“YOU ARE FREE TO JOIN THE OTHER HOUSEMATES, DAMIEN. CONGRATULATIONS ON WINNING THE FIRST TASK.”
Damien remained on the floor for a while. He was panting and moaning in pain as the counter-agent took its time doing its job.
Congratulations? A man is dead.
What have I got myself into?
5
Damien stumbled out of the Elimination Chamber and fought the urge to vomit. Everybody stared at him with wide, unblinking eyes as he re-entered the living area. Behind him, the door to the white cube room closed on its own and locked.
“Please tell me that was all one big joke,” cried Jules. She pointed to the large television screen. “What we just saw isn’t real, right?”
Damien shook his head. He wanted to say something, but there were no words that could adequately explain or even make sense of what had just happened. His one eye was still closed and he might be partially blind, but even that, right now, seemed inconsequential.
“What happened in there?” Jade asked. For once, her voice was softer and less sure of itself. She folded her tattooed arms around herself tightly, almost as if to stop herself from shaking. A cigarette burned down to the nub between her fingers.
Damien moved over to the sofa just as his legs failed him. He dumped down against the cushions and lay back. He shook his head over and over, and didn’t blink for what must have been several minutes.
“Is Chris really dead?” Tracey eventually asked him. “Did they really just poison him?”
“Course they didn’t,” said Richard. “No bleeding way.”
Damien looked at them all, making eye-contact with each of them in turn, and then said, “They killed him. I know that for sure, because they almost killed me. Whatever is in these goddamn cuffs is lethal.”
There was a frightened squeal from one of the group, but Damien didn’t see from whom. What he did see was the ashen, terrified expressions of his companions.
“This can’t be happening,” said Jules. “It makes no sense at all.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Alex agreed. “Why would they kill Chris?”
Damien shook his head. “I don’t know, but I think one thing is for sure – none of us is on television right now. This whole thing must have been some kind of scam.”
Everybody groaned as the reality of the situation sunk in. Jade had already gone and grabbed a bottle of red wine and was now gulping from it loudly.
“So, there’s no prize money?” said Sarah.
“What a crock of shit,” said Tracey. “The money was the only reason I’m here.”
Richard hissed at her. “Bitch, that’s the least of our worries.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Then don’t act like a bitch.”
“There’s no point falling out with one another,” said Danni. “We have to figure this out together.”
“Figure what out?” Richard flapped his hairy arms like a flustered bird. “We’re stuck in the middle of God-knows-where with a madman injecting poison into us whenever he feels like it! We’re screwed; totally effing screwed.”
Damien had a headache and his wounded eye had begun to throb. The older lady, Catherine, seemed to notice his discomfort and sat down beside him. “Let me take a look,” she said.
Damien allowed the woman to prod her fingers around his cheek and then slowly ease his eyelid open. The pain wasn’t too bad, but the tears were unending. It was like a tap had been turned loose inside of his eyeball.
“Can you see anything at all?” Catherine asked him.
“It’s all blurry.”
“That’s okay, blurry is good; better than seeing nothing at all. I think you’re going to be okay. Your eye is pretty inflamed, but it doesn’t seem like any permanent damage has been done.”
Damien sighed with relief. “Thanks. I hope you’re right.”
The old woman smiled at him. “Well, I’m not a nurse – just a care worker – but I think it looks okay.”
“You’re a care worker?”
Catherine nodded and her glasses bobbed on her wrinkly nose. “I was. Retired last year. I was hoping to win myself a nest egg to grow old on. Guess that isn’t going to happen now.”
“Can we concentrate on something a little more important than his sodding eye and your career, please?” said Richard. “Like how we’re going to stay alive.”
There was a sudden flashing that made all of them turn around. The large television screen was alternating between bright green and dark red. The flashing was so rapid that Damien was sure it would trigger an epileptic seizure in those who suffered from the condition. Then the flashing stopped and the familiar logo of the staring eye appeared.
A video began to play.
