I awoke on a stained mattress. The air smelled of mold and wet plaster. My clothes were still the same—no different from this morning. Not a button undone. The last thing I could remember was getting ready for school. I had left the house and was waiting at the bus stop. Then my head started hurting.
Had someone kidnapped me?
My stomach tightened.
Kidnapped.
The word forced its way into my head and refused to leave. I didn’t move, hoping I’d wake up from this nightmare. But I didn’t.
Was Roy getting back at me for missing his birthday? Some kind of sick joke? They must’ve brought me to the abandoned building on Church Street. But where are they?
I rubbed my eyes as they adjusted to the dark. The room was big—enough space for me to stretch out my arms in all directions. I slowly got off the bed and began to look around. I needed to get out of here. No windows. No doors. It looked as if it had been built to trap something inside. I expected it to be cold, but the temperature was fine. A faint light caught my eye.
I ran my fingers along the bedframe, feeling the rough wood beneath the thin mattress. Something scratched against my skin.
I leaned down and squinted. There were marks carved into the frame. Small lines grouped together in sets of five. Tally marks.
I counted a few before stopping.I didn’t know who made them, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
There were more further down the frame, older ones that had nearly worn away. Whoever made them had pressed hard into the wood, deep enough that the grooves caught under my fingernail. I tried to imagine someone sitting here long enough to carve that many marks. The thought made my stomach twist.
A rustling sound came from the next room.
“Hello?” I called out, my voice shaky. “Is anyone there?” The rustling came to a stop. It was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. “Please… I just want to get out of here.” But there was no reply. I took careful steps toward the light, my hands balled into fists, ready to face whatever was on the other side.
As I walked in, I looked around. A kitchen.
The place was nicer than my room. The wallpaper still clung to the walls. The light bulbs lit up the room. Pots rested on an empty stove. A large green fridge stood in the corner. A small table and a couple of chairs.
It almost reminded me of my house.
Something about the room felt wrong though. Everything was in the right place, but nothing looked used. The stove was spotless. The chairs didn’t have a single scratch. It felt less like a kitchen someone lived in and more like one that had been set up for show.
My stomach rumbled as I began to check the cabinets. Most of them were empty. Only a few had some canned goods.
I was hungry—but not that hungry.
There were plates and silverware, but no knives. Just spoons and forks. A can slowly rolled to my feet. I hadn’t opened any cabinets. I bent down and picked it up. Peaches?
I looked to see where it had come from. Something dark stood in the doorway. I couldn’t completely make it out. “Who… who are you?” My hands tightened around the can. Slowly, it stepped into the light.
“Aaaah!”
I couldn’t help but scream. The can dropped from my hands with a loud thud. I noticed its eyes first. A tall, dark creature with red eyes. It looked like a demon—the ones my mother would always warn me about.
Did I end up in hell?
I couldn’t pry my eyes away. It looked partially human, but its black flesh practically oozed and moved. I bolted out of the room and ran straight back to the bed. “Don’t come near me! Freak!” I shouted. My voice wavered as my hands shook. My eyes stayed locked on the doorway.
Time passed, and I constantly heard it moving about. Pots clanged against the stove. Sparks from the fire crackled. I began to wonder what it was doing in there.
I sat on the edge of the bed, clutching my stomach. Each growl louder than the last. The monster would stop every time it heard it.
Those cans didn’t seem so bad now.
I began to hate the smell of the room. Why did that monster get the better room? Working up what courage I had left, I slowly made my way back to the kitchen. I stopped at the doorway and peered inside. It was opening cans and cooking the food. The smell in the air only made it worse. My stomach rumbled loudly before I could stop it.
The creature’s gaze snapped to me.
“Can… can I have some?” I asked hesitantly, pointing at the stove. It continued to stare at me blankly, still stirring the pot. “Please… I’m hungry,” I muttered, making my way closer. It was scary, but I was too hungry to think properly. The monster stood in my way. Its hands were outstretched in a fist. I hesitated, my gaze lingering on its strange flesh. I mirrored its actions, putting my fist forward. It began to shake its hand up and down, opening its palm on the third motion.
“Rock, paper, scissors?” I asked.
The monster nodded. What looked like a smile spread across its face. It leaned in closer, its gaze fixed on my hand.
I threw rock.
It showed scissors.
It let out a soft groan and moved out of my way. Was it really that easy? On the stove were some beans, but I didn’t mind. I turned the heat off and grabbed the pot quickly.
“These are mine now, right?” It didn’t bother to reply. “You don’t seem hungry,” I muttered. It opened its mouth and made an X symbol with its arms. Of course it didn’t understand me.
I stared at the black ooze beneath its feet.
