by Kayla Krantz
I feared that I was closed in, until I noticed the thickening haze up ahead. It looked like a walkway. Swallowing hard, I looked both ways, wondering where I was.
I heard a motor running. Sounded like a horde of bumblebees. A speaker appeared before me, and I jumped back, staring at it.
“Good morning,” it said politely. “This is a maze. You have one hour to reach the center. Beware of wrong turns, and good luck.”
As the speaker buzzed away, there was faint cheering and clapping. A loud beep caught my attention, and I realized a heavy, silver watch wrapped itself around my wrist. The screen displayed 60 minutes.
My eyes grew wide. I stared at it, then looked up, spinning around in circles, my heart racing. “What is this?” I screamed at no one in particular. “What happens if I don’t make it out in an hour?”
Silence greeted me.
I gulped and looked straight into the fog. Too many thoughts ran through my mind to count. Was the center of the maze the only way out?
If it was, what happened if I made a wrong turn?
I must get out of here, I thought. I must play the game.
With careful steps, I ventured into the fog, running my fingers along dusty stone wall. I couldn’t bear the thought of getting lost. The path was straight for a while, allowing me to relax, despite myself. I could find my way out, and when I did, I could go to the police and put an end to this...whatever it was.
A few more steps, and I found myself standing where the path split. Feeling like I was going to be sick, I stood at the fork, peering down each path. Which one was the right choice?
What would happen if I picked the wrong one?
A buzz from my watch told me I had 58 minutes left. Searching the walls for some clue, I found none. I had to decide, alone. Swallowing my fear, I chose the left corridor. As my feet left the main hall, a large, silver door clanged shut behind me. I turned and began banging on the metal, fighting to get out.
“Please! Let me out!”
Through my own cries, I heard pattering behind me. Something skittered across the pebbles on the floor. My heart raced as I whipped around, trying to find the source. I couldn’t see through the fog, so I creeped forward. Maybe if I kept going, I would find the way out.
My foot slid on a slick patch, and I looked down to see an enormous web. It snaked up the wall like a thick Halloween decoration. Then I realized it wasn’t fog—silver strands of web had coated the corridor, like streamers.
“Spiders? Why does it have to be spiders?” I whispered to myself, as I continued forward.
I ripped my foot free from the web and walked further down the pathway, feeling worse with every step. The pattering sounded again, but before I could react, a giant shadow up appeared ahead. It raced towards me, and I screamed, ducking by the wall as the beast came in range.
It was a spider…the size of a small horse. Dotted with blue and black, green slime dripped from its massive jaws. Through beady, cold eyes it spotted me, shivering against the wall. I could hear each step as its legs as closed in on me.
“Help!” I cried, taking off down the hallway.
The mutated spider followed in close pursuit. I tried to pick up my pace, but I could see the end of the corridor. I was trapped. Leaning against the wall, panting, I tried to catch my breath. People were watching me; watching my struggle. Would they come to rescue me?
Or did they want me to fail?
My eyes darted everywhere, searching for some way out. Beneath the webs on the other wall, I saw a garden fence against the stone. A glint at the top caught my attention.
I raced toward it, leaping into the thickest mound of web. They clung to my face and arms, but I resisted the urge to smack at them and I kept climbing. I couldn’t spare a second. The spider had reached the bottom of the gate, clicking its giant legs together to make the worst sound I had ever heard. At the top, I found that the glint had come from a sword, tied by line to the top hoop of the fence. I gripped the handle, trying to pull it free, but it wouldn’t budge. I looked down. The spider was inches away from my leg, baring its fangs to sink them into my skin. My fear gave me a surge of adrenaline, and I yanked the sword free. With a deep breath, I gripped the handle swung at the spider. It reared back, trying to bite me again as it screeched and raged, casting green slime.
