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You swear you're dreaming, but it feels so real. You can't see sun or even sky, but somehow light streams down between the branches of the black trees surrounding you. The trees seem to press in behind you as though closing your way back, but for a reason you cannot identify you never look over your shoulder to check. You don't know where you are or how you got here. Try as you might, you cannot retrace your shambling steps along this dusty path. Distantly though, in a way you can't explain like dream logic or intuition, you sense that you know what awaits you at the end of this path.The forest is silent except for your footsteps crunching in the dirt. There is no wind to rattle the branches and nothing scurries or flutters among the trees. And yet you do not feel alone. There is something else here. Something, or someone. Of that you cannot be certain. All you know is that you are being watched, but for what purpose you can only guess.The fog is so heavy that you can barely see your next footstep, let alone what awaits you further down the path. It clings to your skin with an icy dampness that sinks down into your bones. It weighs on you and drags you down. Every step becomes a struggle but you still take every step without hesitation.This isn't right, you tell yourself. Turn back. Now. Before it's too late.But you can't. You won't. You can only go forwards.You see the graveyard first with its tidy rows of immaculately kept identical gravestones. Each gravestone is scrubbed clean of dirt and moss, but try as you might you cannot read the inscriptions. Your gaze slides over them like water on glass.Beyond the graveyard a building looms out of the fog. Gregory House, it advertises itself as with a sign over the front doors. It's not a pretty building, solidly rectangular in construction with neat rows of windows kept dark and shuttered from the inside, but the promise of dryness and warmth persuades you to come closer. Wooden doors swing outwards with a low creek though you can't see anyone there to open them. Inside there is a single light struggling within the inky gloom. Dimly you are aware that this is your last chance to turn back, but numbly you stumble into it anyways. And as you fall into the light you could swear that someone somewhere starts to laugh.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
You open your eyes and you are inside. Your memory of the passage through the doorway is fuzzy for some reason. You look behind you and the wooden doors are shut once more. It doesn't make sense. Why can't you remember what happened in those few short steps?
Gregory House is warmer but still not warm. You can't quite shake the chill from your bones, but at least it's dry inside. Except this place stinks of must and mold so strongly that it lodges in your throat where you can taste it. And there is another smell that you can't identify, but your subconscious seems to recognize it for your stomach rolls and you're filled with a sudden desire to flee. But you don't run. You stay where you are as though something far stronger than any instinct has rooted you to the ground.
This is an old hotel, or at least run down, judging by the water stained ceiling and walls. The empty lobby is spacious though poorly lit and decorated with ample cushioned furniture that looks more foreboding than inviting. Silence presses in around you. This place could be mistaken for abandoned if it weren't for the meticulously lit candles decorating the walls.
You turn and realize that you're not as alone as you first thought. There is a giant rat as big as you are, fully dressed and human-like as he sits at the front desk. He leisurely flips the pages of an over-sized book too quickly to really be reading it. In the back of your mind you recognize that this isn't right, but for your sanity's sake you let the thought slip away.
"Would you like a room?" the rat asks, acknowledging your presence for the first time.
His name is Gregory, but how do you know that? The name just popped into your head like you knew it all along but had forgotten until just now. You tell yourself that the idea came from the sign over the door. Because surely you don't just know it. That'd be impossible. Wouldn't it?
You don't answer him, but that doesn't change anything. Gregory grabs the candle from the desk and a key from a hook on the wall behind him.
"You must be tired," he says, but you're not sure tired is the right word of it.
Empty, perhaps. Distant. Numb. This doesn't feel real. Despite the damp and the cold this doesn't feel real.
You follow Gregory down the dark hall, your footsteps echoing in the silence. It's late, you think, but the quiet is eerie even at this hour.
Gregory stops in front of a plain and unassuming wooden door, but your attention is drawn to the rusted metal door beside it. It's a cell door, latched and locked tight. It cuts a sharp foreboding contrast against the attempted warmth of this place.
Gregory doesn't acknowledge the cell door. He simply unlocks the plain wooden door and motions for you to step inside. It's a small simple room. A narrow bed, a low desk, and a single dresser. The basics, and only the basics. There isn't even a clock. It's not a cozy room by any means, but it's yours for now and it will keep you safe from the elements. And for a reason you can't quite identify, you feel grateful for the lock on the door. You're not sure what or who you need to keep out, but your restless instincts tell you that it will be necessary soon.