At first I thought it was just dripping from its body. But it wasn’t. The stuff below the floorboards moved slowly, like thick tar shifting in the dark. For a moment I could’ve sworn it pulsed. Like it was breathing.
I blinked and the movement stopped. The floor looked normal again, the boards dry and still. Maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something down there had noticed me looking.
I poured the beans into a bowl, keeping one eye on the monster. The beans smelled good. I’d never been a fan of beans, but I still scarfed them down. After I finished, I rubbed my stomach lightly.
“Thank you…” I muttered.
The monster seemed to coo in response.
I lost track of the days. Or maybe they weren’t really days at all. The darkness and quiet made every moment feel the same. Only when I played games or bothered to eat did time seem to move. The monster remained in the kitchen, as if it were bound to it. It would only cook for me or let me eat if I played games with it.
Once I tried waiting by the doorway to see if it would follow me back to my room. It walked toward the hallway without hesitation, but just before it crossed the threshold it stopped. Its body trembled slightly, like something invisible was holding it back. After a few seconds it turned around and went back to the stove.
The games varied.
Sometimes it was as easy as rock, paper, scissors. Other times we played tag around the kitchen.
I often spoke to it, even though it never talked back. It was weird at first—the way it tilted its head as if it understood. It would sit opposite me and copy my movements. It irked me the way it pretended to eat when I did. I made my way to the kitchen, my usual hunger returning.
“What do you have for me today?” I asked.
The monster had a smile on its face. It reached out and grabbed my arm tightly, dragging me across the kitchen as if to show me something. But its grip was too tight. Something sharp dug into my skin.
Claws?
“Aaah! Get off me!”
I tried to yank my arm back. The monster let go. Its smile faded. It stared at me in confusion. After a moment, it reached toward my arm as if to check it, but quickly pulled back. Blood began to drip from my arm. My hands started to shake.
“I hate you!” I shouted.
The words came out instinctively. The monster quickly raised its arms to its head and let out a small cry. I bolted away. The food didn’t matter anymore. I clutched my arm as the pain throbbed while I collapsed onto the bed.
The next day, I didn’t hear a peep from the kitchen. My arm had stopped bleeding. Thankfully, the cut was shallow. I clutched my stomach as hunger returned. I had to eat. I made my way into the kitchen. “Look… I’m sorry—” The monster was gone. I stared at my arm for a long while. I’m sure it’ll come back.
I got used to the routine of eating and sleeping. Each day I looked for where the monster had gone. Each day I ended up empty-handed.
The food didn’t just refill randomly. It followed a pattern.
If I ate the beans, the next time the cabinet would only have fish. If I took the peaches, the beans would come back later. It was like the place was keeping track of what I used. Like it wanted to make sure I stayed alive. Just not free.
I started to notice something else too. The food never spoiled. The cans were never dusty. Even the fruit looked freshly packed every time I opened it. It was like the kitchen was stuck repeating the same moment over and over again.
The lights in the kitchen began to flicker. I went to check, wondering if the monster had come back.
“Hey… who’s there?”
No reply. A faint glow came from the kitchen table. An arrow illuminated in the dark, pointing up toward the vent in the corner.
How had I not noticed that before?
I grabbed a chair and climbed up. The vent was loosely fitted into the duct. The screws had already been removed. I pried it off with ease. Dust tickled my nose. It was too small to crawl through, but I could fit my arm inside.
I stared into the darkness. There had to be something in there. Without thinking too much, I pushed my arm into the tight space.
A lever?
I pulled it. A soft click echoed through the room. I pulled my arm out and waited. Nothing.
Just as I turned to leave, I noticed the fridge door hadn’t fully closed. I pushed it shut. My eyes widened as the fridge began to slide aside. A red door stood behind it. Strange markings were carved into the wood—symbols that didn’t make sense. They looked like a curse. Burned into the wood.
Some of the carvings were deeper than others. A few were faint, like they had been scratched in with weak hands. Others cut deep into the wood, sharp enough that splinters curled outward.
I ran a hand along the door. It seemed to pulse. The door opened slowly by itself. A sweet smell filled my nose. I couldn’t help but be drawn inside. I took one step.
When I turned to look back, I realized I was already deep in the room. The door was far away now, the only source of light. Darkness surrounded me. Suddenly, the ground beneath my feet gave way. I began to sink. I thrashed around, but it only made me sink faster. My eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape. The door seemed miles away.
“Help! Help, please!” I cried.
A faint voice called out behind me.
“Don’t go in there!”
But it was too late. I was already sinking up to my neck. All I could think about was not wanting to be alone.
———
I slowly crawled out of what felt like a bottomless pit. I felt wet, yet no water fell from me. It was dark and warm. The pit was warm and comforting, but a light beckoned me forward. I stared down at my flesh. My vision was blurry and red.
