Gripping Thrillers

by Iain Rob Wright

“I’m not signing it!” said Leo. “I’m not the one who’s guilty.”

  “Guilty of murder,” said Cheryl, the word staining her mouth. “One of you is a murderer.”

  “Not me,” said Leo. “I haven’t killed anyone.”

  Happy whined from inside the cell. The sand had already covered his ankles, compacting against the see-through plastic walls. At the speed it was falling, he wouldn’t have long.

  “I’ll sign it,” said Monty.

  Cheryl gasped. “You killed somebody?”

  “No, but what does it matter? We need to save Happy.”

  “But that’s a confession,” said Alfie. “You’ll be signing your name to a murder.”

  “You think that shit will stand up in court? I’m signing it to save Happy’s life, no other reason. You can all back me up later if we get out of this.”

  “It would be better if the actual guilty person signed it,” said Maggie. “Or maybe you are guilty, Monty, and this is just a way of deflecting blame.”

  Monty sighed. “I don’t care what you think, Mag. I never killed anybody, and I’m not about to stand around and let Happy die, you get me?”

  Cheryl couldn’t take her eyes from Happy. The sand was now piling up against his knees. “Help me,” he begged. “Get me out of here, please! Cheryl, I can’t die like this. I can’t!”

  Cheryl realised she had tears in her eyes. She put a hand on Monty’s arm and told him to do it. “If we get out of this, I’ll back you up the whole way. Just save Happy.”

  Monty rushed to sign the confession, but he skidded to a halt to avoid colliding with Alfie who stood in his way.

  “You can’t do this,” said Alfie. “It’s all a set up. You sign that confession and whatever evidence this psycho has on us will get released. He said there’s a body. What if we all die down here, unable to ever defend ourselves.”

  Cheryl tried to move Alfie out of the way. “What evidence? What body? Do you know something?”

  “I don’t know shit, but signing a confession is what this psycho wants. We shouldn’t be playing along with his sick games. We’re being set up, I know it.”

  Monty turned to look at Cheryl and now seemed unsure. He’d been acting on impulse, but Alfie had caused him to slow down and think. There was no time for that.

  Happy cried out. The sand was up to his waist. “I don’t want to die. I-I… I don’t want to be buried alive. Please!”

  Monty shoved Alfie aside. “Happy ain’t dying while I can do something about it. Move out the way, bruh.”

  Alfie was too small to overpower Monty, so he had no choice but to stand aside and let him march into the cell. Monty grabbed the confession and pen, then hesitated. For a moment, it looked like he might change his mind, but then he leaned forward and signed his name with a quick scribble. He turned back to the others. Cheryl nodded to assure him he had done the right thing.

  Alfie had his back up against the bars, refusing to look at Happy being buried. “Okay, it’s done. Now what?”

  Happy wheezed, and Cheryl turned to see the sand covering his belly and rising up to his chest. He was being crushed, and now he begged for help in a winded voice.

  She rattled the bars. “We’re getting you out of there, Happy. Just stay calm.”

  He looked her in the eye, utterly terrified, but he chose to trust her and nodded. The sand crept up over the badge on his lapel. NEVER GIVE UP.

  Monty was still holding the confession. “Why is nothing happening?”

  “Maybe there’s a switch or something?” said Leo. He was pacing frantically.

  “Then we need to find it.” Cheryl rushed into the cell to join Monty, then examined the metal chute secured against the back wall. Ducking down, she peered up inside it and located a tripwire. “Here,” she shouted. “Monty, here. Place the confession inside the chute.”

  Monty slid the clipboard up inside the chute and it flew out of his hands like it had a life of its own. It disappeared up the pipe, clattering towards the surface.

  Happy moaned with relief as the sand stopped falling from the space above his head. He was safe. The game was finished.

  Leo sighed and slumped against the bars. “Thank God.”

  Monty was taking deep breaths, leaning over the table. Cheryl placed a hand on his back and asked if he was okay. “Yeah,” he told her, “just wondering what the hell I signed.”

  “Everything will be okay, Monty. You saved Happy’s life, that’s what matters.”

  “Yeah, I know. Is he okay?”

