is the working title for today's exercise. You are all experts in your fields and at different stages of your development. Each of you know a different piece of the puzzle, though you may not know it. There are seven rooms to escape from. The data taken from today's exercise will help when we push this out to the corporate world. “Imagine: the office as escape room with team building the ultimate game. Each puzzle has to be solved in order to move on to the next room. This is the Orientation room and you have eight hours to reach the end point. The time starts when this message finishes. Good luck!”

The message stopped and the lights strobed for 10 seconds before flaring phosphorous white, blinding us all. When they dimmed enough we saw four doors; one in each corner of the room. 

“Maybe we should split up?” Steve ventured. 

1 - Orientation

“That’s a crap idea.” Paul snapped back. “You’ve obviously never seen any horror movies.”

“Of course, I have.” 

“Well, maybe you should try all of the doors in turn. If you don’t come back from one then obviously that’s not the one to take.” Phil snidely stated.

“You first.” Debbie interjected. Phil whirled round and was about to say something when Nat stepped into the fray.

“We need to do this systematically. Take each door in turn, follow where it takes us.”

“And if it takes us to a trap-room then what?” I replied.

“What’s a trap room?” Fiona asked, obviously nervous.

“There aren’t any trap rooms.” Nat replied contemptuously, she was trying so desperately to maintain cohesion but totally ignored Fiona in the process. “Let’s just pick that door over there.” she said, pointing to the far right door. We all traipsed over and walked through. The corridor we walked into was pitch black and as soon as we had all entered we saw the light from the room behind become extinguished. The door had shut behind us.

“Fucking brilliant.” Paul snapped. 

“Don’t say a word.” Nat snapped at me. “We just need to feel our way out, there has to be a way out.”

None of us had any spatial awareness but we managed to get out of the seemingly endless corridor… and found ourselves back in the same room again. We all looked at each other. I looked back to the corridor but there was no door there, just a blank wall. I shrugged and walked to the door opposite and stopped just before I got to the doorway. “You do realise that we have no real way of knowing this is the same room. You could  all wait for me to walk round again but what if I don’t.. What if the door closes behind me and this WAS the right way out. We have to keep together.” This was irrefutable logic and everyone moved in behind me.

Once again the door closed behind us and we fumbled our way to the end of the tunnel to an exact replica of the room before. This time the lights seemed slightly dimmer and there was a faint smell of mildew, probably coming from the black corridors.

The door closed once more behind us and we chose the third door… With the same results. The fourth door led to the same conclusion; a room so familiar, slightly dimmer bulbs but with a dampness in the air. I looked around to see what was going on and noticed there was something wrong.

“Has anyone seen Steve?” We looked around with no luck.

“It’s not as if he could be hiding anywhere.” Emma observed.

“Maybe we lost him in one of the corridors.” Dido replied. 

“Yeah, but which one?” Fiona remarked. “I mean when was the last time any of us did a head count?”

“A head count? What is this, primary school?” Phil snapped.

“Well, this was all about Orientation. I guess that Steve failed that exercise.” Paul observed, snidely. “Maybe we pick him up at the end.”

“Has anyone else noticed the door over there?”  Dido said, almost as if she doubted her own eyes. Sure enough there was a door right in the far end of the office, roughly where the lift would have been.  We all ran over to it and tried the handle. The door opened but there was just a wall behind.

“What the fuck?” Paul shouted. “This is crazy!”

“This is an escape room, did you really expect it to be easy?” Nat snapped back, despite herself. “What we need to do is stop making assumptions and search. There is a way out of here, but it's not going to be obvious.”

We all took the queue from her and searched every wall for clues. Fiona was more pragmatic and searched the door and then the table.

“What have you found, Fiona?” Emma asked. 

“On the door looks like another place for the handle to go.. There’s a hole with four smaller drill holes… on the table there’s now a screwdriver…”

“Wow! Check out the peepers on Fiona!” Dido chimed. “That’s a great feat of observation. I would never have worked that out!”

“Give it a try then, Fi.” Nat pronounced. Fiona looked at me and winced. It was obvious she hated being called Fi, but now was not the time to make a song and dance of it. She picked up the slightly rusted screwdriver and tried undoing the screws on the door handle. The screwdriver slipped a couple of times and nicked her hand, drawing blood. Phil snatched it from her and took the door handle off and placed it over the newly found holes and screwed it into place. Miraculously it fit. We cheered despite ourselves and opened the door to another corridor which led down a slope to yet another room. This was progress at least.

2 - Collaboration

“So how did that actually work?” Fiona asked me, sucking her finger.

“It was something that we tried looking into for another project: it’s a double-acting, double hinged door which divides the space immediately behind the door with a wedge shaped partition wall, which after swinging one way blocks the other door! Fascinating stuff… Is your finger alright?” 

