by Amy Cross
Hauling myself up, I head over to the door, but I quickly realize that there's no handle. I try pushing it open, but it's clearly locked and there's not even a keyhole. I reach up and check all the edges, determined to find some way through, but after a moment I realize that I'm trapped. Taking a step back, I look around, and suddenly I start to feel a little short of breath. The door seems to have no gaps around its edges, and there are no windows in the room, so I have no idea how I'm supposed to breathe. I tell myself that this is just my mind playing tricks on me, that no-one would go to all the trouble of kidnapping me just to leave me in a place like this so I can suffocate, but as I head over to the wooden chest I swear I can feel the air getting thinner, as if I'm already using up all the oxygen. The worst part is, the more I panic, the deeper and sharper I breathe, which means that I'm making the situation worse.
“Stay calm,” I whisper to myself. “Do not panic!”
Dropping to my knees, I start to examine the wooden chest. After all, there might be an oxygen mask inside or something I can use to open the door. Fumbling with the clasp, I start to worry that it's some kind of trick, or maybe a test, before I realize that I've simply been trying to turn it the wrong way. Finally I manage to get the clasp open, and I lift the lid only to find -
I freeze as soon as I see it.
At the bottom of the chest, there's something red, something made of fabric, something folded. I instantly know what it is, and although I reach inside to pick it up, I hesitate at the last moment. I don't want to touch this thing, I don't even want to admit that it exists, so I pull my hands out take a series of slow, deep breaths, trying to counteract the growing sensation of panic. I feel as if I'm right back where I started.
“It's okay, Elly,” a tinny, slightly echoing voice says suddenly from above me. “Just put it on.”
Looking up, I see a small speaker in the corner. How did I not notice that before? Next to the speaker, there's a small black dot on the wall, which I guess is a camera.
“The door will automatically open once you put it on,” the voice continues. “Nice and simple, huh?”
I shake my head, as I feel fear starting to grip the pit of my stomach.
“It's time to get serious,” the voice adds. “Elly, you know what you have to do, I just explained it to you, so just get moving. You're wasting our time right now.”
“No,” I whisper.
“You don't have any other options,” he tells me. “You can put the cloak on and walk out of there, or you can refuse.”
“And then what happens?”
“I imagine you'll die of dehydration. I certainly have no intention of giving you food or water, not while you're being so obstinate. To be honest, I've never left someone to die in a room before, so I don't know exactly how it would go down.”
“Who are you?” I ask, trying to work out whether I recognize the voice this time.
“You really want to know, don't you?”
“I want -”
“You want to know who I am,” he continues, “and you want to get out of that room, and you want to escape from all of this. You can do those things and more, and all you have to do to start on that journey is to put the cloak on. Why are you so scared?”
Looking back down into the chest, I stare at the fabric for a moment. I remember wearing it once before, when I was with the previous Lady Red, but I swore those days were behind me.
“Going to the police was a very brave move, Elly. I should have expected nothing less from you. You're so very, very brave at times. And strong. I like that. It's useful.”
“But I -”
“Put it on.”
I want to tell him to go to hell, but I also want to get the hell out of here. Cautiously, with trembling hands, I reach into the chest and pick up the fabric. As I get to my feet, I see that my worst fears were true: I'm holding the red cloak that was always reserved for Lady Red. In fact, I think it's the exact same one that Alice used to wear.
“It's beautiful, isn't it?” the voice continues. “It's actually the exact cloak that has been worn by every Lady Red since the game began back in 1751. Her name was Elizabeth Edgewood, and there have been nineteen other women who've worn that cloak since then. You're the twenty-first Lady Red, and perhaps the last. Of course, you have to look the part.” He pauses, as if he's waiting for me to comply. “You want me to open the door, don't you?”
Turning the cloak around in my hands, I feel the luxurious fabric.
“Put it on,” the voice says firmly, “or die in there. I will leave you to rot if you don't cooperate.”
Figuring that I need to get out of the room, I start to slip the cloak over my shoulders.
“Not like that,” the voice adds. “You know how it works.”
For a moment, I genuinely have no idea what he means, before suddenly it strikes me. I hate the idea of wearing the cloak and nothing else, but I guess I'm not in a position to argue. Glancing at the door, I realize that my best bet is to just do whatever it takes to get out of this room, and then I'll be able to come up with a plan to get away.
Slowly, I start to unbutton my shirt.
“There's no need to be shy,” the voice continues as I start to strip. “You've learned that along the way, haven't you? We're all the same, underneath.”
Dropping my shirt to the floor, I unhook my bra and cast it aside, before pulling down my trousers and underwear. Once I'm naked, I slip my arms into the cloak and quickly close the fabric around my naked body. Reaching up, I adjust the collar and then, realizing that Alice often kept the hood up so that it partially obscured her face, I do the same.
“There,” the voice says, sounding pleased. “You're really getting into the spirit of things, aren't you?”