"Enjoy your stay," Gregory says as he closes the door behind you.
He laughs to himself, and you can hear his laughter fading into silence as he makes his way back down the hall.
The bed creaks beneath you when you sit down on its edge. You know that you should rest but you find yourself unable to. Even though weariness is finally starting to set in, your body heavy with exhaustion, everything demands your attention. Every shift of a shadow under the shivering candlelight. Every creak of the building as it settles in the night. It's all too you much. You should not be here.
And from the other side of the wall, the wall you share with the cell next door, you swear you can hear something scratching at the walls.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Curiosity gets the better of you. There is something in the cell next door, and even if you felt like sleeping you couldn't with the scratching and occasional yowl jolting you back to alertness. Enough is enough.
Slowly you open your door and peer down the hallway. There shouldn't be anything wrong with leaving your room even at this hour of the night, or what you assume to be night, but this place doesn't feel safe. You feel like the walls are watching you. You feel like something could be around the corner at any second. You feel like a guest in name only.
Despite your best efforts the floor still creaks beneath you with every step as you creep next door. You don't see anyone, let alone anyone who would stop you. The metal door is latched with a hook for a lock, but to your surprise the lock hangs open. There is a slit where a window should be, but it's been permanently shuttered and sealed. You try to open it but the rattling of metal is dangerously loud in the silence.
You stop and listen for any indication that someone is coming, but all you can hear is the creaking of the building and the thundering of your own heart. Your instincts scream at you to turn back and return to your room before it's too late. Lie down and pull the covers over your head so that you might pretend that you can't hear what's on the other side of the wall. But you don't. Instead you remove the lock and unlatch the door.
The door opens with a loud squeal of rusty hinges and it's the smell that hits you first. The stink of filth left to fester and rot. Before you adjust to the darkness all you can see is the reflection of yellow eyes. Something watches you from the corner of the dark cell, and when it shifts into the narrow stream of moonlight coming through the lone barred window you realize that it's a cat. Or at least, it was. It looks like someone tore the cat apart then haphazardly stitched it back together. Whoever it was, they were deliberate in their cruelty given how the cat's eyes and mouth were stitched shut in the process. There is a web of scars around one eye where the stitches were torn out by sharp claws.
The cat moves towards you, the chain shackled to its foot clinking and scraping against the stone floor. Only now do you realize how thin it is. You can see bones shifting beneath skin with every breath and tendons pulling tight with every movement.
When was the last time you saw food? Suddenly you hunger. Except you hunger not just for food in your belly but for something else as well. There is a fast fading memory of something warm. Something that was once yours but no longer. What was it?
"You need to leave," the cat says, its voice a low whine of pain and agony.
Leave? This cell? This place? Either way you agree, but you suspect it won't be that easy.
The cat advances in slow lurching movements, metal chain scraping against the ground as it drags itself closer and closer. It watches you with a desperate intensity. It wants something, but you don't know what. Your stomach rolls as the stench grows stronger with the narrowing distance.
"He'll try to stop you," the cat says. "Don't trust anyone. Don't even trust your own senses. And whatever you do, don't look back. Now go!"
With a shove, stronger than it looks despite being all tendon and bone, it pushes you back through the door. Fear overcomes confusion when you see the hunger in the cat's eyes. A hunger strong enough to drive it to devour anything, and despite the cryptic advice you realize that good will isn't enough to save you.
You scramble to slam the cell door shut then flee back to your room. It's only a few short steps but it feels like forever. You slam your door shut behind you as well, throwing the lock for good measure. Your heart races and your lungs burn in your chest as you sink to the cold floor.
You start to breathe easier once you hear the scratching on the other side of the wall like nothing happened. Then it occurs to you, with icy dread as your heart sinks to your stomach, did you remember to latch the cell door?
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
You are the lone guest in the grand dining hall. You feel small and vulnerable in the vast empty space. You can't stop looking over your shoulder in fear that something could emerge from the flickering shadows at any time.
The chef serves you personally. It's a great honour, at least according to Gregory. The chef is, at its core, a giant candle with deep-set glowing red eyes swallowed by void-like darkness. It towers over you, and even more so when you're seated. Its lit flame wafts heat across you when it leans over and silently places a silver bowl before you. It watches you with an unflinching gaze, and your attention falls to the knife in its hand. The knife rivals the chef's already massive size, and for a moment it distracts you from the concoction placed before you.
