On the bus to work, he flicked through the questionnaire, digging out a pen from his jacket pocket, desperate to get things moving as quickly as possible. The questions were similar to the psychometric quiz he’d undergone when he first got this job. You could choose from definitely, very likely, likely, not likely or never as an answer to each question. He shook his head at the absurdity of some of them. What could they possibly hope to learn from knowing how likely he was to stab someone in the back if the country was at war? Or to know whether he’d be happy to have a leg amputated? Still, no doubt it made work for someone somewhere with a doctorate in behavioural something or other.
He worked his way through the questions as fast as he could, going with gut instinct on some of them and randomly ticking when he had no idea which answer to choose. He posted the questionnaire into the letterbox by his office, hoping his choices wouldn’t get him rejected before he’d even started.
Two days later there was another letter in the post congratulating him on his speedy response time. In the envelope were two keys, one black, one white. He read the rest of the letter whilst locked in the bathroom, not wanting Carol to find out about it. What a surprise it would be for her when he was not only on TV but winning big. That would wipe the permanent scowl from her face. Maybe he’d get enough to pay her to stop calling him Teddy, a nickname he’d always hated but never been able to persuade her to stop using.
‘The Game of Life is a new kind of gameshow for the modern age. No glittery dollybirds, just a roomful of hidden cameras, five contestants and one chance to win big. We don’t want to give any more away but be sure to bring the keys when you come to Ship House, Wharf Street at 9am on the 17th. Think of them as your entry cards to fame and fortune. Once again, good luck Edward!’
He spent the three days leading up to the 17th becoming increasingly nervous, snapping at his wife and calling in sick two days in a row so he could spend them with Susie. She helped him calm down. At least she didn’t call him Teddy, she called him her master which was infinitely preferable. She did things in the bedroom that would have made Carol run for the hills. Was it his fault that he’d had to look to indulge his predilections somewhere other than the marital bed? After all he was only human. The forty eight hours with Susie helped to distract him somewhat but he was still a bundle of nerves when the morning of the 17th rolled round and he walked from his usual bus stop away from the town centre to the down at heel area surrounding the wharf.
The area was dominated by three enormous tower blocks. Only one was still lived in, the other two having been empty for years. The council were on the verge of demolishing them, hoping an injection of money would bring a more desirable economic group to the wharf. Edward felt slightly tense as he walked past one weed strewn wilderness after another until he finally arrived at Ship House to find it surrounded by keep out signs that had been peeled back and graffitied over, the steel fencing crumpled and bent from multiple vandalising hands. He made his way to the front door of the block and found it locked. Wondering if perhaps he might be the victim of an elaborate prank, he tried the white key which wouldn’t even fit in the lock. When he slid the black one in, it clicked home and the door swung open, revealing a musty and dust filled entrance hall, the smell of damp invading his nostrils. A single flickering light shone on the far wall, illuminating the start of the stairs. The lift door was gone, only the cable filled shaft visible. “Guess it’s the stairs then,” he said out loud, feeling suddenly tense as his words echoed in the silence.
‘Contestants to floor 12 please’ was spray painted in red onto the wall by the stairs. He glanced upwards, wondering if his heart could cope with the climb. He thought momentarily about turning and leaving but then he thought about losing the house when the bank realised he couldn’t pay the mortgage, he thought about Carol taking him from half his earnings if she found out, he thought about Susie too, how long would she stay around without the regular little gifts he bought her? Taking a deep breath he began the slow ascent to the twelfth floor. There was just enough light shining through the grime covered windows at each corner to light up the steps and show him the way. By the time he reached the twelfth he was gasping for breath and had to lean on the wall to recover. He looked at his watch as lights swam in front of his eyes, five to nine, at least he’d made it in time. He found himself in a long corridor that was blocked halfway down by a pile of rubble and plaster that had crumbled from the ceiling above. In the darkness he could see a pair of red lights blinking. Didn’t hide that camera well enough, he thought, pulling himself upright, not wanting to appear exhausted if they were already recording. To his left were two doors marked with roman numerals, I and II. To his right were three more doors, III, IV, V. He dug the white key out of his pocket and looked at it, noticing for the first time an ‘I’ marked in the metal. He turned to the first door on his left and slid the key home. The door opened with a creak and he walked inside.
He found himself in the living room of a flat although in the gloom it was hard to see much at all. There was no furniture anymore and the only light came from a single filthy and cracked window to his right, the curtains surrounding it ripped and covered in mould. The walls were marked and stained as well although the carpet at his feet was spotless. There was a door in the opposite wall that presumably led to the bedroom or kitchen but before he could take a look, a bright light came on above his head and lit the room properly. To his left the wall that had looked blank had been misleading. It was covered by an enormous flat screen TV, a blue light flashing underneath. Next to the door in front of him was a hole in the wall with a long clear plastic cylinder sticking out about three feet towards him. Beside it was a pink jug and beside that another pipe stuck up through the floor. This one was metal and topped by a steel tap.