I didn’t feel anything. No pain. A shiver ran through me.
Where was I?
I looked around. Alone. I couldn’t remember who I was. I clutched my head tightly as pain shot through it. I wandered toward the light. My vision slowly adjusted to the strange place. Memories flashed in my mind.
The fish in the fridge.
I opened it. It was there, waiting. I touched the stove. The counter. Everything felt familiar.
Not like a place I had visited before. Like a place I had lived in. The feeling made my chest tighten even though I didn’t understand why.
I didn’t feel the need to eat. I didn’t feel the need to do anything. But I couldn’t help feeling sad.
Another room sat opposite the stove. There was no door. Inside, a small boy slept soundly on the bed. The room was dark. He must be comfortable. The dark is good after all.
I watched him sleep, listening to the slow rise and fall of his breathing. My friend. He will be my friend. As I continued watching him, more fragments filled my mind.
Games.
I wanted to play with him.
I heard the springs bend as he shifted his weight. The boy was awake. I moved to hide, slipping into the corner of the kitchen. I could hear his faint voice, but I couldn’t understand what he was saying. It all sounded muffled.
I watched as he looked around the kitchen, his hand on his stomach. I gently rolled a can of peaches to his feet. He ran away.
Did I scare him?
Was he not hungry?
Will he come back?
Time passed. With nothing to do, I decided to cook something for him. I’m sure he would be happy then. Maybe we could play. He crept forward, still speaking in words I couldn’t understand. He wanted to play. I put my hand out happily.
Rock, paper, scissors.
A memory surfaced—something about me being unbeatable. Yet I lost. I stepped aside and let my friend eat. He tried to share, but I dismissed the idea. I wasn’t hungry. The black ooze beneath me allowed me to slip through cracks in the floorboards.
“Friend,” I tried to say.
Only a soft sound escaped my mouth.
I watched him eat.
A smile spread across my face as warmth filled my chest. He was eating because of me. I wanted to cook for him more. Play with him more. But he seemed shy. He watched me carefully, like he thought I might hurt him. I should save some fun for tomorrow.
I’ll show him I don’t mean any harm.
The boy kept coming back, and we continued to play games. Each time, I cooked for him—whether he won or lost. At night, I watched over him. It wasn’t like I needed sleep.
Listening to his soft breathing was soothing. It grounded me. Made me feel closer to him.
The cake appeared in the fridge. It only came once a month.
The candles were already there, stuck neatly into the icing. I didn’t remember putting them there. I didn’t even remember learning how many there should be. Somehow the number just felt right.
If I remember clearly it was the only thing in there the first time I came here. Or was it the fish. No. Beans.
I didn’t know how I knew. It was instinct.
Excited, I grabbed my friend’s arm and dragged him toward the fridge. I wanted to show him. But as soon as I pulled him closer, he screamed. I let go immediately. Blood ran down his arm.
“No… no… I didn’t mean to,” I tried to say.
But nothing came out.
He shouted at me. Even though I didn’t understand the words, I knew he didn’t want to see me. He ran away. I stared at my hands in shame. I hadn’t realized I could hurt him. I peeked into his room. He sat on the bed, tears in his eyes, clutching his arm. Pain shot through my chest. This should never have happened. I slipped through the floorboards into the basement. I couldn’t face him. Guilt overwhelmed me. Tears filled my eyes. I was useless now.
Alone again.
Pain surged through my body. It snapped and twisted as I coughed up black ooze. Something inside me was changing. Memories flooded my mind. It was like I was two people at once. My vision warped as I sank deeper into the ground.
The black ooze melted off me, dripping like honey. My bones felt frail. My skin hung loose. I tried to stand, but I was too weak. My chest was sunken. My memories had returned. I had been here before.
I had lived through this cycle before.
The pond. The way I had once fallen and drowned in its black ooze.
The door that only opened once the fridge was completely shut. That’s why this place felt so familiar.
My name was Alex.
He’s me. I need to stop him.
Desperately, I crawled toward the basement ceiling, pounding against the floorboards above me. I managed to pry a board loose. Through the gap, I saw the red door opening. “Don’t go in there!” I screamed with all the strength I had left.
The ground shook beneath me as I tried to hold the door open. My body crumbled under the strain. But when I looked inside…
I realized I was too late. He had already fallen in. The cycle begins anew. With the last of my strength, my fingers scraped against the door as I carved the mark. The wood was already worn down from the others. So many others.
My fingers slipped along the grooves of the older marks. Some were deeper, some shallow, but they were all carved in the same place. Like every version of me had known exactly where to leave it.
I wondered if the first Alex had felt the same dread when he carved his.
Fifty-seven other scratches were already carved there.
I was fifty-eight.