Act 2: Beyond The Threshold

  Setting: Unknown

  Date: Thursday, May 4th, 1995?

  Is that mold? Alex opened his eyes. He was lying face-down in a soggy carpet that smelled strongly of vinegar and motor oil. He peeled his face away from the floor, his skin tearing painfully away from it like Velcro. He took a deep breath of stagnant air, trying to calm his heart down. When his vision finally cleared, he took in the place he now found himself in.

  The room, if he could even call it that, was a labyrinth of nicotine-stained wallpaper. Large cracks ran through the walls, revealing pink insulation beneath flimsy boards of plywood. The carpet was a weird shade of yellow. It was the kind you get when you leave a shirt out in the sun for too long. And it was covered in large, black splotches that looked like ink. Overhead, ceiling tiles stretched on in uniform irregularity. All of them identically deformed in their own way. And then there was the vibration. The one that he had been feeling in his bones since he’d awoken. It settled into a sound. A sound he was very familiar with.

  Fluorescent lights buzzed, filling the space with a sound Alex couldn’t ignore, even when he tried to plug his ears. Unlike the ones from his office, the tone of these lights almost sounded… angry. The sound was worse than anything he’d ever heard before. Even worse than John’s voice when he was lecturing him.

  Wait… where is John? Alex’s thoughts went back to his last moments. Before the shadow creature. He’d lost John in the darkness. Was he somewhere down here?

  “John?”

  There was no answer. Only the hum of electricity that sounded like thousands of insects screaming in unison.

  “John!”

  Alex heard a sharp intake of breath behind the wall to his left that sounded like a man trying to hide his pain. He slowly crept to the corner and peeked around it to see John pressed tightly into the corner of the wall, his eyes closed. He looked like he might have been asleep, if it wasn’t for the strange energy about him. The way his hands were tensed instead of limp. The way his brows were furrowed instead of relaxed. Instead of approaching, Alex cautiously called out to him.

  “John…?”

  “You’re awake? Good.” John responded instantly without even opening his eyes. Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet, smoothing his shirt out.

  “What… happened?” Alex asked.

  “We fell.”

  Why isn’t he panicking? Alex wondered as he watched John calmly scan the room. His shirt clung to his chest, the fabric slick with sweat and whatever liquid it was that saturated the carpet. Alex reached down, pulling the collar of his shirt up and sniffed it. The smell of mold hit him again, sharper this time. He gagged, dropping his shirt and recoiling away.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Ready?” Alex managed to say between breaths. “For what?”

  “To go.”

  Go? Go where?

  Everything looked the same. No matter what path he looked toward. And there weren’t identifiable marks that showed where an exit might be.

  “Shouldn’t we just wait where we woke up? How can you expect to get rescued if we get ourselves lost?” Alex asked. But John was already walking away, forcing Alex to follow or be left behind. Alex looked around. Being left alone in a place like this felt like a death sentence. So, against his own judgment, he followed John deeper into the unknown.

  They walked for ten minutes. Or maybe an hour. It was impossible to tell. Back in the office, at least he knew when time was dragging, or moving faster than he assumed. All he had to do was look down at the bottom right corner of his monitor. That’s how he came to realize that 4:59 PM lasted twice as long as any other minute.

  Without a gauge, the silence between his footsteps became seconds. Every turn made it feel like they were backtracking, the same crack running down the wall in the same place as before. He checked his watch, but the hands were no longer moving.

  But what scared Alex more than the thought of being lost in this place, was the silence. In between the loud squelch of their footsteps, and his own heavy breathing, Alex heard the lights again. They were relentless, making Alex’s head throb the longer he failed to drown out the noise.

  “John,” he yelled, trying to break up the monotonous atmosphere. “What do you think this place—“

  A white blur streaked across his vision and slammed into the carpet with a muffled thud.

  A few feet in front of them, were the remnants of what was once a coffee mug. Steaming liquid seeped into the floor, staining the carpet a dark shade of brown. Bold red letters were printed across the shattered pieces, the largest of which read: LD’S BEST D—. And another that simply had a large #1 in the same font.

