A long glass window with a sliding patio door ran the length of the far wall. There must have been a garden outside, but it was too dark and too rainy to see at the moment.
Each corner of the room had a blinking camera set ten feet above the ground.
The door the group had entered through suddenly slammed shut.
Damien turned on his heels. The man in black overalls and his burly colleagues were all gone. The only thing that remained in their place was a heavy metal door.
The housemates were locked in.
The competition had begun.
Am I really doing this? Do I even have a chance of winning?
Christ, I really need that money.
The woman with the bright orange hair came up to Damien and gave him another one of her beaming smiles. “I’m Jules. Good to meet you….?”
Damien shook her hand and nodded. “Damien.”
“Damien? Like that evil little boy in the movies?”
Damien rolled his eyes. “Yeah, if you like.”
“So, Damien, what should we do?”
He shrugged. “They said to wait here. Maybe we should all just take a seat. I’m dead on my feet anyway.”
Jules nodded and rubbed at her eyes, smudging her eyeliner a little. “Me too. I thought we were never going to get here. Now that we have, though, I’m so excited.”
“You don’t even know what to expect.”
“That’s why I’m excited. Don’t you just love the unknown?”
“No, you can’t prepare for the unknown.”
“Sometimes it’s nice not to be in control.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
Everybody in the room began to mingle. Damien did a quick head count. He found that there were six women and five other men. Twelve people in total, including him.
Eleven people between me and millions of pounds.
He took a seat on the long sofa with Jules and they continued their conversation. A guy with slicked-back blonde hair and a finely-tailored suit took it upon himself to come join them.
“Hey,” he said. “My name is Alex. I work in banking. How about you two?”
“I’m a carpenter,” Damien replied, wondering what a banker was doing there. It couldn’t be for the money with all that they earned.
“I’m unemployed,” said Jules. “I used to run a salon with my sister but she killed herself and…well, things kind of just fell apart after that. This competition is my chance to get back on my feet, you know? Even if I don’t win, I might get a gig on television or something like that. I just want to move on, and this seemed like a good way.”
“A bit drastic, maybe,” said Damien. “But I guess that makes sense.”
“So, what will you do with the money if you win?” Alex asked him, running a hand through his greased blonde hair. “I want to set up a real estate business in Dubai, but I need more capital. I have half-a-mil already, but winning this thing will really make sure that my business is a success.”
Damien didn’t reply. The pursuit of fortune wasn’t something that interested him very much. If you spent your whole life trying to get rich, you only ended up wasting life in the process. Life was for living, not accumulating wealth that you could never hope to spend.
Seeing as how I am currently prostituting myself to win a million, I guess that makes me a hypocrite. My reasons for needing the money are less selfish.
Damien realised that both Jules and Alex were staring at him, waiting for a response.
“Well?” Jules said. “What do you want to do with the money, Damien?”
He shrugged his shoulders and looked away, examining the other housemates that were mingling with one another like dogs at a park. “My reason for wanting the money is personal….private. All I’ll say is that I need it.”
“Amen to that,” said Alex. “Two million quid can fulfil a lot of needs.”
“It’s only one million,” said Jules. “Unless you’re willing to bet it all at the end against whoever is left.”
“Got to go for the kill,” said Alex, clicking his fingers on each hand sharply like a pair of firing guns. “No point getting to the end of this thing only to split the winnings.”
Jules wiggled her eyebrows at him playfully. “So, you’ll definitely go head to head if you get to the end?”
“Absolutely.”
Jules turned her focus back to Damien. “How about you? Will you bet one million to turn it into two?”
Damien shrugged his shoulders. “I only need one. I’m happy to share.”
Jules seemed to think about things for a moment, chewed on her bottom lip. “I’m happy to share, too,” she eventually said. “One million is more than enough. Lots more than I have now. Besides, if I get to the end of the show, I’m sure I’ll make more money from TV deals and stuff.”