"Tomato soup," Gregory calls it, and in the darkness you can pretend it's the right shade of red.
You were hungry before back when you visited the stitched up cat. But between the stench, too strong and too sweet like meat left outside to rot, and the glinting of the chef's knife you don't feel hungry anymore.
"You don't want to offend the chef, do you?" Gregory asks when you hesitate too long, and you're not sure if it's a warning or a threat.
So you pick up the little silver spoon next to the bowl and dip it into the soup. You try to ignore the skin along the top and the clumping at the bottom. With both Gregory and the chef keeping a careful eye on you there's only one option. If you try to resist, if you try to flee, you're certain you would be cut down. The only option is the soup. Maybe it will kill you slower than the knife. Maybe that will be a good thing.
You fill the spoon halfway, just enough to be acceptable, and lift it to your mouth. The stench gets stronger the closer it gets so you breathe through your mouth as much as possible. If you don't think about it too much then maybe it will hurt less. You put the spoon in your mouth. The soup is warm, not hot. Too warm to be from sitting out for too long. Too cool to be from the pot. And it has a strong taste of iron that you try to ignore.
Swallow it. Don't spit it back out. Don't offend the chef.
There is something in the soup. Something hard and too big to swallow, not without choking yourself, so you worm it back out with your tongue and spit it out into the spoon.
It's a tooth.
Not your own, a quick check with your tongue confirms this fact, but the alternative isn't much better.
The world spins and it feels like everything is dropping out from under you. You sink back into your chair, willing for the solidness of the wood to hold you up, but the smallest imbalance sends you tumbling to the ground.
You don't quite register the sensation of your body slamming into the floor, your shoulder taking the brunt of the impact. Gregory says something to the chef, something about patience. You don't catch the rest of it as the world slips away.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Consciousness is hard fought for and hard won, and an unfamiliar room swims into existence around you. You're in a hospital bed barely wide enough to fit you. Your mouth is dry like it's been stuffed with cotton balls and sand, and the smell of disinfectant burns down your throat and lungs. You try to sit up but everything spins so violently that you have to lie back down to avoid passing out again.
Except once your head stops spinning you notice the massive syringes hanging on the wall. Each one is almost as big as you are, and you start to feel faint for a different reason. The needles are far too large. They would never fit in a blood vessel, at least not without taking out half the limb along with it. Except you're suddenly struck with the mental image of the needle pushing through your chest and sinking into your heart.
You sit up, dizziness be damned, and try to better understand your surroundings. The first thing you look for is the door, and its rough wooden appearance characteristic of Gregory House forms a stark contrast against the white-washed walls and checkered tile floor. With your best escape route identified you turn your attention to the rest of the room. It's outfitted with a variety of medical supplies more typical for an average clinic and every surface has been painstakingly cleaned to sterility.
Slowly you get out of bed, the metal frame squeaking and creaking beneath you. You test your body first to make sure you can support your own weight before standing up. Your head spins and you sway a little but you manage to stay on your feet.
Just as you start to think you might escape unscathed the door swings open and a bright pink humanoid lizard enters. This, combined with the fact that she's wearing a nurse's outfit, would be more striking if it wasn't for the giant syringe she brought with her.
"I am nurse Catherine," the lizard introduces, "and I'm in charge of your care. You're lucky that this hotel has a nurse and clinic on-site you know."
Ordinarily you'd agree, but nothing about Gregory House has been ordinary so far. And you can't take your eyes off the giant syringe cradled lovingly in her arms.
"Oh but you're still pale," Catherine continues. "It looks like rest wasn't enough. There must be something else wrong with you."
It's time to run, but with Catherine standing between you and the door there isn't much chance of that. So instead you back up as she advances towards you until your back meets the cold wall.
"It looks like you need a blood-test," Catherine croons. "Lucky you. I love~ drawing blood."
She caresses the syringe with her cheek and a sultry purr rumbles through her chest. Without taking your eyes off her you reach back with one hand to fumble desperately for something that might save you. Catherine raises the syringe over her head, light glinting off the needle as you shrink against the wall in a fruitless attempt to become a smaller target.
"Catherine!" Gregory yells as the door flies open with a loud bang. "That's enough!"
Gregory stumbles over and grabs onto Catherine's arm, deflecting the needle's trajectory just enough so that it embeds into the wooden floor next to your foot. You jump away as your heart hammers in your chest. Your gaze fixes on the door. Your escape route, provided you can live long enough to reach it.