An elderly gentleman in a worn, grey suit and a bright red dickey bow appeared onscreen. His milky eyes held back tears. “My…my son, Graham, supported the Baggies his entire life, ever since I took him to see his first game at The Hawthorns. We used to live in Smethwick back then and could walk to the matches. It kept us close, you know? Going to see the match every two weeks gave us a bond that not every father is lucky enough to have with his son. I miss those days.” The old man began to cry silently. Tears trickled down his weathered cheeks but he continued speaking. “My son was a grown man with children of his own when that vicious thug killed him at the train station. Graham always used to feel guilty for leaving his family on a Saturday to come watch the football, but it was time with his old dad; he wouldn’t sacrifice it. I loved him for that. He grew up to be such a kind man – a man I was proud to have raised.”
Someone off camera handed the old man a tissue and he used it to wipe at his eyes. “That wicked monster stamped my son’s skull into the pavement, just because he was wearing a West Brom shirt instead of an Aston Villa one. That was it, the only reason. The wretched beast had a few beers before the match, came out the pub, and decided it would be fun to kill my son. And what did he get for it? Four years.” The old man spat on the floor in disgust. “He said my son had started the fight and that the killing was accidental. The drunken louts he was with backed up his story. But I know it isn’t true. I know my son.” The old man stared hard into the camera. “And now I’m going to be the one having fun watching you die, Christopher Maloney. I hope you rot in Hell you thug.”
The television screen went blank.
Alex ran his hands through his blond hair and whistled. “What the hell was that?”
Danni put a finger to her lips. “Shush,” she said. “Something else is coming up on the screen.”
Sure enough, a new image appeared on the high-def screen. It was a grid of silhouetted faces – three squares by four – twelve people in total. The first silhouette slowly transitioned into a full colour photograph. It had been taken recently. It was Chris’s dead face, taken from inside the Elimination Chamber where Damien had left him.
“Oh God,” said Jules, covering her mouth with the palm of her hand. “Oh God, oh God.”
More images began to appear onscreen. This time it was a collection of words. Beneath Chris’s photograph the word THUG began to blink. It was what the old man had called him.
Below the other featureless silhouettes – unclear even in their gender – were the following words: COWARD, CHEAT, MURDERER, ABUSER, WHORE, TRAITOR, TRICKSTER, PEDDLER, PREDATOR, CRUSADER, and finally the word, THIEF.
“What the hell is going on?” Richard demanded of no one in particular.
“I don’t know,” said Damien. “But I think we’re in a lot of trouble.”
DAY 3
It had been difficult to fall asleep for obvious reasons. Chris’s death, and the inexplicable situation they had all found themselves in, had quickly led to panic. Each of the housemates had tried to force the metal bracelets from their wrists, even going so far as to draw blood as they fought desperately to wrench their hands through the unforgiving steel rings. Damien had worn the flesh almost down to the bone in an attempt to remove his own shackles. But
it did no good. They had all searched desperately for a way out of the house. But it did no good. They pleaded and begged to be released. But it did no good. Eventually they had all succumbed to the weariness and fatigue of their shocked minds and given up completely.
Since then the housemates had huddled together on the large sofa, afraid to separate. Jules had snuggled up against Damien and he had let her, understanding the woman’s need for comfort. He needed it himself.
Now that the sun was rising and a new day approached, Damien felt afraid for the first time in years. Would they still be forced to continue with this sick and twisted game now that they were no longer willing? Would there be more tasks and more votes? Would he have more to worry about more than a wounded eye?
Now that he’d had a few hours’ sleep, his eye had almost returned to normal. It was sensitive and weepy, but the pain was mostly gone and he could see through it again. He’d been worried for a while and was glad to have his full sight back. He could think of nothing worse than losing his sight, or even just part of it. But, now that it was clear it would be okay, there were other things to worry about.
We need to find a way out of here.
First I need to find out why we’re even here, though. This isn’t just random bad luck. Chris was killed in revenge by someone who knew him. The old man wanted him here.
Is this all just one big grudge?
But who would have a grudge against me?
Damien’s mind was reeling. While he had not always lived a good life – far from it in fact – he considered himself to be a good man. Any enemies that he had were deeply buried in his past, and that’s where they should stay.
But sometimes forgotten enemies are the ones who bite hardest.