“I hadn’t even thought about that,” said Alex, clicking his fingers again. “I could be set up for life. I could buy a hundred properties in Dubai.” He smiled greedily.
Damien wondered how the banker would react if he got eliminated from the competition early on. It seemed as if the peroxide-headed man had no contemplation of not winning. It was a foregone conclusion in his mind.
Good luck to him. Nothing wrong with having confidence...
Whether it’s warranted or not.
There was a static hiss followed by an ear-piercing whine. A booming voice filled the living area and seemed to be coming from a hidden speaker so loud that it would have held itself proud at a German rave.
“WELCOME HOUSEMATES. I AM THE LANDLORD. YOU WILL OBEY ME AT ALL TIMES. FAILURE TO DO SO WILL RESULT IN PAIN. TRYING TO ESCAPE WILL RESULT IN PAIN. MISBEHAVIOUR OF ANY KIND WILL RESULT IN PAIN.”
The housemates looked at one another with confusion. As much as they understood that they were taking part in a game, the voice from the speakers was unnervingly authoritative, and the words were unsettling to say the least.
“What do you think he means by ‘pain’?” Jules asked.
Damien shook his head and frowned. “I don’t know.”
“IN A FEW MOMENTS YOU WILL BE PRESENTED WITH A VIEWING SCREEN. YOU WILL PAY ATTENTION TO THIS SCREEN AT ALL TIMES. IF AN INSTRUCTION APPEARS ON THE SCREEN, YOU WILL FOLLOW IT.”
One of the walls, the one opposite the long glass window and patio door, began to open up. A pair of secret panels slid apart to reveal an alcove within. The alcove held a television screen that must have been at least sixty-inches wide.
“THE VIEWING SCREEN HAS A 4K RESOLUTION. IT IS CUTTING EDGE TECHNOLOGY. EVERYTHING INSIDE THIS HOUSE IS CUTTING EDGE TECHNOLOGY. YOU ARE FREE TO ENJOY ALL FACILITIES WHEN NOT UNDERTAKING A TASK OR INSTRUCTION. USE THE NEXT TWELVE HOURS TO REST AND RECUPERATE. YOU WILL NEED YOUR ENERGY. WE WILL BEGIN TOMORROW.”
The speaker whined and crackled, and then went silent. The television screen illuminated brightly and then went dark. It remained blank except for a single word displayed boldly across its centre: RELAX.
3
Damien made an effort to get to know the other housemates during the last hour or so. He wasn’t the most sociable person, but he would fare much better over the following days if he tried to integrate himself as much as possible. Just as he had dreaded, however, the other housemates were a predicable mixture of wannabe celebrities and those who just wanted to get rich quick. They were vain and inwardly focused – possibly even sociopathic in some cases. Damien understood their personalities. They were a product of society, a society obsessed with surface rather than depth. He had once lived a similar existence himself. If it were not for his friend, Harry, he would have been no different to the other housemates, chasing money, sex, and worthless adoration from strangers.
Among the colourful group was a chain-smoking exotic dancer, covered in tattoos, named Jade; a retired school teacher, with a shock of white hair, called Patrick; and a stubble-faced mechanic called Richard. The man was pretty uncouth and seemed to swear almost every other word. There were also many
other personalities inside the house, but Damien had yet to memorise their names or scope them out thoroughly.
“What say we check this place out?” suggested the exotic dancer, Jade, a cigarette clutched between two talon-like fingernails. When she spoke, she spoke loud, as if she thought merely doing so would be enough to make her important. In this instance everybody seemed to be happy to follow her lead. Damien was also interested in exploring the place that would be his home for the next ten days, so he stood up and followed after Jade. She was heading for a door near the kitchen. The word PANTRY was written across it. Jade grabbed a hold of the handle and gave it a hefty yank.
Her face lit up when she saw what was behind the door.
“Oh hell yes! We’re in for some shits and giggles tonight, peeps.”