  “What the hell?” Alex crouched and reached to grab the shattered ceramic handle. But John’s hand shot out, grabbing his wrist before he had the chance.

  “Stop.”

  “Why? It’s a coffee mug, John.”

  “Look up, Alex.”

  What am I supposed to be looking for? Alex thought to himself, looking at the perfectly uniform ceiling panels.

  “There’s nothing up there,” Alex finally said, pulling his hand out of John’s grip.

  “Exactly. So where did it fall from?”

  Alex’s eyes widened. There wasn’t a hole. And it clearly came from above. So how did it fall?

  “What’s going on?” Alex straightened.

  “I don’t know,” John replied.

  “Well, at least I figured something out,” Alex said, trying to keep the nerves out of his voice.

  “You figured something out?”

  “Yes. I figured out that it’s possible to make you admit you don’t know something.”

  “Feel proud if you want,” John said, turning back to the hallway. “No one’s going to believe you.”

  Alex looked down the branching corridors that looked identical at first glance. But the longer he stared, the more subtle differences he began to make out in each. The path on the very left had wallpaper that was torn more frequently. Another had carpet with less residual stains in it. But does that even matter? Actually, maybe I have a future in interior design. Alex mused, before shaking his head. No, wait. I’m almost thirty. I already know I don’t have a future.

  “Pick one,” John said, interrupting Alex’s self deprecating monologue.

  “How am I supposed to decide?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  Alex looked again: left, right forward. Nothing really screamed ‘safer’ than the other. So he chose the one with less stains, mostly at random. “Fine, that one.”

  John nodded, and walked in without a word.

  As they continued forward, it became clear that something was different about John. He was usually determined to take charge, but now, he was playing mock soldier. He created a new hand signal every few minutes to communicate with Alex without ever informing Alex what the previous one had meant. The most common time he’d use them was when they’d come across a corner. He’d twist his fingers in a way that almost felt like a gang sign, before slowly creeping around the corner.

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  “What are you doing, dork?” Alex asked after the third time. “Do you think we’re about to be attacked by a rogue janitor?”

  John didn’t respond. After a few seconds, he waved his hand, motioning for Alex to follow behind.

  The next corridor they walked into was even stranger than the last. The floor of this one was covered in debris: Scattered pens, torn sticky notes, a binder flung open like it was thrown, half-eaten food that had rotted long ago.

  John knelt suddenly, picking up a pen.

  “I thought we weren’t supposed to pick things up,” Alex said, half-joking.

  “No. You aren’t.”

  As they walked, the tone John had said that in began to settle in. Does he think he can treat me like a child? Alex opened his mouth to say something, but he noticed John had stopped.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m sorry,” John stated. “I didn’t think about the way I said that back there. I just don’t want you getting hurt.

  Before Alex could respond, a banging sound erupted from around the corner. And it sounded like someone was slamming their flat palm against the wall, over and over.

  “Stay behind me.”

  Alex didn’t argue this time.

  The muscles in John’s body clenched tightly as he peered around the corner. John didn’t motion for Alex that it was safe to move up, but Alex did so anyways. What he saw was an ordinary office chair, in an extraordinary situation. It wasn’t upright. It wasn’t even laying down. The best description Alex could think of was that it was upside down, and… being swallowed? The carpet had risen around the armrests and moved halfway up the back. The carpet ahead of them lacked details, like the person who’d drawn it had lost motivation halfway through. And it rippled, like the disturbed surface of a liquid whenever the chair moved. But Alex’s eyes were drawn to the wheels, still spinning in a desperate attempt to escape.

  John crouched at the threshold, where the normal carpet slowly shifted into the unnatural version. He used the pen he picked up early and tapped at the surface.

  When the pen made contact, the carpet gave way. The tip of the pen sunk in, and a perfect ring of ripples spread out from the point of contact, traveling the fibers. John pulled away, turning his back to the hallway.

  “We’re going a different way,” he said in a firm tone.

  Alex didn’t follow him immediately. He watched as the ripples spread until they made contact with the chair. When they did, the chair jerked forward, losing the last of its grounding. And slowly, it began its inevitable descent beneath the surface. The wheels disappeared last, spinning until they too were claimed by the beige abyss.