“Welcome to the show Edward!”
He almost jumped out of his skin as the TV came to life, filled with the head and shoulders of a grinning gameshow host. The figure was in his late forties, black hair slowly turning grey and slicked back on his head. He was in a bright blue jacket with a pink shirt and black tie. Behind him was the trappings of an expensive looking studio set.
“Hi?” Edward said tentatively, wondering if he was watching a recording.
“Oh good, you can hear us. That’s the first test of the evening out of the way. Now don’t panic Edward but we need to run through a few of the rules with you before we begin. First of all, are you nervous?”
“A little.”
The host roared with laughter. “Of course you are for everything’s at stake in the Game of Life. Now we’ve correlated the answers to your quiz and our boffins have come up with the perfect test of your skill, ingenuity and patience. Once we begin, there’s no turning back so we’ll give you this one opportunity to turn back now and go home with your head held high. The door behind you is still unlocked Edward, would you like to give up the chance to win big?”
“No, I think I’d like to give it a go.”
“Excellent, that’s what I thought you’d say.” There was the sound of a key turning in the lock behind him and he felt himself grow tense without really understanding why. “Now it’s just you and me and a single task to beat your fellow competitors and win bigger than you could possibly imagine, a lifechanging prize is going to be up for grabs and it’ll be up to you to grab it with both hands!”
Edward couldn’t help but warm to the host, so much friendlier than some of the hosts on his previous quiz show outings. At least this one had some charisma. “I reckon I can do it,” he said.
“Well wait until you know what you have to do Edward. In front of you is a jug and a tap. All you have to do is fill the jug and pour the contents down the tube until we tell you to stop.”
Edward frowned. “That’s it?”
“Not quite. There is a catch. Firstly you must not stop until we tell you to. Your fellow contestants are in the next room and they’re going to try and distract you in any way they can, they might hurl i
nsults, they might scream, they’ll do whatever they can to knock your confidence or put you off and that’s where the second catch comes in. You mustn’t spill a single drop. In the carpet are your feet are powerful sensors that can detect a single drop of water falling on them. Not only that but the winner will be whoever completes their task first so you better be quick. And there’s your challenge. Think you’re up to it?”
“Piece of cake,” Edward said, picking up the jug and examining it.”
“Hold on, don’t start just yet. Wait for the whistle to get going and remember, no spilling and don’t stop until the whistle blows again. Good luck Edward. Three, Two, One…”
The TV switched off at the same time an earsplitting whistle filled the air. Edward placed the jug under the tap and turned it on. A trickle of water fell into the jug, the flow becoming stronger as he twisted the tap another quarter turn. He stopped when the water was about an inch from the top, not wanting to risk spilling any and losing before he’d really begun. He turned off the tap and lifted the jug to the lip of the tube. The curved edge of the jug sat perfectly in the top of the pipe making his task even easier. Slowly he tipped up the jug and began to pour the contents down the tube. He could hear it running down into the next room but then the sound faded.
He refilled the jug again and again, his mind beginning to wander as the monotony of the task hit home. There can’t have been much in it for the audience watching at home. Or maybe it wasn’t live, maybe they’d just cut the most exciting bits together for a half hour evening show once all the tasks were finished. He’d been back to the tap ten times when he heard the first sound of someone trying to distract him. It came in the form of a thud on the wall by the tube. Whoever was on the other side was hammering on it over and over again. “You’ll have to try harder than that,” he yelled as he carried the jug carefully back to the pipe.
In response a muffled scream reached him. As if that would distract him. He shook his head, becoming increasingly certain the prize would be his. As the next hour passed his enthusiasm began to wane. Both his arms were aching from the incessant lifting and lowering of the jug. He began to wonder if this was a test of his endurance as much as anything else. He forced himself to keep going, not wanting to give up now he’d come so far. At least the thudding and yelling had stopped, they’d obviously realised he wasn’t going to give up that easily. Another hour passed and sweat began to form on his brow. He wondered if the sensors in the carpet would know the difference between water from the tap and sweat dripping from him. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve, his throat becoming dry. He set the jug down for a moment and placed his head under the tap, gulping in an icy mouthful of the cool fluid which made him feel instantly refreshed.
He felt more energetic than ever as he recommenced pouring the water down the tube. It was another twenty minutes before he started to flag again, his arms throbbing painfully and his hands beginning to tremble. He dared not fill the just above half by now, the water sloshing around inside each time he made the slow movement across to the tube. “Come on, come on,” he muttered to himself. “We must be getting there surely.”
Another five minutes passed and then he noticed the water wasn’t vanishing down the tube anymore. Whatever he was pouring into was rapidly filling as the water level rose up the pipe, getting closer and closer to the lip of the jug. Just as it reached the very top a drop appeared on the edge of the tube, sitting there and looking ready to fall at any moment. He held his breath and froze with the jug by his side as the whistle sounded just as the drop fell from the edge and sank into the pile of the carpet.