There was no one that came to Damien’s mind as a likely perpetrator for his recent predicament, so he decided to focus on other things for the time being – and right now that was food. If he and the other housemates were going to have any chance of getting through the next seven days, they would need their strength. They would all think more clearly with food in their belly.
Damien pulled himself up off the sofa and padded quietly to the kitchen. No one else was awake yet due, once again, to the fact that they had all drank too much. Now, more than ever, Damien was glad for his sobriety. Anything could happen inside this house and he wanted to be ready for it – not drunk and in denial.
They’re acting like if they just get drunk enough it will all go away.
They need to get their heads out of their arses.
Damien headed over to the kitchen cabinets and pulled out some boxes of cereal. He lined up a handful of bowls and began pouring in the corn flakes. He finished it off with a pint of milk from the fridge. He had expected to eat alone, but Danni woke up and joined him.
She took the stool next to him at the counter and grabbed one of the bowls of cereals. Damien handed her a spoon.
“Get any sleep?” he asked while adjusting his collar to get at an itch.
“A little bit. It’s not very easy to relax right now, you know?”
“You don’t have to tell me.” He took in a mouthful of cereal and suddenly considered it strange that his tormentors had even bothered to provide fresh food and drink. If they were all in the house to be killed, what did it matter if they were fed or not?
“You think they’ll make us do another task later?”
Damien nodded. “I think this whole thing has been set up to punish us. I felt the poison in my wrists. It was real. These people aren’t playing around. I can only imagine the planning and cost that would have gone into keeping us all here.”
Danni nodded, stared into her cornflakes and mixed them around with her spoon. “So you think we’re pretty much screwed then?”
Damien swallowed a lump in his throat and sighed. “I really don’t know, but I don’t intend on giving up. Once everyone is awake, we’ll keep trying and find a way out. There must be something we can do.”
“I hope so, because I don’t want to die here. I didn’t want Chris to die either, even with what he’d done in his past.”
Damien looked at her for a moment and felt his mind wander. “You mean that man he killed at the train station?”
Danni nodded.
“I was thinking about that. It was obvious the old man wanted revenge. That was why Chris was here. You think that’s why we’re all here?”
She looked at him as though she wasn’t following. Her dark eyes went narrow. “What? You mean we’re all here because someone wants revenge against us?”
“Yes.”
“In that case, what are you guilty of?”
Damien thought about it for a moment, scanning back through the mental filing cabinet of his past memories. “I’m guilty of a lot of things,” he admitted. “But nothing that I deserve to die for. If somebody thinks any different then I intend to meet them face to face so I can find out why.”
“Well,” said Danni. “All I’m worried about right now is not getting voted for. I don’t know what I’ll do if I have to do a head to head elimination like you did last night. I’ll be as good as dead.”
Damien placed a hand on her arm. He didn’t want her to be afraid. She would be better off focusing on the present. “You’ll be fine,” he said to her. “We can all surprise ourselves when our backs are up against the wall. We’ll find a way out of this, I promise.”
Danni smiled at him, but there were tears glistening in her eyes. “Partners?” she said.
Damien nodded. “Partners.”
2
Everybody gathered in the garden. They seemed to feel less trapped out there; like they were somehow freer if they could keep the open sky in their view. It was a little warmer today and the sun gave off a sliver of warmth.
The large camera above the staring eye kept watch on them all.
Damien knew that the real reason they were all gathered together in a group was because they were waiting for whatever came next. They knew that the nightmare was not yet over – only just beginning in fact – and they were all dreading the sound of The Landlord’s voice.
I wonder who he is. Is he a maniac? Or does he have a motive for what he’s doing to us?
Damien looked up at the grey sky and put the time at about mid-day. That was when the booming voice they had all been waiting for finally came over the speakers.
“HOUSEMATES, PREPARE FOR TODAY’S TASK. IT WILL COMMENCE IN FIVE MINUTES.”
“Oh God,” said Jules. “Oh God, Oh God.”
“Just calm down,” Jade chided her. “I’m not going to have you screwing this up.”
“Screwing this up? What am I doing?”