"I can't help myself!" Catherine protests with a heady groan.
With a heave she dislodges the needle from the floor and raises it once more. Except this time her attention is on Gregory who recognizes the danger he's in. He lets go of her arm and quickly backs into the opposite wall as he babbles a request for calmness and self-control. Catherine isn't listening though, and she advances with a purr in her throat and the syringe raised over her head.
Perhaps you should feel bad for him but with your life on the line and the fact that Gregory has been more captor than friend you don't feel guilty about taking advantage of the situation. You inch your way around the edge of the room as Catherine continues to back Gregory into a corner. When you reach the door you fumble for the handle behind your back. You look away only when the door finally pops open and you can make a frantic break for it. Your body aches and your head spins but you don't stop moving. You don't recognize this hallway and you don't know which way your room is but you don't stop moving. As you pick a direction at random and run you're followed out by a croon of pleasure not quite drowned out by a plea for mercy.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Staying in your room will achieve nothing except a better chance at a slower death, so you spend more time wandering the halls and trying to understand the hotel's layout. Maybe you can find a way out, and if you can't then at least you'll die having tried.
Up on the second floor the sound of crying echoes through the dark halls. It's a child, you realize, when the crying gets louder. The crying grows louder until a small figure emerges from the darkness. It's a child, as you suspected, crying into her hands as she shuffles towards you. Is she trapped like you, you wonder. Are even children not safe from this hell?
"My dolly," the child whimpers. "I lost my dolly."
You don't know who she is or how she ended up here, but then again you could say the latter about yourself too. Maybe it doesn't matter who she is or how she ended up here. You're both trapped. You're both lost.
"Have you seen my dolly?" she asks between sniffles.
You haven't, but even though you can't help her maybe you can offer some comfort instead. There's little comfort to be found in this cold hell where your life is constantly on the line. Peace is a scarce commodity found only with sacrifice. A few seconds of relief from the pain is all you have and all you can give. Maybe it's enough just to know that you're not alone.
You kneel down and open your arms. The child glances up at you and sniffs as she reaches up to wipe away her tears with the back of her arm. She shuffles towards you, her arms stretched out to return the embrace.
The warning comes too late in the form of her neck popping and creaking as she looks away.
Her head snaps around the wrong way, revealing a terrible screaming visage that hurtles towards you as she shoves you backwards with unnatural strength.
"GIVE ME BACK MY DOLLY," she shrieks loud enough to leave a ringing in your ears.
She cackles as she floats in the air, twitching and jerking like she's being yanked by invisible strings. You scramble backwards, hands scraping against the rough wooden floor. The girl laughs gleefully as she is pulled upwards into the darkness.
Even though she's gone you don't stick around. You scramble to your feet and sprint back to the relative safety of your room.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Once more you haunt the halls of Gregory House in search of a way out. You know the hotel's layout by now, and even more importantly you know which places to avoid. The clinic, for example, is firmly off limits. So far you've been unable to find an escape route. The front door you arrived through is firmly locked and the windows are all sealed of course, though if you were more of a maverick you suppose you could try smashing the glass. The closest you've come to leaving so far is the courtyard where you stood in the cold fog and looked up at the empty black sky.
Rumbling fills the halls like a cart rattling down a track. You freeze and turn towards the source of the sound. Two lights, one pink and the other yellow, cut through the darkness like oncoming headlights. The obvious solution is to run, but the roar of the rumbling and the speed of the unknown object barreling towards you freeze you in place like a deer caught on a road.
"Do you know who I am?"
Confusion momentarily overrides fear. Someone is singing, and it's getting louder.
"They call me..."
As for who or what--
"JUDGEMENT BOY."
The oncoming object, an amalgamation between a human and a giant set of equal-arm scales, comes to an abrupt stop in front of you. The self-proclaimed Judgement Boy towers over you all the way from ceiling to floor. There is a low creak as he swings slightly on his track from the lingering momentum. He stares at you with a wide sharp-toothed grin, and though you stare back you don't exactly share his enthusiasm.
You realize that he could easily hurt you if he wanted to, by running you down if nothing else, so he doesn't seem hostile. If anything he seems genuinely happy to see you, though you're well aware that this doesn't guarantee anything. The lights you saw earlier were from a glass heart and a glass dollar sign locked in cages balanced against each other as they hang from thick metal chains attached to what could pass for Judgement Boy's arms.