The TV came back to life and the host was there again, grinning as broadly as ever. “Well done Edward!” he beamed. “We were all rooting for you and I never doubted you for an instant. How do you feel?”
“Tired,” Edward sighed, setting the jug down on the carpet before rubbing his aching biceps. “Very tired.”
“Well don’t worry, it’s all over now and you did as well as we thought you would. Now the door in front of you is ready for you to unlock and if you’d like to go through you’ll find your prize waiting for you on the other side.
Edward almost broke into a run as he headed through the door into a pitch black room on the other side. “I can’t see anything,” he yelled, his arms outstretched in front of him.
“Hold on a minute and let’s get the lights on for you.”
When they came on it was so bright he was instantly blinded. He closed his eyes, opening them again slowly as the room came into focus. Before him the tube ran through this side of the wall towards the middle of the room where a huge clear plastic tank was positioned. He blinked again, there was something floating in the water in the tank, was that his prize? He took a step closer and then his jaw fell open, his heart pounding as he saw what was in there. It was Susie, her corpse floating face down in the tank. Above her body were marks etched into the steel lid of the tank where she’d clearly tried to fight her way out.
Edward stared at the tank containing his dead lover and then at the tube that led back into the other room. He stumbled, losing the strength in his legs as he fell to the floor, tears forming in his eyes as he pressed his face to the tank, staring in at her lifeless eyes and open mouth. His jaw twisted as he tried to accept what he’d just done as behind him a TV screen burst into life. “Congratulations Edward,” the host said, grinning out at him. “What do you think of your prize?”
Edward opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. All he could do was lean back on the tank, put his hands over his eyes and begin to cry.
Chapter 2
Mary woke up late to the sound of the letterbox flapping. Forcing herself upright, she yawned and stretched on the edge of the bed. Just another exciting day, she thought, stroking her cat as he appeared beside her and meowed a demand for breakfast. Sliding her feet into the slippers set out beside the bed she stood up and headed into the hallway with Mr Jangles curling round her ankles, threatening to trip her at every step.
She leaned down and gathered up the letters. Two bills, another one from the bastard and something different. She opened the bastard’s first, sighing as she read it. She’d been terrified by receiving these anonymous threats at first, each one written in cut out letters from newspapers. Whoever it was that sent them never seemed to lose interest either. She knew who it was of course, not that the police had ever listened. But why would they? He was a very accomplished liar after all, he’d lied her into bed in the first place.
Her ex husband, the father of her miscarried child, the bastard. He’d been so charming when they first met but within weeks of him moving in, her account was regularly raided, his search for a job faded into nothing and then he began to hurt her. It was only words at first although even after it became physical it was still often the words that hurt the most. Perhaps that was why he was still trying to use words to threaten her now.
That was why she was so suspicious when she read the invitation from the Game of Life. She wondered if it was perhaps one of his tricks, trying to lure her to the old flats where there would be nobody around. But when she rang the number on the invitation it set her mind at rest. They were a huge production company and yes she’d been one of the lucky few to be picked to appear on the show.
“I better choose something to wear hadn’t I Mr Jangles?” she said to the cat as she hung up the phone. Two days later she was driving to the wharf, parking up on wasteland beside a burnt mattress and wondering if her car would still be there when she came back down. Ship House towered over her as she looked up, a mass of brutalist concrete that she’d be glad to see gone, a scar on the landscape of the city that she’d hated ever since she moved here ten years earlier.
She unlocked the front door using the key she’d been sent and then made her way slowly up the stairs, trying not to gag at the stench of dereliction that filled the air around her. When she reached the twelfth floor she dug out the other key from her handbag and placed it in th
e first door. It didn’t turn. Trying it in the second she was glad to find the door swung open and then she was inside what looked like a computer laboratory from the 1970s. There was a blue office chair set at a console that was filled with dials and switches and levers. Beyond the console was a door in the far wall and set into the metal in front of the seat was a small flat screen which flickered into life as she stood looking at the unlabelled controls.
“Welcome Mary!” came a voice from the speakers either side of the screen. She looked down to see the grinning face of a game show host smiling back at her. “How does it feel to be live on air on the Game of Life?”
“Erm, a little strange.”
There was a roar of laughter from an unseen audience. “Of course it does but never mind, there’s nothing to worry about here, just one task and a stupendous prize if you succeed. Now are you ready to play?”
“I guess so.”
A cheer went up. “Excellent. Now if you’d like to take a seat I’ll take you through things. In a moment a red light will come on somewhere on your console. All you have to do is hit the switch or turn the dial that lights up. Sound simple enough?”
“That’s it?”
“Not quite. The lights will move quicker and quicker and all the time your fellow competitors will be on the other side of that wall trying anything in their power to get you to stop.”
“In what way?” Mary asked, glancing across at the wall as if worried someone might burst through at any moment.
Night Terrors: 16 Horror Stories Page 18