  “Let me check.”

  Happy had been buried up to the hollow of his throat and was struggling to breathe, but no more sand was falling.

  Leo rattled the bars, trying to get inside the cell. “Hold on, Hap,” he said. “We’re going to get you out of there.” He glared up at the ceiling. “Hey! Whoever the hell is doing this, we signed your stupid confession, so let our friend go.”

  The television behind Happy flashed and came back to life. “The murderer has not come forward. An innocent party has signed the confession and a second death will now stain the hands of the murderous coward too meek to take the pen.”

  More sand began to fall from the hatch in the ceiling. Happy cried out as sand filled his eyes. “No,” he shouted, terror-stricken and half-blind. “No, please! Please! I didn’t do anything. I didn’t do anything!”

  Leo shook the bars so hard it looked like he might rip off his own arms. “Happy! Happy, we’re going to get you out of there, mate. Happy, stay calm!”

  “Help me! Help me, pl—”.

  The sand filled Happy’s mouth and he choked, making the most disturbing sound Cheryl ever heard, like cats being slowly crushed beneath the tyres of a bus. She covered her mouth. “Oh no!”

  Happy disappeared in front of them, grain by grain. The sand filled his nostrils and gritted his eyes half-closed — open just enough to see the absolute terror in them.

  Leo gave the bars the hardest yank yet, but still the gate refused to open. “Happy, no! We’re going to get you out of there. Happy! Happy!”

  He was gone, replaced by a container full of sand.

  Leo stopped rattling the gates and collapsed backwards into the others. Monty hurried out of the other cell and had to catch him. Alfie slumped against the wall, a look of utter disbelief on his face. “This isn’t happening, man. Tell me this isn’t happening.”

  Cheryl burst into tears.

  A curtain fell from the top of the cell and obscured their view through the bars, completely removing the horrible scene from sight. It was a small mercy because Cheryl didn’t think she could have coped seeing the block of sand with Happy buried inside. Was he still alive in there? Suffocating to death second by second as they wept outside, unable to do a thing about it.

  Written on the curtain was a message: ATONEMENT SLIPS AWAY…

  “How did he know?” Leo asked the question as they sat on the ground, leaning back against the steel container. They had returned to John’s side, surprised to see he was still breathing. His wrist no longer bled and he seemed stable, all things considered.

  Monty sniffed. There were still tears on his cheeks, and for the last ten minutes he had been muttering Happy’s name over and over. “How did who know what?”

  “How did they know the wrong person signed the confession? Is somebody up there right now?”

  “There must be,” said Cheryl, staring at the ceiling and imagining the ground above them. Would she ever see it again? “They yanked up the confession and checked the signature. It obviously wasn’t the name they were expecting.”

  “This has been planned for months,” said Alfie. “Years even. We aren’t getting out of here alive.”

  Leo winced. “Dude, come on.”

  “Who’s the murderer?” asked Cheryl. “Do we even know who was killed?”

  Nobody answered.

  “I can’t believe Happy is gone,” said Maggie. Her hands were trembling in her lap and she no longer seemed angry. Her
eyes were bloodshot and she kept wiping her nose.

  Cheryl couldn’t ignore it any longer. “Maggie, what’s wrong with you? You look ill, and your mood is all over the place.”

  She frowned as though confused. “I’m fine. I’m just coming down with a cold or something.”

  “Looks worse than a cold,” said Alfie. “You look like a crack whore.”

  “Screw you, Alfie.”

  Alfie shrugged. He was fidgeting a lot, and it was probably because he was gasping for a fag. That was the least of their problems though.

  Cheryl eyeballed Maggie. “You don’t look right, Mag. It’s chilly down here, but you’re quaking like we’re at the North Pole. Have you taken something?”

  “What? No, of course not. It was just a little something for my nerves. I’ve been taking them for months now.” She saw their concerned expressions and waved a hand dismissively. “They’re pills prescribed to me by a doctor. I have panic attacks. I’d show you the packet if I could reach my handbag.”

  Alfie frowned. “I have panic attacks too. The doctors prescribed me beta blockers. Is that what you’ve been taking?”