Damien wasn’t as impressed by what he saw. In fact it made him groan. The pantry was stacked full of beer and wine and cigarettes. There were also snacks and soft drinks, but it was clear that the show producers wanted alcohol to play a large part of the group’s activities inside the house. Damien had expected it would be the case, having seen similar reality shows, but having it confirmed kind of sucked. Damien didn’t drink.
He glanced up at the nearest camera.
Now we’re all but guaranteed to have fireworks and they’re just waiting to film it.
Everybody whooped at the sight of so much party fuel and started handing it out.
Over in the kitchen, the blond guy, Alex, was rooting through cupboards and opening up drawers. “There’s a shitload of food here,” he suddenly yelled out, clicking his fingers to an imaginary rhythm that must have been playing in his head. “And we have steaks and some big fat sausages in the freezer.”
“Splendid,” said Patrick, licking his lips. “I love a bit of fresh meat.”
“There’s a toilet over here,” someone shouted. “No bathroom, though. Weird.”
Jade took a bottle of red wine out of the fridge and palmed off the screw top. She sauntered into the living area and took a swig directly from the bottle. Damien winced.
Classy bird.
“So,” Jade said, taking another swig and wiping away the wine that found its way onto her bony chin. “Let’s see what’s through door number two.”
She approached another door that was at the far corner of the living area. It, too, had a label affixed across its top, but it was too far away for Damien to read. He took a few steps closer until he could see what it said.
ELIMINATION CHAMBER.
“Must be where we do the tasks,” Jade guessed. “I can’t wait.”
“That just leaves the bedrooms,” said the stubble-faced mechanic, Richard. “So where the fuck are they?”
Damien looked around. There were no more doors.
“They have to be somewhere,” said Jade. “Everybody take a look around.”
The housemates dispersed, searching for a door that they might have missed. After several minutes of investigation, though, everybody came up short.
“There aren’t any more doors,” said Jules, tucking her bright orange hair behind her ears. The makeup around her eyes was still smudged which made it look like she had been crying.
“There has to be,” said Alex.
“Then where?”
Alex marched up to the long garden windows and tried the patio door. “Locked,” he said, rattling the handle. He adjusted his tie and cricked his neck. “They must be playing games with us.”
Jade let out a feline growl and folded her brightly coloured arms. “Okay, very amusing. Can someone please tell us where our beds are, please!” She strode into the centre of the living area and stared up at the ceiling as if addressing some deity in the clouds. “Excuse me….Mr Landlord, or whatever you’re called. Can you tell us where we’re sleeping tonight, thank you very much?”
There was no reply. The house’s concealed speakers remained silent.
“HEY, YOU RETARD. STOP SCREWING AROUND AND TELL US WHERE OUR BEDS ARE!” Jade threw the bottle of wine in her hand across the room, smashing it against the nearest wall and leaving a deep red stain that was not unlike blood.
Damien raised an eyebrow in surprise. Wow! She’s like a spoiled kid.
Richard was covering his mouth with his hand, disguising a laugh as he watched the commotion. To him it was obviously some form of entertainment to watch another person lose it.
Jade glanced around in obvious frustration. It was clear that she was going to blow some kind of mental fuse at any moment. The girl was unstable, that much quickly became clear.
Damien stepped forward, put a hand up to calm her. “They’re just messing with us, Jade. This is all for television, right? Well, looks like the games have begun already. Don’t let them get to you, okay?”
“Yeah,” Alex agreed. “If you go off like a firework you’re liable to get yourself thrown out. And that means no prize money for you!” He actually seemed quite pleased by the notion.
Jade was breathing heavily. She glanced around for a few moments like a nervous chicken. Eventually the rise and fall of her heaving chest started to shorten and a semblance of calm returned to her harsh, angular features. It was like a switch had been flipped, sending her someplace else for a while, but now she was returning to reality.