I let go of the gate and fell toward the spider with the sword, ready to fight. The metal blade sliced through the enormous arachnid, covering me in green slime as I landed on its huge remains. Disgusted, I struggled to my feet and looked at the dead spider beside me, shaking. The familiar buzz of the speaker sounded again. “Congratulations. You have passed your first challenge. As a result, you may keep the sword.” I could hear clapping as it ascended back into the sky.
“Let me out!” I called after it, but of course it returned no response.
I sighed and wiped at the disgusting mix slime and spider webs clinging to every inch of me. I picked up the sword, letting the tip drag against the pebbles. I glanced at my watch. 45 minutes left.
Making my way back to the fork, I felt sick. If that was just the first challenge, what else did the maze have to offer?
I stopped to lean against the wall, hoping to compose myself before I moved on. Then, I wobbled down the corridor, leaving behind the slime on the floor and walls. The gentle gray fog had become darker and more menacing. If it turned completely black, how I was going to be able to fight for my life?
And, what I would be fighting?
I approached another split, my heart thumping in sick anticipation. A quick game of eenie-meenie-miney-mo decided that I’d take the right corridor. Thankfully, the corridor behind me stayed open. I had guessed correctly. Relieved, I continued down the walkway, hand on the wall and sword ready in case I had to fight again.
Something growled in the distance. I knew there was a fork in the path, even before I saw it. I shivered. What beast lay waiting at this wrong turn? In my head, I charted the part of the labyrinth that I had already explored. The right path had been correct twice so far. I couldn’t be right again.
With a heavy breath, I stepped into the left corridor. The door slammed shut behind me.
“No…” I whispered, standing there petrified.
What would I encounter this time? More spiders?
I took another step forward, and the floor beneath me turned bright red, like lava. The walls looked black as night, making them hard to distinguish from the smoke-like haze in the air. I looked down the corridor as the sound of growling echoed down the walls. Whatever it was, it was big.
Less than a second later, it was before me. It was a huge beast, as black as the walls. Four eyes locked on me, and I realized it had two enormous canine heads, both mouths full of razor sharp teeth. I screamed and slashed at it with the sword, but the blade went right through. Its body parted like smoke, then rearranged itself without hesitation. The sword slid from my fingers as its eyes suddenly turned the same color as the floor. Horrified, I realized that it wasn’t a dog–it was a hellhound.
Don’t look in its eyes. I thought as I ducked around it. It’ll kill you that way.
I could hear the beast pounding after me, snapping at me with both sets of teeth. I had no idea how I could win this battle. Physical damage was impossible—and the beast could rip me to pieces with its teeth or steal my soul with a single glimpse of its eyes.
Without a plan in mind, I kept running. If I stayed alive long enough, I was bound to think of something. That was when I noticed the single beam of light piercing through the black haze.
That must be it…that must be the answer! I thought as I bounded towards it.
Just as I was about to grab it, I felt teeth sink into the skin of my calf. I cried out, dropping to the ground. They dug in like a bear trap. I couldn’t feel myself hit the ground over the tearing of muscle. Tears streamed down my face, but I refused to look at my leg or at the beast mauling it.
Somehow, I pushed away the pain, focusing only on the
light ahead. I couldn’t hurt without it. If I stalled, it would kill me. I inched closer to the light, coming from a small mirror-like thing. I grabbed after it, screaming as the second head bit my other leg.
I caught it.
The edges were sharp, slicing into the skin on my palm. But I barely noticed it over the pain in my body was already in. I angled the light toward the Hellhound, its golden beam piercing through the shadowy spot where its neck was. The beast howled in pain and released me, disappearing like mist. I lay on the ground, panting, and trying to absorb what had just happened.
I heard the familiar whirring of the approaching speaker. “Congratulations on overcoming your second challenge,” it said. “The center is close, you should be proud. Not very many make it this far.”
I shivered and chucked the mirror at it. “What? No prize this time?”
It was silent as it floated away once again.
Life is enough, I thought to myself.