  Alex caught back up to John, but didn’t say anything. As much as he wanted to joke to push out the tension, he didn’t have the energy. They moved deeper into another corridor, until it turned into something that couldn’t really be called a corridor anymore. The walls pulled away until Alex couldn’t see them. And they were left on an open stretch of carpet that extended far beyond into the horizon. They were standing in the middle of a desert made of wool, trapped under the high-pitched buzz of an artificial sun they could no longer see.

  “What do we do now?” Alex asked.

  John stood still, scanning the open expanse. “We stay close to the middle.”

  “We can’t even see the end. How is this the best call?”

  “It’s different,” John replied simply.

  Alex looked out at the horizon, and felt his sense of distance break.

  “Do you at least have a plan? Or are we walking until we run into something?”

  “Walking is the only plan I have.”

  “That’s not reassuring.”

  “I can start lying to you instead if you’d prefer.”

  They moved forward, staying inside the invisible line where the walls used to be. And finally, just as Alex was starting to lose hope, there was a break in the monotony.

  It started as a dark speck, but as they drew closer, it resolved into a shape. A Desk. One of those heavy, mahogany executive desks you’d see in a manager’s office. And it was sitting entirely alone in the middle of this carpeted wasteland.

  John approached it with his usual trepidation, treating it as though it was a sleeping predator. It was in pristine condition. A stark contrast to the place it found itself in. And on top of it sat two lamps, with light green shades. They were glowing bright, which was unsettling considering their cords lay on top of the desk, connected to nothing.

  Rrr-ring.

  Alex hadn’t even noticed the bulky rotary phone until it started ringing.

  Rrr-ring.

  The metallic ringing echoed off everything and nothing at the same time.

  John didn’t move at first. He stared at the phone, deciphering whether or not to treat it as another threat.

  Rrr-ring.

  “John, are you sure we should—“

  “I’m not. But we don’t have a choice.”

  The ringing cut off the moment John’s skin made contact. John instinctively pulled his hand away.

  Rrr-ring.

  The ringing started once again. John took a deep breath, and reached for the receiver before he had the chance to think about it again.

  “Hello?”

  A million scenarios ran through Alex’s head on what might happen next, most of them ending up with them dead or worse. His breath caught in his throat as he saw John turn around, his face pale.

  “She…” he started, but his voice faltered. “She wants to talk to you.”

  That wasn’t one of the scenarios.

  “What? Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  For the first time, John’s composure had cracked. But, instead of unsettling him, that small glimpse of humanity made him relax.

  “It’s fine. Nevermind,” Alex said, taking the phone before John could change his mind.

  “Hello?”

  “Oh, it’s wonderful to finally meet you!” the woman on the other end said in an eccentric tone. The audio quality was crystal clear, devoid of the static that would usually be audible in something this old. “I just want to say, I’ve heard so many good things about you, Alex.”

  How does she know my name?

  “What do you mean how, Alex? We’ve known each other for years now,” she responded with mock hurt. “Or at least, you’ve known a part of me.”

  I didn’t say that out loud. Is she reading my—

  “Your mind?” the voice chuckled. “Of course not, silly. You just think too loud.”

  Alex’s hand clenched around the phone, his mind racing with the implications.

  “Anyways…” she said in a voice that sounded like someone trying to escape an awkward conversation. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? I’ll even be nice enough to answer a few of yours. I’m sure you’ve got a few things you’re dying to understand right now.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Oh, there’s your first question!”

  “Wait, no! That doesn’t count!”

  “Of course it does. This is a game, after all. Don’t be a sore loser.”

  The woman paused briefly, and Alex heard her tap a fingernail against something wooden. “You know what, actually. You can ask your first question. I’m in a good mood right now.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Who am I? Oh, I’m not really sure about that myself. But if you really need something to call me by, how about… the Jester?” the voice mused.

  “The Jester?”

  “Oh no. That sounded like another question, Alex. Don’t be so greedy.”

  “How about you tell me who you really are?”

  “I’m Alex.”

  “If I already knew your name, then you knew I wasn’t—“

  “You said it was a game. Don’t try and break your own rules.”