“Nothing,” said Jade. “But if you end up on my team, I won’t have you freaking out and losing me the task.”
“Just back off Jade,” Damien warned. “None of us are the enemy here.”
“No,” said Jade. “You’re just the competition; only now the prize is getting out of here alive.”
“None of us is getting out of here alive,” said Alex. “We’re as screwed as a kid at Gary Glitter day care.”
“Just be quiet,” said Tracey. “You’re not helping anyone by stating the obvious.”
Their bickering was interrupted by a motorised whirring. The hidden platform in the garden – the one that had contained glass compartments yesterday – was rising up out of the ground again. This time it did not contain glass containers. It contained a metal table with several sets of pliers. There must have been some sort of preparation area below where someone was able to change around the equipment on the platform.
“HOUSEMATES, YESTERDAY CHRIS WAS ELIMINATED FROM THE COMPETITION. THE PRIZE MONEY OF TWO MILLION POUNDS IS STILL UP FOR GRABS. NOW MORE THAN EVER YOU MUST PARTICIPATE IN THE TASKS AHEAD. YOU ARE COMPETING NOT ONLY FOR THE MONEY BUT FOR YOUR LIVES.”
“Why are you doing this?” Jules shouted at the raised platform as it were a conscious being. “Why are you doing this to us?”
“BECAUSE YO
U DESERVE IT. EACH OF YOU HAS WRECKED LIVES IN PURSUIT OF YOUR OWN SELFISH DESIRES. YOUR SINS WILL BE EXPOSED. YOUR ONLY SALVATION WILL BE BY SURVIVING UNTIL THE END. ONLY THROUGH THE BLOOD OF YOUR COMPETITORS WILL YOU FIND ABSOLUTION.”
“This is insane,” said Alex. “You’ll pay for this, whoever the hell you are.”
“I AM NO ONE. I AM JUST A FACILITATOR FOR JUSTICE, A SERVANT OF THE SCALES.”
“You call this justice?” said Damien. He had heard enough. “I’ve spent the last years of my life helping people and giving to charity. You think you are just by trying to kill me? I am guilty of nothing.”
“ALL ARE GUILTY. YOUR ACCUSERS ARE REAL. YOU WILL PERFORM THE TASKS. THE ELIMINATIONS WILL CONTINUE.”
“Screw you,” Damien said. He sat down on the floor and crossed his arms. “I won’t play your sick games. Poison me if you have to, but I promise you I will die with a clean conscience.”
“YOUR OBEDIENCE IS NOT REQUIRED IN THE TASK TO FOLLOW, HOUSEMATE DAMIEN. THOSE WHO SUCCESFULLY COMPLETE THE FORTHCOMING INSTRUCTIONS WILL WIN IMMUNITY FROM TONIGHT’S VOTE. THEIR LIVES WILL BE PROTECTED FOR ONE MORE DAY.”
Damien remained seated on the floor. He was not going to be a puppet. Whoever was behind all of this would undoubtedly kill them all anyway, so why play along? If he was going to die, he would rather it be sooner than later.
“HOUSEMATES, YOUR TASK IS AS FOLLOWS. PICK UP THE PLIERS ON THE TABLE BEFORE YOU. REMOVE THREE FINGERNAILS. DO THIS AND YOU WILL BE SAFE FOR ANOTHER DAY. FAIL AND YOU RISK BEING PLACED IN TONIGHT’S HEAD TO HEAD ELIMINATION.”
Everybody let out a groan as they digested what they had just been asked to do. Jules looked like she might vomit and had gone deathly pale.
Damien stood up and went over to her. He placed an arm around her trembling shoulders. “Come on,” he said. “Sit down on the ground with me and take some deep breaths. You’ll end up panicking otherwise.”
Jules nodded and did as she was told, sitting on the grass. “Would you blame me for panicking?” she said. “This is a nightmare.”
Damien looked her in the eyes and made sure he held her gaze before speaking. “No. This isn’t a nightmare. This is just the sick game of a psychopath. The less we cooperate, the less power he has. Don’t make the mistake of thinking he is anything more than a man.”
The BIG Horror Pack 1 Page 72