Into the maze we fall. shuffle 1

                                                               Three days past.

            There was a loud knocking at the door. Much less of a knock, but a banging, barbaric thud. Harriet didn’t want to deal with them right then, and she couldn’t. Her heart couldn’t bare another tear. How had this happened? She promised her son just a week, but it had evolved into something more. They were stuck there. Trapped inside by their own creation.

            She could still escape though, couldn’t she? She glanced at the window, and it was still open. He hadn’t come back though—she had to consider if he was even still alive.

            The banging came again, louder.

            “ITS YOUR TURN!” The raspy voice screamed at her, demanding what she couldn’t give.

            Harriet scooted further away from the door, up against the boarded wall. The frayed edges of Timothy’s bed caught her shoulder and gave her a few splinters that would later fester. Harriet pulled a blanket off the top of his bed and covered their bodies with its warmth. She began to stroke her son’s hair.

            “You know Sam, the first toy I ever bought with my own real money was this cute little dolly.” Harriet smiled along with the nostalgia that flooded over her, and her weeping was pardoned for a minute. “She had two outfits, one was a simple, blue skirt that was buttoned at her waist and paired with a white shirt spotted with blue dots.” She hesitated to wipe away a tear, and her smile faltered for a second. “And the other was a real pretty red dress. I loved that one the most, but of course I lost it.” She laughed a bit, then returned to her story, “I cried for a straight hour until my mom came to me in the night. She comforted me and said, ‘honey, your dolly, Annie, had a friend that really liked that dress too, so she lent it to her,’ so my mom gave me a box, and in it was another dress, it was red too, but I could tell it was hand made. I burst out crying and I hugged my mom and thanked her for the dress. I could tell she had worked on the dolly’s dress for nearly an hour, just for me. I laid in her arms with my pretty dolly and she sang me to sleep.” There was a flow of tears running down Harriet’s face, and she hugged Sam tighter. “I always wanted to be there for you babe, just like my mom was for me, but you were a boy and I didn’t know what to do, and then your father died, and he left me without any help. I couldn’t manage losing him and I know you still love him too. So that's why it was so hard for me to help you live a normal life when you had created such a shell.”

            Harriet couldn’t hold herself together any longer. She broke down, but Sam comforted her, and she kissed Sam’s cheek. His head lolled back, the pupils fell behind his head, and the gash in his temple had aged; dead skin peeled off like paint chips and the molding flesh had grown to a pallid green hue, but the spell was not broken, and Harriet still thought that her son was among the living.

            The bedroom window was swiftly thrown up, and a man slithered in. It was Vic, her beloved friend.

            “Hey Harriet,” he whispered quietly, calmly. He gently crawled over to the broken woman cradling a dead body.

            He looked deep into her eyes, but she didn’t look back. Victor put his arm soothingly around the woman he secretly loved.

            Harriet continued to cry without sound.

            “Why don’t we let Sam lay down, hon?” Victor pried the body out from Harriet’s arms, and she sat still, nonplussed, and in ataraxia.

Victor carried Sam’s body and laid him down on Vic’s bed across the room.

“Torv?” Vic’s eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Yes, Harriet?”

“I wanna see Randal.”

“Randal? Why do you-“ Victor looked down at his hands, cleared his throat, “Sh-sure Harriet. I’ll take you to see him.” The room was dark, and it was night outside. Victor had just been outside, and he didn’t want to go back, but the thing waiting outside their door had come back, and it had the intentions of getting in.

Three thuds erupted from the door. It quaked in its sill, and they were in the wrong wing. Timothy, Vic, Matthew, and Jimmy were all put in the second wing, which had been constructed by someone who, at this time, virtually no one trusted. The door wasn’t going to hold, and Vic could see that now. One more thud. Two thuds. Harriet whined.

“Torv, lets go!” she pulled on Vic’s arm, but he waited. He was perplexed by these creatures. What had Randal done?

Vic hushed Harriet, and he listened. What was that sound? It mimicked that of a mechanical—drill? Vic focused his attention on the door, and he saw one of the screws—slowly pull itself out of the door. He heard the drop of one screw in the hallway.

“Harriet?” the voice rasped, hushed by the door, “Harriet? Wanna’ see Sammy? Your dear baby Sam?” A second screw slowly pulled itself out of the door. “Sam is in a good place now, in fact, in a better place than you are,” The second screw dropped, and the third started turning around. Harriet let go of Vic’s arm. “Harriet?” she crept to the door, put her ear against it and listened.

“Yes?” The third screw was halfway out.

Not understanding the situation fully: “Harriet let’s go now,” Vic pulled on Harriet’s sweater this time.

Plop. The third screw was released. The sound rebounded in Vic’s ears, and the machine stopped. With sudden horror he realized: The other six screws that now would have held the door in place were previously removed. Now all that separated Harriet from the monsters in the hallway was—nothing.

Vic tore Harriet away from the door and it came thundering down on the ground, the brutal, terrific creature stood standing; awaiting Harriet’s entry to the unconscious realm. Vic threw Harriet in front of himself and pushed her outward.

“OUT!” He screamed, “Get out the window!” she turned around, with worried eyes that Vic would never forget.

“Sam.” He understood her, nodded. With one bound, she was outside, almost free from the creature in Vic’s bedroom, but Vic wasn’t.

Vic swept up Sam’s body and cradled him near his chest, left arm under Sam’s legs. Vic ran for the window, and the creature was close behind. Five feet away from the window, four feet, three feet, and down goes Victor, the severed leg of a chair smashed brutally against Vic’s side, there was an instant snap. Vic’s fourth rib down gave away to the incredible force of the creature’s weapon. He tumbled over and dropped the kid, rolled onto his side, felt the maelstrom of pain swoop down and roll him over again to his back. He stared deep into its sockets, which now dripped with some milky solution. And it spoke.

The voice was raspy, quiet, and unsure of the words it was producing. “Sh-she asked that her chylde be ruh re-re-moved from hear. Sh-she wanted Sam-mule to go some wear bet-ter.” Vic struggled for air, his broken rib tearing into his lungs. It spoke again. “Eyemm so-sorry I hert yoo Vic-tor. I did not want you to leaf.”

Vic looked deeper into the sockets, and almost found sadness, melancholy, longing.