  “Oh, very good!” the Jester giggled. “You’re much sharper than I was expecting.”

  Alex glanced back at John. John stood perfectly still, but his hand was twitching at his side.

  “Where are we?”

  “You’re in our home,” the Jester replied cheerfully. “Or our prison. Depends on which one of us you ask.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Alex’s voice tightened. “What’s the point of saying you’ll answer my questions if you’re just going to talk in riddles?”

  “It may be a game, but I’m still the one that made the rules.”

  “What if I just stop playing along with your games?”

  “Go for it… I dare you,” the Jester’s voice dropped an octave, losing its playfulness.

  Alex didn’t say anything. He knew he couldn’t just walk away. Not when they were stuck in the middle of nowhere like this.

  “That’s a good boy,” she mocked. “Now, as for my real question. I want to know the why…”

  “What why?”

  “The one that explains why that old hag is so obsessed with you. She’s never cared about anything beyond control before. What’s so special about you that made her change?”

  Alex felt a cold knot form in his stomach. “Who are you talking about?”

  The Jester paused. When she spoke again, the amusement was back. “Asking questions before you even answered mine?”

  “How am I supposed to even answer that question if I don’t know who you’re talking about?”

  The line fell silent, crackling with a static. Alex assumed she might have left, but then she spoke once again. “Then answer this question. What does the name Blanche mean to you?”

  Alex’s fingers went slack, and the handset slipped from his grip.

  Why her?

  It was a name he hadn’t heard in years. Something he was grateful for. It brought back memories of his childhood. And his father, standing in a smoke-filled living room that smelled of cheap whiskey and desperation. But it was before his transformation into a broken man. Instead, he was the young, confident version who was entertaining a group of guests in their home. Without a single drop of whiskey on his breath.

  And he saw her. Blanche. The gatekeeper. The woman who sat by herself, looking disgusted whenever someone came up to her, trying to garner her support. With a single stroke of a pen she decided which comedian got a show and which one starved. She was the arbiter of his father’s self-worth, and the ghost that haunted his dreams.

  “Alex?” John’s voice broke through the memory.

  Alex looked down at the phone and snatched it up, pressing it to his ear once again.

  The Jester was laughing. “I see,” she said, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “We’ll leave it there for now. Don’t want to spoil the rest of the story this early, do we?”

  “Why do you know—”

  The ground began to rumble, cutting Alex off.

  John shouted, grabbing Alex’s shoulder and pulling him back. Two massive structures erupted from the ground, tearing through the carpet. They towered up, parallel to each other, reaching the roof.

  “I’d suggest going inside,” the Jester said, her voice echoing slightly now, as if she were speaking from inside the walls themselves. “Unless you’re interested in seeing how long you’ll last without food.”

  “Wait!” Alex yelled.

  Click.

  The line went dead.

  Alex let the phone drop from his hand and turned his attention to the structure. Inside, was another hallway, similar to the ones they had walked through earlier.

  “What did she say?” John asked.

  “We should go inside.”

  John nodded, but didn’t go straight for the gap. His focus was on the walls themselves, or more importantly, the weird dimensions of them. The walls themselves didn’t run for more than ten… maybe fifteen feet. But the area inside stretched on, ignoring the physical boundary.

  John silently took a step forward, and Alex followed a few steps behind. John kept his pace measured, his feet testing the carpet with every step.

  Alex’s chest tightened, and he swore he could see the walls closing in, flexing and contracting like a lung. Panic washed over him, and a sudden urge to look back at the open expanse overwhelmed him.

  And what he saw, made the rest of his breath leave in a painful wheeze.

  Two feet behind him, the corridor simply ended.

  It wasn’t a door. Nor a blockage that had slammed shut. It was just a wall. Alex reached his trembling hand out to test the wall.

  It was solid.

  “It’s fine,” John said before Alex had time to panic. “We’ve been stuck the whole time.”

  He adjusted his collar and turned his back to the wall, looking down the endless hallway stretching out before them. “And if we don’t have a way back, that means there’s one less option to confuse us.”

  “All we can do now is go deeper.”