Hearing a sliding sound, I turn just in time to see the door opening. To my surprise, I realize that there are trees on the other side, and a dirt floor. Stepping over to the doorway, I lean out and find that there's a dark forest, with a bright moon shining high above and a faint breeze blowing between the trees. The whole scene seems completely surreal, almost as if it's something from a fantasy.
“That's right,” the tinny voice continues, “you can go outside. You didn't expect that, did you?”
“Where am I?” I ask, trying not to sound too scared.
“Where do you think you are?”
“Just tell me.” I turn to look up at the speaker. “Who are you?”
“You know who I am.”
“No, I -”
“The game is waiting for you, Elly. The game has been waiting for you for a very long time. Longer than you realize.”
“I don't know what -” Spotting something nearby, I realize that there's a small wicker hamper resting on the ground. “You've got to be joking.”
“The path will take you to where you're meant to go.”
“But if -”
“See you at the cottage.” The speaker clicks suddenly, as if something has been disconnected.
“No,” I reply, before realizing that once again I seem to have no choice. Stepping through the doorway, I flinch slightly as I feel cold, damp leaves beneath my bare feet. I make my way over to the basket and reach down, lifting the lid and finding that there are various Tupperware cases inside, as if someone has prepared a meal. I glance over at the trees, and then I look back at the door and see that I was in a small, portable room that was seemingly placed out here in the forest.
Sighing, I pick up the basket.
“Lady Red Riding Hood?” I whisper, feeling as if I'm on the verge of losing my mind. “Seriously? What's next, a wolf in someone's bed?”
I wait for a moment, but it's clear that there's not much I can do while I'm standing here, and I can see a faint path running past and threading its way between the trees. Sighing, I start walking, while constantly looking around in case there's any sign of someone watching me. All I can see, however, is darkness between the trees, although after a moment I spot something small and metallic attached
to one of the nearby branches and I realize that it's another speaker.
“Hello?” I say, reaching up and tapping the device.
Silence.
“Nothing to say, huh?”
Glancing over at some of the other trees, I realize there are speakers attached to several of them. The whole forest seems strangely artificial, although the sky looks real enough. Making my way along the path, with the basket in one hand, I make sure to keep the cloak wrapped tight around my body as I start to shiver slightly. This whole situation is so surreal, I can barely believe that any of this is happening and I half-expect to wake up at any moment and find that I'm somewhere else entirely. After a couple of minutes, however, I spot a faint, warm glow in the distance, and I soon realize that there's a cottage up ahead, like something from a fairytale. When I reach the end of the path and find myself in a clearing, I stop and stare at the cottage. It's clear that I'm supposed to go inside, but at the same time I hate the idea of just doing what I'm told.
At some point, I have to find a way to escape.
***
The cottage's front door creaks as I push it open.
Inside, there's a small room with stone walls, and a log-fire burning in the hearth. Although I want to be cautious, I slip inside quickly and shut the door, glad to be out of the cold. As the fire casts flickering light all across the room, I set the basket down and take a few steps forward, listening for any hint of life, but all I hear is the sound of logs spitting and crackling as they burn. There's a door at the far end of the room, leading to another part of the cottage, and I'm certain that someone must be waiting for me through there. Thinking back to the story of Little Red Riding Hood, I can't help recalling that she ended up facing a wolf.
Then again, right now, I just have to play along and wait for my chance to get away.
“Hello?” I call out.
“Hello,” says a voice suddenly, coming from a speaker that I hadn't even noticed, mounted on a nearby wall. “So you found the place, did you?”
“It would've been hard to miss.”
“Well, come through. And don't forget the hamper. I'm so very hungry, you wouldn't believe how long I've been waiting for you to arrive.”
“Can't you just tell me what you want without all this fuss?” I ask. “I don't like being kidnapped, and I don't -”
“You don't like running, either, do you?”
“Running?”
“How long were you going to stay in Amsterdam?”
“I...” Pausing, I realize that the people running the game obviously knew where I was the whole time.
“It's a lovely city,” he continues. “There's nothing more enjoyable than enjoying a nice meal at that hotel opposite the train station, and then strolling across the canal to find a little cake for dessert. I sometimes wish I could go back.”
“You knew I was there?” I reply. “Why didn't you come and get me?”
“We prefer to tread cautiously when we're away from our usual jurisdiction,” the voice continues, “so we were content to let you stay there for a while. Still, it was always our intention to bring you back as soon as possible. The position of Lady Red can't be left open, not for long. The paperwork alone would be immense. You don't see that part of the game, but trust me, there's so much bureaucracy, it's unreal.”
“You could always rip it up and stop,” I point out.
The voice starts laughing.
“Listen,” I continue, “whatever -”
“Come through,” he says, “and for God's sake, bring the basket.”
Grabbing the basket from the table by the door, I start to make my way across the room until I'm able to peer through to the other part of the cottage. My heart sinks as soon as I see that there's a bedroom, complete with a large bed and a figure who seems to be hiding under the sheets. Several wires are running into the bed, which I guess is how the figure is managing to operate the speakers.