The pain in my legs was intense. I was afraid to see what damage was done. I looked at my hand and saw a bloody outline of the mirror I had held. Reaching toward my calf, I poked at the destroyed flesh. There was no way I was going to look at it. I tried to stand, causing the worst pain yet. Swallowing hard, I looked at my watch. Only thirty minutes left, and my legs were all but useless.
The Hellhound targeted my legs. How am I gonna survive? I wondered as I tried, once again, to stand.
It was Hell. I leaned against the wall, glad for the support that it offered me, since what was left of my calf muscles were in no state to work. I hobbled back down the corridor that way, stopping only to pick up the sword I had discarded at the beginning of the fight. It made a good walking stick as I made it back to the split in the maze. I picked the right path, mad at myself for not choosing it before.
I continued down the path, bleeding out with each step that I took. The wall and sword supported my weight far better than I could. The stones on the wall changed from dingy grey boulders to beautiful intricate tiles with diamonds painted on the center. I remembered what the speaker had told me, and felt a bit better, despite my condition. I moved closer the center of the maze–it was almost over. The thought gave me a bit of much needed inspiration to move.
I glanced at the watch again. Time was dissolving faster than the progress I made. With ten minutes left, the corridor seemed to never end. My steps grew shorter and shorter, and I feared that it wouldn’t be long before I collapsed.
Suddenly, the speaker greeted me with a buzz. “You have five minutes to reach the center. You may want to consider picking up the pace or else you’ll face the consequences.”
“I’m hurt, can’t you see that!” I screamed at it, hoping for some sign of remorse.
It ignored me as it hovered ever so close. “Good luck,” it said before it once again floated away.
They’re hoping I die in here, I thought bleakly as I pulled myself onward. Whoever they are, they want a good, bloody show. They don’t want victory.
If there was one thing I wanted to do, it was to disappoint them—to disappoint each of sick, twisted people watching my struggle, hoping that something would end it.
The minutes slipped away until I was down to only one. The seconds began to tick. I felt like the watch screen magnified every number. Rumbling and shifting came from all around the giant labyrinth. I hurried forward, seeing the bend at the end of the walkway. I assumed it led to the center of the maze.
If I could make it there, I’d be safe.
Only ten feet away from the end, the tiles behind me began to fall away. They revealed a deep abyss that was probably littered with skeletons—if it had an end. The floor fell away faster and faster until I was forced to swing forward in a kind of jump, losing the sword in the process. I landed in the center of the maze just as the tile I had stood on disappeared. I watched the silvery blade slip into the darkness and vanish.
My breath flew out of my mouth in relief. Looking around, I wandered to the center of the room, dragging my legs with every painful step I managed to take.
“Well? I did it! I’m here! Let me out!” I shouted.
My voice echoed around the odd, stone room.
Of course, no one replied.
I fell to my knees, panting again. The room began to swirl and I know I had lost too much blood. I couldn’t keep going, not without help. There was a loud thump, like someone had flipped a giant switch, then the walls started to close in. I blinked, fighting the urge to pass out. Was this real? I collapsed, staring at the ceiling. The spikes seemed closer now than they were when I arrived.
The walls moved in closer, and I realized that it was real. My heart raced, but I didn’t move—I couldn’t. I should have known. There was no escaping that maze alive. I could die in one of two ways: leaping into the dark pit surrounding the room, or being crushed to death by the walls. I laughed, overcome with hysteria.
The walls around me got tighter, but I didn’t fight. I didn’t even protest. Closing my eyes, I lay on the tiles, feeling my blood pool in a sticky puddle beneath me as I waited for death to finally claim me.
The thump sounded again. Did they flip the switch again? The walls began to recede and the familiar buzz filled my ears. The speaker hovered above me like a metallic vulture.
“Congratulations. You have conquered your fears.”
I smiled as black unconsciousness finally swept over me.
Where are the dreamers; the wishers; the believers?