"You and your best friend are applying for the same job," Judgement Boy announces loudly, his voice echoing throughout the hotel. "Your friend is more qualified but you need the money more. The applications are to be delivered in person, and you are tasked with delivering yours and your friend's. What do you do?"
You don't answer. You just continue to stare at him as his grin grows wider and wider. What is he? And why is he asking you such a weird question out of nowhere?
The obvious course of action would be to hand in both applications and be on your way, but an alternative nags at the back of your mind.
"Speechless are you?" Judgement Boy says.
He grins wider, you didn't think that was possible, and starts to rock from side to side. The cages move up and down, their movements perfectly in sync against each other.
"But your heart speaks the truth, and for that we should consult the balance of truth. If you try to weigh your money against your love there is no doubt that your heart will start to sway. If you try to weigh your love against your money your heart will start to break. NOW. JUDGEMENT."
Judgement Boy suddenly spins violently and you take a few steps back to avoid being struck down by one of the cages as they fly outwards. A terrible racket fills the hall as he rattles about on his track. He stops as abruptly as he started, somehow stopping perfectly to face you once more. The bottom of the heart cage opens and Judgement Boy pitches violently to the other side as the glass heart crashes to the ground. It shatters into countless pieces, shards of pink glass scattering across the wooden floor.
"Without anyone knowing you discard your friend's application and only turn in yours," Judgement Boy says. "Two weeks later you get the job, but your best friend is forced to work long hours in hard manual labour just to make ends meet. It was our choice. You get to live with it."
Without giving you time to respond Judgement Boy turns on his track and leaves. He sings as he goes, the remaining yellow light fading into the darkness.
Your immediate reaction is to chase after him and tell him that he's wrong. That you would never do something so self-serving. But when you try to give chase doubt tugs at your mind and keeps you rooted in place.
Because you've never been in that situation before. So how can you know for sure what you'd really do? Maybe you would and maybe you wouldn't, but that doubt was enough to tip the scales against you.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Gregory House is underwater, or perhaps you really are dreaming. You didn't notice everything changing, not until your limbs grew light but slow. Every movement takes more effort than it used to, and every footstep is loud but dulled. You can still breathe just fine and except for the chill starting to settle in around you, you feel no worse than before.
And then, passing through the wall with an ethereal shimmer, a skeletal fish with a CRT television for a head swims through the air. Its arrival is accompanied by the whine of static and shifting frequencies that almost flow together into a song. The skeletal fish swims serenely and unhurried as it bathes the area with a calming blue light that radiates from its entire body.
The crackle of static echoes through the hall and the fish turns to face you. Before it seemed to wander aimlessly through the air, but now it swims towards you with a purpose you can't comprehend. Its face flickers and changes, but the new image is obscured by interference and poor reception. The half-formed image is familiar though. A distant memory clings to your mind. Every time you reach for it, it slips from your gasp. In the end you're not even sure it was real. Someone calls you. Calls you by your name? You have one. You must. It was...
The fish turns, and the memory is taken with it.
Desperately you try to grab its skeletal tail before it swims away, but your hand passes right through and a tingling sensation shoots up your arm. The fish swims on unfettered, and when it passes back through the wall it takes its light with it. Already the air starts to warm and you body feels heavier.
You release the breath you didn't know you were holding. Alone in the darkness you are left with a gnawing sense of emptiness. You lost something but you don't know what. Until now you didn't even realize that you lost something at all. Then you start to wonder if you imagined the whole thing, as already the memory of the encounter starts to fade away.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Gregory House has a bar, much to your initial surprise, manned by the rat himself as he serves up a number of both alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks. The bar acts as a neutral zone where guests gather not to torment but just to relax. Aside from your room it's the safest place you've found so far. You keep to yourself here, only engaging in enough conversation to order a drink, but you've come to recognize some of the regulars. For example there are two small identical beings dressed entirely in black with their faces obscured by veils. Whenever you've seen them they order a milkshake to share and need booster seats to reach the straws.
Soft music plays from the jukebox in the corner as you nurse tonight's drink, on the house like every drink before it, and you realize that you're being stared at from the other end of the bar.
"You have a warp in your time," the other customer says even as you try to pretend you didn't notice him staring.