“It tingles a bit, but it’s ok.” She replied. The corridor came out at a room which was an exact copy of the rooms above but it’s more dishevelled than the last. The lights were gloomier with a blueish tinge. There was more of a musty smell and some of the walls had a reddish tinge to them. The floor was dusty and you could see pronounced footprints in the dust. Again, there were no doors and no discernible way of getting out. 

“Split up, search the walls.” Nat said and we just did as we were told. There was silence for a few minutes then a distinct click could be heard and magically a gap appeared in one of the walls. A vertical sliver appeared. Everyone ran over to the gap but it disappeared as soon as we reached it.

“Bloody strange.” Phil remarked. “Its more of a tease than you, Dido.” 

“Fuck off, Phil.” Dido snapped back and stepped back. The click was heard again and the door opened a sliver more. 

“Don’t move!” Nat shouted at Dido.

“It’s pressure sensitive….” Emma remarked and looked down at the floor. “Look! She’s standing right where those footsteps end!” And she drew the path in the air with her hand. Sure enough there was a distinct trail of footprints that went direct to where Dido was standing. There was another set and I went and stood on that last imprint. The door opened enough to see another light at the end of the tunnel. This was enough for Nat to take change one more time and she pushed against the door, hoping to circumvent the process. 

To our shock and her horror the door pivoted against her weight and she fell forward. Yet there was only a void to meet her; no floor, just an open lift shaft and we heard her cries to the very bottom. Dido was about to move off her spot but I shouted for her to stay completely still. We might not get another shot at this. I searched the rest of the floor from where I stood and saw one more set of footprints and asked Emma to stand there. I could tell she was frightened but she did so anyway.The door opened fully and we were left with another decision; what would happen when we tried moving from the spot.

Debbie looked into the newly created doorway. “Somehow a floor has appeared on the corridor; it looks as if it’s folded down from the ceiling when all the pressure plates were occupied.”

“If you guys step into the corridor so you’re halfway down it the rest of us can try to make a run for it.” I explained, hoping I’d judged this correctly. “If I’m right then whoever is standing in the last position will act as a stabilising factor for the rest of us to run. We can then hold the doors for Emma to dash across.”

“And what if you’re wrong?” Phil chided.

“What do you care? You’re safe anyway.” I snapped back.

“Good point… get your running shoes on, Emma.” He replied and winked. I could see Fiona and Dido snidely talk about him behind his back. No one liked him and he knew it.

The group all went into the corridor as asked and then it was our turn. Both Dido and I made a run for it at the same time and, sure enough, nothing happened. I could see the sweat run from Emma’s brow. It was now or never and I just nodded at her.

We backed away to give her space and I watched as she made a spirited dash for the doorway in front of her. Nothing else happened. She reached the doorway unscathed. Beaming she stepped into the corridor before the floor dropped beneath her before we could even blink. I couldn’t even get to her because another door slid down before I could even breathe, cutting off any chance to reach her again.. 

“Watch out!” Debbie shouted from the room directly at the end of the corridor. The door was slowly sliding shut and we barely made it in time. 

3 - Assessment

We didn’t have a chance to mourn. The same room design as before; like a demented, colourblind designer. Darker room, weirder smell; a cloying denseness. Fiona was now scratching her hand and I took hold of it to look at it. It was inflamed and looked sorely red. She shrugged it off.

We looked around the room, and immediately saw the table in the middle as before except this time there were 6 square boxes, each with wires coming out the bottom leading to an unknown destination. We all walked to the table and scanned them. All were fixed firmly and finished in a mahogany effect. On the top were two holes and it was obvious that we had to put our hands inside.

I didn’t even think about the consequences, I was slowly understanding the warped logic behind these rooms and knew the only way we’d be able to get through was to face the challenges head on. I could see that everyone was scrutinising my every tic and inflexion. It was slow at first but I could feel my hands tingle as if something was scraping against my skin but it was just a persistent irritation. 

Phil just shrugged and did the same, plunged his hands into the holes as did Dido and Debbie. I could tell something else was happening with their hands… Phil turned to look at me and asked if my hands were hurting at all. I shook my head and said it was just an irritation. Phil told me that it felt as if his fingers had pins and needles. Dido’s hands ached, muscle fatigue and she couldn’t figure it out. Debbie was wincing in pain, for her it was as if someone was jabbing hot needles into the tips of her fingers. My irritation was getting worse due to the length of time I’d been enduring it, god knows how Paul was going to feel. He was hesitating and I couldn’t blame him but he looked at me. I just grimaced. He nodded and put his hands in the holes in his box. He screamed within seconds. That left Fiona. Her hand was already hurting her and it was obvious she didn’t want to be in any more pain. I sympathised, I really did… but at the same time I knew how the others were feeling; and it was only going to get worse the longer she left it.