If there’s no mystery left in the world, we must create our own.
Stained
THE BLOOD.
It was always the first thing I felt in the morning, stronger than my own consciousness. Every night, the nightmares were the same. I would awaken with the clammy chill of blood on my hands and face. It happened like clockwork, almost like it was scripted. When I opened my eyes, I found them clean.
The blood only existed in my dreams.
Therapists couldn’t help me. They labeled me with various names and diseases and offered alternative pills—more money for them, but all useless to me. I was “sick”—untreatable. None of them dared to mention the reason for their diagnosis. I always left my sessions feeling confused. I wasn’t a bad person—the closest to crime I had come was watching Scooby Doo as a kid. I was a romantic—a comedic one, at that.
My subconscious disagreed. It harbored a secret, one kept secluded from the rest of my mind, inaccessible to logic. The dreams continued on schedule. Sometimes they were different, sometimes they were the same. No matter what I dreamt, I woke up with that awful feeling of blood on my hands. Every morning, I comforted myself in the knowledge that they were just that—dreams.
Until my next door neighbor disappeared.
Police said it was a blood bath, but the body was nowhere to be found. Without it, her disappearance could only be marked a missing person’s case. When I woke up that morning, my hands were clean of any blood, but I could hear a woman’s screams ringing in my ears—as though I had been next to her the whole time. Sirens drew my attention away from the reoccurring dream. I threw on the nearest outfit I could find and went to stand among the crowd that had gathered around her property.
The police wandered in and out of the house to gather their evidence. Members of the growing group pushed a bit closer, each of them attempting to glimpse the fresh gore. What it is about us that draws us to terrible things? Like people who slow down to see a car accident on the highway. I couldn’t complain—I was one of them, peeking through the caution tape strung along the lawn. I wondered if the inside of the house matched the images from my dreams.
Annoyed with the requests, the police ushered us away. I was hesitant to leave, so I stood in the grass alone, watching them work for the better part of an hour. Where had she gone? Who harmed her? If the culprit had struck just one house to the left, it could’ve been me, instead of her. I had to know what was happening, but every police officer I asked either ignored me or gave me a sympathetic smile.
Like my therapists, they thought I was twisted and wanted details for some sick reason they couldn’t place.
But I didn’t. I wanted answers. No one was willing to share a word about the tragedy, not while the wound was still raw. I grabbed my backpack and walked away unsatisfied, headed for my only class of the day. I gained no attention from my classmates as I walked through the massive halls of the building. That was normal; I was a shadow in this place—just another part of the atmosphere for them to dread. I shivered. My skin still felt like it was coated in the blood from my nightmares, but their disinterested stares were enough for me to know it was all in my head.
Sitting in class, news of Kayanna’s disappearance was all anyone could talk about. She was one of us…and now she was gone.
I should have felt sadness at the news—we all should have—but we were in a collective state of disbelief. I think people even found the mystery fascinating. If she turned up, alive and well, the interest would disappear as quickly as it sprouted. I sat with my hands clasped together, listening to the others whisper around me. I listened to their words, their theories…their guesses at how long it would be before her body would be found. No one thought she was still alive, that was obvious. I kept my mouth shut. The police may have called it a missing person’s case, but news spreads fast in a small town. Their imaginations had been hard at work ever since.
They deemed it murder…exactly as I thought.
I laughed to myself. Their thoughts sounded so wrong—so innocent, as if all their information came from movies. When school got out, I walked home, alone as always. No one wanted to be seen with “Mental Melissa.” I hadn’t had a friend since I started college two years before, and with everyone on such high alert, I couldn’t imagine gaining one now.
I pushed the thought away and watched police cars racing up and down the street. Before my professor dismissed us for the day, campus security had issued their usual warning—to travel in pairs whenever possible and avoid dimly lit areas. It wouldn’t be good if another precious young adult disappeared. It looked bad for the town, and it would look worse for them if they had a serial killer on their hands.