You recognize him because he's a regular at the bar. Clock Master, or so you were left to infer from his frequent drunken rambling. The name, or perhaps it's more of a title, fits given that he is essentially an antique clock refashioned to look vaguely human. Usually his son keeps him from getting too belligerent but the boy isn't here tonight. At least right now Clock Master seems to be holding his liquor better than you've seen before.
"You have a warp in your time," Clock Master repeats. "It's a fatal condition, and soon your life will be a living hell."
You don't point out that, since you're trapped in a dreary place where almost everyone you meet seems to want you dead, your life might already qualify as being a living hell. Instead you ask him if he, the self-proclaimed ruler of time, can fix your warp.
"Too bad," he says. "It's far too late." Before you can tell him off for his uselessness he adds, "But I can take you back to before your time was warped."
You hesitate, then ask how you can avoid getting a warp a second time.
"Avoid wandering into strange forests," Clock Master advises, and you have to concede the point even though you want to punch him in his smug face.
He watches you expectantly and you nod your consent. Nothing else has worked so far, and it's the only option you have right now. Clock Master stands and walks towards you until he's close enough that you can smell the reek of alcohol on his breath. Just as you start to have second thoughts the clock hands on his face start to spin wildly and his eyes roll into the back of his head.
It feels like you're being torn apart, but then everything goes numb.
You are weightless as a blur of images flash before your eyes. They are meaningless to you, but you suspect it wasn't always that way.
Your stomach lurches and you start to fall, faster and faster until you find yourself on your back with cold damp ground beneath you. You stare up at an empty black sky as a heavy fog clings to your skin.
You sit up.
Wooden doors swing outwards with a low creek though you can't see anyone there to open them. Inside there is a single light struggling within the inky gloom. Haven't you been here before? But an already fading memory slips away, and as you fall into the light you could swear that someone somewhere starts to laugh.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Time bleeds together as you wander Gregory House in search of a way out. Tonight thick white smoke accompanied by the strong smell of sandalwood fills the hallway. When the smoke starts to clear a fortune telling tent materializes in front of you. There is a frog sitting inside, her webbed hands resting on either side of a hazy crystal ball. At this point fortune telling frogs that appear out of nowhere ranks low on the list of strange things that have happened here. You've learned to adjust your expectations. For the sake of your sanity you've had to.
"I see fear in your future," the frog says as she peers into the crystal ball.
You ask, as politely as you can manage, if she could be a little more specific than that.
"I see a monster with sharp claws," the fortune teller answers. "I see it chasing someone through these very halls. I see it gaining on them. Ah. It seems the future is no more."
You wrack your brain for who this monster could be, and while the stitched up cat might still have claws it doesn't sound right to you. But Gregory House seems to host no end of dangerous guests, so the monster being one you haven't met yet is more than likely. Regardless, it seems you will meet your end here. The news is disappointing though far from surprising.
The fortune teller lets out a croaking laugh, but you don't know what's so funny.
"The future in my crystal ball is absolute," she says, "but what you understand is not."
White smoke fills the hallway once more, and the fortune teller vanishes along with her tent. You're left no more reassured or any less confused, but you decide to take her last words as encouragement if only because the alternative means resigning yourself to death. What you saw seems destined to happen, but who knows? Maybe you will escape the monster after all.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Gregory gave you a ticket for the roller coaster beneath Gregory House, saying that maybe a little bit of fun will help take your mind off things. You started to suspect you were being had when you descended into the depths of the basement. The labyrinthine hallways seemed to go on forever as the cold stone walls pressed in around you. Every step echoed then faded into silence, and just when you were considering turning back before you become lost for good your path opened up into a massive cavernous chamber.
You stand on a wooden platform before a sign that reads "Speed Mouse," the same as what's written on your ticket. You look up and you can't see the top of the cavern even though you shouldn't be that far underground. All you can see is something like sunlight scattering through a dense fog. There are countless small lights flitting about aimlessly in the air, tails of light streaming behind them in their wake. You look down past the platform and see only darkness. The supports for the roller coaster track descend endlessly into the abyss. The track itself is a winding mess of metal and wood, and as it disappears and reemerges from the fog you can't follow the whole path with your eyes.
You pass under the sign and walk up to the tracks. There is a brightly coloured roller coaster train sitting at the station. The front car has been painted and fashioned into a maniacally grinning blue mouse. Standing on the platform is a humanoid duck, his uniform indicating that he's responsible for running the Speed Mouse.
"Tickets," he says in a low bored drone.