“For gods sake, just fucking do it!” Paul shouted. Seconds passed, but it felt like hours. Finally Fiona screamed and thrust her hands into her box. Immediately a door opened behind us and we were released from the boxes. There were no wounds anywhere on our hands. Phill launched himself at Fiona but I shoved him back.

“There’s going to be a reckoning for you.” He snapped at Fiona. “And you do that again, I’ll end you too.” He threatened me.

4 - Performance Review

There was no connecting corridor this time, just an identically imperfect room. The same soul numbing decor, the same depressing mildew scent as before, just more pungent. The wallpaper was streaked with a viscous liquid, like a smoking room after a heavy session. What was really going on here?

Fiona looked at her hands and then at me. I shrugged as there was nothing I could say. Her wound was definitely infected and the veins in her arms were turning black. 

Debbie looked around. No one was surprised that there was no doorway, even the one behind us had shut tight. The floor was clean this time; no clues to be found there either. The wall was too high up to search and no one really wanted to touch the walls just in case they found out what was dripping down them.

“I wonder what’s going on?” Dido asked.

“What does it matter?” Phil tore into her.

“We’re being picked off one by one. That’s what’s fucking going on.” Paul retorted.

“But why?” Debbie insisted. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“What’s the context?” I asked.

“I’m going to knock your fucking block off in a minute.” Paul chided.

“Try it and you’ll have the rest of us to deal with.” Debbie replied, sternly.

“If you weren’t a woman…”

“And if you were more of a man, Paul, we might not be in this position.”

“Look, this isn’t helping.” I stated. “I heard rumors, right? There might be more to this… The boss lady, Dianna Bolus herself, big chief CEO supposedly had a breakdown not so long ago, right? She went away for a while to… find herself? She came back and then formed this new wing of CSC….”

“Yeah.” Debbie agreed. “I heard something about that. There’s been rumors of a secret development for ages but it’s been very hush-hish. Then all of a sudden I get a letter saying I’ve been promoted to this new position to test this new vision of hers.”

“But what if there was no finding of self? What if she had an L Ron Hubbard moment on the road to Damascus?

“El Ray who?” Phil asked in a vindictive way.

“You need to read a book once in a while.” I responded. “Ones without pop up centrefolds.”

“You pretentious, jumped up arsehole. I’m going to crucify you in front of your bloody harem.” Phil started towards me, ready to fight. Something stopped him in his tracks, something that no one else could see. “Well strike a fucking light… it’s just opened!”

We all turned to see another door welcoming us onwards and this time Phil led the way, but not without barging past me as hard as he could.

5 - Leadership

The door barely gave us a chance to get into the room before it closed. Upon closing all the lights went out. Dido screamed whilst Fiona moaned in despondency. For once Paul and Phil mirrored what I was thinking. “For fucks sake, what now?!”

It was then I heard a hissing noise, as if a tannoy had been turned on. Was this going to be another stirring speech from our elusive and sadistic CEO? No, it was going to be far worse.

“There’s only going to be one way out of here… Only the strong can get out of here.” It was my voice, but it wasn’t me speaking. Somehow my voice had been sampled and was now being used. At the same time I could hear other voices slowly come into the mix: Dido, Debbie… even Nat’s voice was heard chiding us. 

“The cut on yor hand is gods way of punishing you, Fiona…. You should have been looking out for Steve.”

“Paul and Phil are going to kill you if they can… You know that to be true… you have to get to them first…”

“Phil knows… Everyone one knows about you, Paul. Don’t try to hide it any longer, You think that by acting tough you can….”

“You’re not half the manager Nat was, Debbie. You’re not half the woman Nat was either. The reason you’re still single is that you’re far too masculine!”

All of the voices merged into a cacophony; swirling around our heads, infecting our minds. It was Phil who cried out first saying the words “Fuck no! Fuck NO! FUCK NO!” over and over until the lights suddenly blazed on again.

Phil turned round, raging. Saw me and I could see that he was indeed out to kill me. Luckily I was ready for him. I had been avoiding this all day but there was no way to back out of it. He ran at me full tilt, fist outstretched like a lance but there was no other awareness there. I just sidestepped and hit him hard on the side of his head, right behind the ear. I had to dissuade Paul from trying his luck as well. Phil fell down like a sack of grain and didn’t move. Debbie knelt down to feel his pulse.

“He’s dead..” She said as the door behind her slid open.

