Night Games Chapter 12

 Chapter 12 after the break...

CHAPTER 12

      Liz wiped a trail of saliva from her mouth with the back of her hand. Jennifer’s footfalls had dissipated almost instantly when she ran into the hallway. She was alone in the dark once again. In her mind half formed thoughts and images fought chaotically to be heard. Minutes passed as she sat in the omnipresent shadows of the dilapidated room before she endeavored to light her candle. As she brought the match head to the striking side of the tiny box from which it had come, a sound froze her hand. Something had made a ‘thud’ in the hallway behind the wall against which she sat. At first she could not tell what it was, but it was quickly followed by two more. Footsteps. Heavier than any of the girls could make, and possessing a distinctive ‘click’ that ruled out Fred’s tennis shoes. She squinted at the inert form of Paul lying motionless on the floor and felt her throat tighten. Thud, thud, thud; the footsteps grew louder and clearer until they stopped in front of the doorway. 

      Liz tried to hold back her gasping breaths. Her sweat-slicked hair shook with the unbearable tension in her body. In the hallway she heard the sound of shoes grinding on the dirty floor once, a pause and an audible sniffing sound, more grinding, and then silence once again. “Oh God,” she thought, “he’s checking the rooms!” She could feel droplets of sweat rolling down her legs. After a few moments the footsteps began anew and headed off down the hallway at an increased pace. She listened to the night for a sign of their return but heard nothing. Her shoulders relaxed and she wiped her forehead on her shirt sleeve. 

      She set the match head against the box once again, paused to listen just in case, breathed a sigh of relief, and lit the match. The sudden light seemed almost blinding after trying to see in the dark of the retirement home for so long. She pressed the match against the wick of the candle and blinked. Once It was lit she waved the match out and set the candle in her right hand. Liz pushed herself to her feet, closed her eyes, and forced a pained smile. “I’m going to get through this,” she whispered. When she opened her eyes again she nearly screamed.

      Not more than a foot in front of her stood an old man. He wore nothing but a stained pair of boxer shorts. He was slightly bent over and breathed slowly. She stared at his body. It had been ravaged by old age; it was a grotesque mockery of life. Liver spots and hairy moles peppered his sagging, sickly white skin. Old scars with soft pink skin stretched with the rise and fall of his chest. Small clumps of hair and fresh wounds covered his nearly bald pate in thin lines as if he had taken a straight razor to himself in the dark. He stared into Liz’s eyes with a blank expression stamped onto his weathered face. “Oh, no, no, no, no, no,” Liz whimpered, raising her hands as she stepped away from the old man. Her heart pounded in her ears. A cockroach the size of a silver dollar fell from the inside of his boxers to the floor and skittered away into the hall. Liz brought her hand to mouth and gagged. In the feeble light of the candle they stood and stared at one another.

      Liz slid along the wall with her hands in front of her. The candle’s flame sputtered in a breeze coming from the open window. His gaze stayed fixed on the wall where she had stood, and he did not move. She stepped over Paul and winced at the old man’s back. His loose skin had been stapled over itself so that it stretched tightly over his emaciated torso in a crude rectangle of flesh. Written there, in little red lines of sliced skin, were the words: “NO FUN IF YOU DON’T HIDE”. Her hand shook and she nearly dropped her candle as she crept into the hallway. Her head swiveled wildly as she looked around herself for signs of the one who had been walking in the hall earlier, but she was alone.

      Her footsteps echoed softly in the hall. Liz struggled to remember everything Paul had said about the Midnight Game. She knew that “hiding” meant only two things: that you had to keep moving, and you needed to keep your candle lit. If he found you, you needed to relight your candle quickly, and… that was all. She couldn’t remember anything else. She gripped the candle tightly in her left hand with the matchbox tucked into the space between her fingers. In her right hand she held only a single match that she kept close to the striking edge of the matchbox just in case her candle went out. In this way she began to creep through the silence of the retirement home.

      In the light of the candle she could only see a few feet ahead of her. Her imagination ran wild with every step. The appearance of the old man had ruined her sense of reality, and her head spun on her shoulders as she tried to keep watch in every direction at once. She began to hear things at the very edge of her perception like a radio station blurring the chaos of static. The walls seemed to whisper to her. The doors beckoned, inviting her in. The carpet swirled and eddied in a maddening display. Only when she heard the first footstep behind her did she begin to truly panic. She ran, dropping the extra match from her right hand as she sprinted towards the pale light of the connecting hall. The footsteps suddenly changed direction and came from in front of her. She spun only to find that the ever nearing sound of clicking heels seemed to come from whatever direction she faced. In her confusion she tripped and slammed to the ground, burning candle wax dripping onto her hand. She set the candle down on the floor and wiped away the cooling wax. The footsteps grew in volume and number until she had to cover her ears to try and stop the noise. 

      “Please!” She screamed to no one, “It hurts, please stop!” And suddenly the noises were gone. She looked around frantically to get her bearings but could see nothing beyond the candle’s flickering light. She picked up the candle and was about to begin ‘hiding’ again when Fred stepped out of the darkness. “Oh Jesus!” Liz whispered, “Fred you scared the shit out of me! What are you doing? Have you seen Jennifer?” Fred stepped toward her and reached out to rest his hand upon her shoulder. Liz allowed herself to relax a little for the first time in hours. “I’m sorry; I don’t mean to freak out on you. I’m glad you’re okay. You need to get back to where we came in: Jennifer left candles and matches there.  Hey, are you listening?” Fred smiled, put his other hand on her remaining shoulder, and blew out her candle.