You hand him the ticket Gregory gave you and he doesn't even glance at it as he motions for you to board. You get in the front car, you might as well since you're the only one riding, and the metal restraint bar lowers into your lap. The duck rings a handbell as he announces that the Speed Mouse is departing, and the coaster pulls away from the station with a rickety clack and a growing dull roar as it picks up speed. Ahead of you is a hill and the chain engages with a lurch and a loud clang. The coaster rattles as it's pulled upwards to the top of the hill, and you along with it.
Up among the swarming lights that soar like shooting stars you realize that they're talking. They are lost and call out for someone to find them. They are alone and call out for someone to save them. One brushes your arm and you're struck by a warm tingling sensation quickly followed by a jarring image too fast to properly discern. You are left with a hazy memory of someone loving and loved, but that memory is accompanied by a sense of guilt that leaves you sick to your stomach. You are left with the feeling of having made a terrible mistake.
Before you can try to make sense of what you experienced the coaster reaches the top of the hill. There is a clang and a pause as the chain disengages and the coaster crests the highest point. From here you can't see the whole way down as the track is swallowed up by fog. You don't have time to entertain the possibility that they may not be a track at all before you plunge downwards into the fog.
First you experience the expected lurch of your stomach and your heart as gravity takes hold, but then you feel like you're rising again even as the coaster continues downwards. You feel like you're rising above everything and joining those swarming lights. Their despair calls to your own as they beg you to join them. To float away and leave this world behind. The roller coaster track that seemed so monstrous before is barely a speck from up here. As you rise higher and higher you realize that it would be so easy to just let go. It would be so easy to drift away and leave this torture behind.
"Hey," a rough voice says. "Ride's over."
You open your eyes, or were they already open? You're back at the station, the metal restraint raised to allow you to leave. The duck stands on the platform, foot tapping impatiently as he waits for you to get out.
You stand slowly, testing your body to make sure to it will keep you upright, before you climb out. As you stumble across the platform it occurs to you that there shouldn't be any hurry since no one's waiting to get on despite the seemingly endless parade of guests upstairs. Maybe that's for a good reason. You don't think you'll ride again any time soon.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
After your latest attempt at exploration resulted in fleeing the angry chef, you find yourself back in the winding labyrinth beneath Gregory House. It seemed like a good idea at the time with a knife-wielding chef on your heels, but now that the danger has passed you realize you don't remember the turns you took to get here.
All of the hallways are identical, so with no landmarks to guide you you're left to follow the rule of mazes and follow the wall to your right. You hope that this will lead you someplace familiar, perhaps the Speed Mouse again though you have no intention of riding, but instead you end up in front of a set of wooden double doors. They remind you of the front doors and for reasons you can't explain your instincts scream at you to run. You know that you took a very wrong turn somewhere. You know that you should move on or turn back. But instead you reach out and test the handle.
It's unlocked, much to your surprise. The door opens with a low creek as you slowly push it open just enough so that you can slip inside.
The room is filled with wooden shelves that you navigate carefully in the low light to avoid knocking anything over. For filling the wooden shelves are rows upon rows of jarred lights, their despair silenced by glass.
They're souls. The imprisoned remains of those who came before you now doomed to helplessly await their final fate.
The jarring realization leaves you cold but you force yourself to press on. There are answers here if only you can find them.
You round a corner and freeze. At the very back at the room is a grand chair positioned like a throne with an old rat sitting in it. She reminds you of Gregory with her wiry hair and asymmetrical eyes. A relative perhaps? One gnarled hand clutches a staff topped by a sinister horned skull while the other holds a glass jar. The soul rattles around inside and you hold your breath as she pops the lid and absently lifts the jar to her face. The soul wails and begs but the rat pays no mind as she sucks the soul up her nose with an awful snort. The cries of despair fade into silence and your stomach sinks.
This is what they want with you. This is why they won't let you leave.
Unable to tear your eyes away from the old rat you try to move backwards so that you can creep out of the room. This was a mistake. Without looking you bump into one of the shelves and the glass jars rattle loudly in the quiet. The rat looks up and notices you for the first time. At first she just seems surprised as you freeze in place and stare back at her.
"You!" she shouts when she snaps out of her confusion.
She slams her staff into the ground and a halo of power surrounds her. A fireball shoots from the skull on her staff and you throw yourself to the floor just in time. Heat washes over you as the fireball sails overhead, and you smell burning wood as it singes the shelf closest to you. Time to go.