6 - Subjugation

Nobody wanted to move at first.  I couldn’t reconcile what had happened. If I hadn’t knocked Phil down he would surely have killed me, certainly with Paul’s help but I never wanted him dead. Debbie walked over to me and put her hand on my shoulder.

“You couldn’t have known; it’s not your fault. He attacked you.”

“What? He didn’t have to hit him like that!” Paul snarled, kneeling at Phil's prone body. “You could have tripped him, kicked him in the fucking nuts…”

“And what would you have done in the meantime?” Debbie snapped back, trying to defend me. I still couldn’t speak through the shock. “You were getting ready to knock the shit out of him as well…”

“Yeah, and I’m still going to!” Paul leapt at me, but I didn’t put up any defense. Maybe Paul was right. I felt like a rag doll in his hands. He had his hands on my throat and was dragging me out through the open door, Dido and Debbie trying to stop him. We found ourselves in a sloping stairwell; dowsed in emergency lighting. Paul was trying to push me over the metal banister but I was too heavy for him and the two girls were impeding his every move. Something in me finally snapped, the shock dissipated and I understood that Paul wouldn’t stop until both of us were dead. I stamped on the front of his ankle and scraped my foot down hard, forcing him to let go of me. He threw off Debbie and Dido easily and lunged at me one last time, but I managed to sidestep him, his momentum causing him to go over the metal railing down the central stairwell, smashing against the stairs as he did so. His ragdoll body finally splayed on the floor several stories below us.

I thanked Dido and Debbie for their help and brushed myself off. We then realised that we hadn’t seen Fiona during the fight. She was leaning against the closed door behind us and smiled weakly as blood dribbled out her nose. Her legs suddenly gave way and she slid down the door as if her strings had been cut. She had been suffering ever since she nicked her finger with the screwdriver… whatever was on that damned blade had infected her whole system. It was just myself, Debbie and Dido now. Three on the stairway to hell.

7 - Offboarding

We walked slowly. What else could we do? The dark crimson emergency lights disorientated us; there was now an ammonial stench to the air and the drip-drip-dripping noise came from everywhere. Debbie took my hand and Dido followed suit.  Foul smelling water cascaded down the central stairwell like someone wringing out a sponge. The PA system sparked on again.

“I knew it would be you three that would be the last. You’re almost at the end now and soon you will have the revelation that was given to me; and you will finally understand…” The words reverberated around us, urging us on.

The floor became sticky, worse than any cinema but we knew it wasn't spilled drinks. With every step the inevitability grew; a crushing sense of deja vu that only true horror can bring about. One hears about having your whole life flash in front of your eyes in the seconds before you die but it's much worse than that. You realise with certainty that every step of your life has led you to this point and you finally understand the futility of a knowing and benevolent God.

We finally reached the bottom of the stairs. Paul’s body, limp and as useless in death as it had been in life, waited for us; one arm stuck out like a drunken signpost. Our gazes followed its direction and saw one lone light shining in the distance; a guiding beacon to the way out perhaps? We walked closer and could hear the familiar dripping noise but more pronounced. Dido tried turning back but Debbie and myself urged her on. There was nothing else for us; we couldn't turn back now even if we tried. 

In front was a pool of liquid,  a viscous, crimson dew-pond and kneeling at the far edge, staring at us, was the woman who had hired us all at the start of the day. Dianna Bolus, Chief Executive Officer of CSC, her hands cupped in the liquid, drinking from the pool like it was a magic spring. Her face beatific and horrific at the same time. She looked at us and smiled in recognition. “My children... my children returned to me… drink! Drink!" Behind her six shapes slowly manifested from the darkness; six impossible and incomprehensible silhouettes now sacrifices to this demonic deity. Dido sobbed as stepped closer, walking into the liquid before kneeling to become the corrupted Trinitarian immersion, to be baptised in the name of corruption, death and decay. 

There was nothing I could do to stop her, and I could only watch when she finally joined Dianna on the other side. The embrace and kiss was devoid of all passion or warmth, it was a regurgitation of the corruption flowing through Dianna's veins. I groaned in helplessness, wanting so much to turn away but could only stare in disbelief when Debbie let her hand fall from mine.  I tried taking it again but she was out of reach. She didn't even hesitate, needed no encouragement and embraced Dianna with a perverse passion I didn't think she possessed. Her demure, empathetic demeanor ravaged by this wanton desire; she had been taken to the very brink of sanity and too far beyond to ever come back. Both her and Dido stood behind Dianna as the rest of her brood came out into the light. 

What else could I do? There was no way back for me. I had nothing on me to defend myself, no way to fight back. There could be no last minute rescue. I walked forward to receive my communion. The brood took a step towards me as I looked to Dianna only to see her shake her head slowly, the Duchenne smile slowly take hold of her entire face.