“Don't be shy,” the voice continues, and a moment later a hand reaches out from the bed and drops a microphone to the floor. “Come in,” he adds, speaking directly now rather than through the speakers. “Not too close, mind. I'd like to preserve a little mystery. And set the basket down nearby.”
“Who are you?” I ask, taking a step forward before stopping just inside the doorway.
“Who do you think I am?”
“I have no idea. You're not...” I pause, trying to work out where I've heard the voice before. “Are you the new Mr. White?”
“There is no new Mr. White.”
“The new Mr. Blue, then?”
“I am not Mr. Blue.”
“Then... You're definitely not Thomas Pope.”
“I'm not Thomas Pope.”
“Then who -”
“Every game requires someone to look after the rules,” he continues, still speaking from under the blankets and bedsheets, which are muffling his voice a little. “Someone to whom the players can appeal if they feel they've been cheated. A banker, to give out the tokens. Or maybe a quiz-master who can read out all the questions. After all, we can't have chaos, and the players can't be trusted to regulate themselves.”
“So who are you?”
“That would be telling.”
“If you -”
“What do you remember, Elly? What happened right before you ran away to Amsterdam?”
“I was with Mr. White and Thomas Pope,” she said cautiously. “I was -”
“Wrong.”
“No, it's true, I was -”
“You're missing something,” he continues. “You recognize my voice, because we met once before, but you don't remember it. You didn't run away to Amsterdam to escape the game, you went to Amsterdam as part of it. We all agreed that this strategy would be for the best since, after all, we're approaching the end of the whole thing. You're closer to victory that anyone else has ever managed to get, and I really think you might be the one who brings two hundred years of play to a close. How does that make you feel?”
“How could I not remember meeting you before?” I ask.
“You voluntarily subjected yourself to a process.”
“No, I -”
“You did. Everything was explained to you, and you understood.”
“No, there's no way -”
“The plan for you to go to Amsterdam was approved by Lady Red herself.”
“But I'm Lady Red!”
“Watch.”
Before I can answer, I hear a whirring sound nearby, and I turn to see a large screen being lowered from the ceiling until it covers a wall on the far side of the room. A moment later, there's the sound of a projector coming to life, and a bright white image begins to flicker on the screen. I take a step forward, watching as the number five flashes up, then the number four, then all the way down to one, and then -
“Hey,” says a female voice suddenly, as a face appears on the screen.
Stopping suddenly, I realize that I recognize the face.
It's me.
I look scared, and I'm sitting naked in the frame, shown from the waist up.
“So this is proof,” I continue on the screen. “I know it's the only proof that'll ever work, Elly. After I've recorded this video, I'm going to undergo a process to wipe my memory of the past few days, and then I'm going to go to Amsterdam. I'll think I'm hiding, I'll probably be completely paranoid, but it's the only way. I need to get away from here for a while, and Mr. White and Thomas Pope both agree that...” I glance away for a moment, as if my attention has been caught by something behind the camera, before I turn back to the lens again. “If you're watching this video,” I continue, “it means that you've made it back, it means that the plan has worked and you're in the cottage, and it means that you're with Mr. Raven. You're so close to ending the game, closer than you can possibly imagine, and you can't back away now. Please, don't let fear make you weak.”
“This isn't me,” I whisper, taking a step closer. “It can't be...”
“I wish I ha
d some advice for you,” I continue, as the camera closes in on my face, “but all I can say is that you need to trust Mr. Raven. He understands the game better than anyone, and it's his job to guide you through the final stages. You won't remember this, but he's proven himself to me... to us. There have been a lot of people in his role over the years, waiting in the shadows for the day when they're needed, but finally that day has arrived. When he gives you the challenges, you must complete them, do you understand? Don't be scared, don't be an idiot, just get on with it and do your best. You can do this, Elly, but you need to be strong, stronger than you've ever been in your life. It's not your fault that you were chosen for the game, but it will be your fault if you chicken out. Please, just -”
On the screen, I pause as another voice is heard from off-camera.
“It's time for me to go,” I continue, as the image flickers slightly. “I guess I won't remember recording this video, but you have to trust Mr. Raven. I trust him, and I'm you, and... Good luck. If you only ever trust one person in the world again, trust me. I swear to God, you -”
Suddenly the film ends, and the projector switches off automatically. I'm left staring at the blank screen in stunned horror, feeling as if my mind has been stretched to breaking point. I know I didn't record that video, but at the same time it definitely looked like me, and it sounded like me, and I can't deny what I just saw right in front of my eyes.
“Now do you understand?” asks the voice from under the bed-sheets.
I turn to him. “Who are you?”
“Someone you learned to trust.”
“That's not enough. Who -”
“Call me Mr. Raven,” he continues, “if you have to call me anything at all. Personally, I don't like names very much. I think we should ban them, they just encourage preconceptions. I mean, Mr. Raven sounds so intimidating doesn't it, and I'm not intimidating at all. I'm a real pussy-cat.”
“That can't have been me on that film,” I tell him, as I step closer to the bed. “None of this makes sense. Show me your face.”
Although he's still under the covers, I can tell he's shaking his head, and a moment later I realize I can hear him giggling.