  Maggie nodded. “I took one right before we arrived at the farm. I was anxious, being around John, you know?”

  “That explains why you changed suddenly,” said Cheryl. “When I first got to the farm, you were hyperactive, like an annoying kid, but then you went on a massive downer. They must be strong pills, Mag.”

  “I already told you, I’ve taken them dozens of times and never had a problem. It’s just a cold.” She rubbed at her bloodshot eyes and groaned. “Perhaps I’m going mad. It would explain a lot.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She shrugged as if she’d merely been thinking out loud. “Oh, nothing. It’s just that I couldn’t find my handbag this morning. I always leave it on a hanger by the door, but it wasn’t there when I was ready to leave. Andrew had to help me look for it. He found it in the cupboard under the stairs, but I never put it there — and I could have sworn I had a fresh pill packet in the side pocket, but the pack I found was half empty.”

  Alfie banged the back of his head against the wall and cursed. “Someone switched your pills, you numpty.”

  Cheryl glared at him. “Alfie! That’s not helping.”

  “No, he’s right,” said Leo. “Someone could have messed with Maggie’s pills and, like, poisoned her or something.”

  Maggie shifted onto her knees, ready to get up. It was unclear if she was worried or pissed off. If she planned on bolting, Cheryl was interested to know where. “Why would someone poison me?” she demanded, but then seemed to consider it right there in front of them. Her expression changed from defiance to desperation. “Oh god, what if it is true? Maybe I’ve been poisoned. I-I, yes, I can feel it. I’ve been poisoned. Oh God.”

  Cheryl grabbed her to keep her from rushing off in a panic. “Hey, Mag, just stay calm, okay? We have no real reason to think you’ve been poisoned. We’re just talking here.”

  Mag looked right through Cheryl, bloodshot eyes darting all over the place. “I’ve been poisoned, I know it.”

  “No, you haven’t. Look, just stay—”

  Alfie shrugged and interrupted her. “Happy’s dead, why not assume the worst?”

  Maggie nodded. “We’re all dead. All of us.”

  Cheryl glared at Alfie. “Shut up, you idiot.”

  “Maggie? Maggie, I need you!”

  They all flinched at the sudden, unexpected sound of John’s voice. With no way to help him, they had been focusing on other things — like trying and failing to keep Happy from being buried alive. Now John was awake and looking around in confusion.

  Maggie forgot her panic and rushed over to him. “John? John, are you okay?”

  “What’s happening? Where am I?”

  “You’re hurt. We’re trapped underground.”

  He wheezed and gave a weak cough. “T-The escape room?”

  “Yes, the escape room.”

  Cheryl was confused by the way Maggie placed a hand against John’s cheek. She claimed to hate the man, yet she now seemed to genuinely care for him. Things were likely complicated, she decided.

  “I’m sorry,” said John weakly. “I… I really didn’t know. They said they picked our names at random.”

  Leo crouched beside Maggie and made John look at him. “Wait, what? You mean it wasn’t you who picked our names?”

  John shook his head. “When they sent over the invites, they listed six specific names. I asked if they could switch Happy for Jeff from Warehouse, but they said the names were pre-selected from Alscon’s website and arrangements had already been made.”

  “Why didn’t you want Happy to come?” asked Cheryl, realising John didn’t know his office manager was dead, buried alive by sand.

  “I just thought Jeff would have been more fun. Is…” he licked at a pair of extremely dry lips, “is there anything to drink?”

  Maggie gave him water from the bottle, which seemed to strengthen him a great deal. It was astonishing how alert he was after being in such a dire way. He seemed almost okay.

  Then he realised his hand was missing.

  “What? Oh my! How… Is that…?” He tried to rise, but Leo and Monty restrained him. When he looked at Monty, he panicked even more. “Get the fuck off me, you maniac. You tried to kill me. Help! Help!”

  Monty stumbled backwards, guilt-stricken and ashamed. Alfie had to take his place holding John down. “Calm down, Uncle John. Monty was just defending himself against you. Remember?”

  John stopped struggling, and his accusatory glare changed to one of bewilderment. “Jesus, what the hell is going on here? Who’s doing this to us?”