“You’re right,” she said. “You’re right. They want me to blow my lid so they can get some juicy footage for the cameras.” She looked over at one of the cameras and extended her middle finger. “Well, you’re not going to get one over on me so easily. Swivel on this.”
Damien shook his head and sighed. Great, I’m stuck inside this house with a bloody loon. I hope they allowed her to keep her medication
“Well,” Jules interjected. “I say that we just forget about our sleeping arrangements for now and get our S-W-A-G on instead! Let’s party.”
Damien rolled his eyes. Great! Someone just used the word ‘party’ as a verb.
I’m screwed.
Jade grinned, large and wide. Her frustration seemed completely gone now. She hurried back over to the pantry and grabbed two more bottles of wine, holding them aloft her head like trophies. “Who’s got the glasses?”
Alex clicked his fingers like guns. “Let me help you, sweetheart.”
4
Without his watch on, Damien had no idea what time it was. He assumed it was early morning and that the sun would make an appearance any minute. The rain still poured, but seemed to be letting up slightly. Its earlier rat-a-tat-tat on the window pane had given way to a gentle pitter patter.
The other housemates had drunk their fair share of alcohol by now. Damien had stuck to soft drinks and water, much to the chagrin of the others. They had treated him like he was ill somehow – like sobriety was some new form of leprosy. Tracey, a slender woman in a blouse and smart grey trousers had tried on several occasions throughout the night to get him to drink. She had become quite pissy when he refused for the third or fourth time.
As he watched them, though, falling around and chatting utter nonsense to one another, he was glad for his abstinence. People did not realise the power of alcohol and how much of their dignity it could soak through. It was worse than drugs, in Damien’s opinion.
The stuff almost killed Harry once upon a time.
Still, if there was anything positive to dwell on at all, it was that at least the housemates had a decent sense of humour. There had been many a joke or humorous quip made in the last several hours and even Damien had cracked a smile now and then. It was only in the last thirty minutes or so that things had devolved into drunken nonsense. People’s eyeballs had begun to roll around like loose marbles in their skulls and their speech had turned to incoherent slurry. Damien was now acutely aware of being the only sober person in the room. A rabbit among foxes. He wanted very much now to find a bed and get some sleep. The metal ring around his neck had started to feel heavy. The ones around his wrists were starting to chafe.
“You’re not like the others,” said a woman with Mediterran
ean features and a slender, petite frame. She had introduced herself to him earlier and said that her name was ‘Danni’. She had streaky brown hair and wore a crisp white blouse above a short black skirt. Her legs were long, sleek and tanned. They had caught Damien’s lustful stare on more than one occasion throughout the night and he hoped his leching had not been caught by the cameras. He tried to be a better man than that.
But I’m still only human.
He frowned at the woman as she took the seat beside him. “What do you mean, ‘I’m not like the others’?”
She smirked at him as if he were being deliberately ignorant. “I mean that you’re not in here to get famous. You’re not fanning your feathers like a peacock and trying to get attention like everybody else. I don’t think the thought of being a celebrity appeals to you at all.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Then my question is: why did you apply to be on a reality TV show if you have no interest in fame?”
Damien cleared his throat and looked away. “I’m just trying to repay a favour. I need the prize money.”
Danni crossed her slender legs and leant in closer to him. He could smell the alcohol on her breath and it tempted him to grab a beer for himself. The hoppy odour took him back to his wilder days where he would have been the life of the party, instead of just a spectator. But, as much as he missed the feeling of inebriation, he was adamant never to go back there.
Danni was pulling a face at him. “You want to repay a favour?”
He nodded. “Yeah, and that’s all I want to say about it.”
Danni wasn’t put off by his hostile tone. She nodded thoughtfully and looked him in the eye. “Fair enough. My reasons for being here are my own as well. I’m not like the others either. Being famous is the last thing I want.”
The Housemates: A Novel of Extreme Terror Page 2