  Cheryl stood over her wounded boss, wondering how he could be so clueless. “We were hoping you could tell us, John. Happy is dead.”

  John flinched. “What? No, you’re lying. Happy isn’t dead. He can’t be.”

  Maggie pulled him sideways into a hug. “He’s really gone, John. I’m so sorry.”

  John let out a wail and the haunting sound filled the entire tunnel. Maggie cradled him in her arms and rocked him back and forth. There were tears in her eyes too.

  Leo moved up beside Cheryl and kept his voice low, leaning into her ear. “I thought Maggie hated John. Now she’s consoling him?”

  “I think she does hate him, but I think she loves him too.”

  “He’s really done a number on her, hasn’t he?”

  Cheryl looked at Maggie, as much a mess as John was, and felt pity. “Maybe he has. Why are you here, Leo?”

  The question took him by surprise and he frowned at her. She saw the guilt in his eyes then and knew he wasn’t innocent, but she needed to know what he’d done. Was he a thief like Monty? Or a murderer?

  “W-What do you mean, Cher? I came for the same reason you did — to take part in an escape room. I was tricked down here.”

  “Come on, Leo. Everyone is here for a reason, that much is clear. What did you do to earn your place? Did you—” She couldn’t believe she was about to ask this “—did you kill someone?”

  He took her wrist gently, letting his hand slide down until his fingers interlinked with hers. “I’m not a murderer, Cher. Maybe I’m not innocent, like you say, but I’m not a killer.”

  She felt awkward holding his hand, but she didn’t break away. “So tell me what you are, Leo. Tell me so I know whether or not I can trust you.”

  He glanced over at the others, making sure they were out of earshot. Even if they weren’t, John’s sobs provided cover. He spoke quietly. “You’re right, Cher. I am down here for a reason. Blackmail.”

  “Blackmail?”

  “Yeah.” He sighed and looked away. “Remember I told you I’ve seen John cheat on his wife a dozen times down the pub? Well, a few times when he was really wasted, I got out my mobile and filmed him in the act. I made myself quite the video library — even caught him fingering some bird in the toilets once — and when I had enoug
h footage, I kind of, you know, let John know it would be a really good idea if I got a promotion at work.”

  Cheryl groaned. “You threatened to show his wife the videos if he didn’t promote you? Christ, Leo, that is so slimy.”

  “Hey, you think I don’t know that? I just… I got fed up watching John flash his money around and cheat on his wife, you know? I’ve seen him screw people over left, right, and centre. How do you think he got rich? You think I’m a bad guy, fine, I accept that, but I swear I just wanted to make the world a fairer place. I wanted to bring John down a peg or two.”

  “To your benefit,” said Cheryl. She couldn’t believe Leo was capable of such behaviour, and it left her disappointed. Maybe she had thought more of him than she’d realised, but it turned out he was just another selfish prick.

  But at least he isn’t a murderer.

  He stared at her now with his deep brown eyes, but they had lost their power over her. “I’m sorry, Cher. I hate to see you think bad of me. I really like you.”

  She realised he was still holding her hand, but she broke away now. “It’s okay. I’m just a little shocked, that’s all. I didn’t think that you— Hey, wait a minute. You and John are buddies, right? You drink together down the pub together? Am I supposed to believe John would drink with someone who’s blackmailing him? Are you lying to me, Leo?”

  He looked away, clearly ashamed. “Another of my demands. John buys the drinks for me and my mates. He must have made peace with it because he started to enjoy the abuse.” He looked over at Maggie, still fussing over John. “Like her.”

  Cheryl sighed. The second round of blackmail was somehow worse. Extorting a promotion was a one-time gain, but forcing your victim to drink with you over a sustained period? That was a callous way to behave — to hold power over someone like that.

  It’s sick.

  Leo must have seen the disgust on her face because he grabbed her hand again. “I’ll put a stop to it, okay? If we get out of this, I’ll make amends. Trust me, I don’t much like myself for what I’ve done, but when it happened, I was a lonely screw-up. I never thought it through. I just saw this selfish man with things I would never have and it got to me. I was angry. At the time, it felt like I was being a hero. Jesus, what the hell was I thinking?”