You scramble to your feet and bolt for the door, running faster than you've ever run before. When you reach the door you turn and grab onto the closest shelf. With a heave you pull it over and jump clear before it comes crashing down in front of you. Glass shatters and the dark room is suddenly filled with light as the souls desperately fly aimlessly around the room.
"How dare you!" the rat screeches.
Maybe that wasn't such a good idea after all, but with the roadblock in place you shove the door open and sprint away. You run through the labyrinthine halls uncaring of where you're going and only caring that you're putting more distance between you and the rat. Your feet skid on the cobblestone floor as you take corner after corner. Meanwhile behind you the rat no longer has to worry about collateral damage. She lets loose with a screech of rage and lightning crackles around her. Your whole chest burns in protest but you still run faster.
Except you meet a dead end. You skid to a stop at the edge of a pit so deep you can't see the bottom, only darkness. Going over or around it isn't an option either as there's only a solid stone wall on the other side. It's too late to turn back. You look over your shoulder and the walls are alight with lightning as the rat advances on you.
You hesitate and teeter at the edge of the abyss. Ahead is the unknown, but at your back is a furious rat you know you would not survive. And you're not ready to give up just yet. You take a deep breath to steel your nerves and try to calm your racing heart. You make a leap of faith, or maybe it's more of a leap of desperation. Wind rushes past you as you fall, and you squeeze your eyes shut as darkness claims you.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
You awake to light for the first time in longer than you can remember. But the light burns your eyes and you have to shield them with one hand so that you can slowly open your eyes.
You're on a bare rocky island just big enough for you to move around comfortably. Except this isn't an island surrounded by water. Around and below you is an endless abyss that stretches as far as you can see. Above you the sky is a blinding swirl of colours.
Then you hear it. Singing that echoes through the strange landscape.
"Do you know who I am?"
There isn't one voice this time but a choir of voices. You don't know how this is possible or what it means for you.
"They call me Judgement Boy."
One by one Judgement Boys drop from the sky with an enthusiastic cry of "JUDGEMENT." They are identical in appearance except for the numbers emblazoned on their chests. They stare at you with wide grins as they bombard you with choice after choice so fast that you can't even register what they're saying. Something about tea or coffee you think, but what that has to do with anything you don't know. Instead you look up to where an attachment of some kind should be, but their chains just fade into the light.
Then a new voice joins the mix.
"Do you know who I am?"
This one is much deeper and slower. This, you realize, is something familiar but new.
"They call me..."
You hold your breath. You don't have to wait long.
"JUDGEMENT."
A new Judgement Boy drops from the sky to take his place in front of the others. This one is not only bigger than the others but he's also blindingly gold coloured. The swirl of the sky reflects off his body and it stings to look directly at him.
"You are walking a path to freedom," he says. "Ahead is the unknown that might not lead you home. Behind you is the familiar danger of Gregory House. Now. Which do you choose?"
You don't answer with words. You don't need words to convey what you're feeling right now. The golden Judgement Boy grins wider and in perfect sync they all start to spin. One by one they come to a stop, pitching violently to one side as their cages open. The golden one is the last to judge you. You don't see or hear the dollar signs shattering as one by one they fall endlessly into the abyss, but it doesn't matter. What matters is that you proved your heart and steeled your resolve.
"Though it's difficult you stay your course," the golden Judgement Boy says. "You move forwards out of the darkness and towards freedom."
The island starts to crumble beneath you, chunks of dirt and rock falling into the abyss. But you are not afraid. Light eats at the darkness like the sky itself is spreading. Slowly it consumes even you. You close your eyes and allow yourself to fall into the light.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
You are weightless as all of the pain and weariness you once carried falls away. You are buoyed by a light that surrounds you so gently you would cry if you still could. You are wrapped in a warmth that was forgotten until now.
You could stay here forever and just float in this space where nothing hurts and you have no reason to be afraid. But you don't get that luxury. No one does.
"Well you're in a sticky situation," a voice says, "But good job getting this far."
A figure materializes out of the light, his dark robes forming a stark contrast against the calming light. With a skull for a head and a scythe in his hands it's clear what he is. A reaper floats before you. Is this it? Is this how it ends?
"Now don't give me that look," the reaper says. "You're not dead yet, though you came pretty close. Now the bad news is that you're still tethered to that world. The good news is that I can fix that for you with my scythe. Then you'll be free to go home."
Home. The place that you were so desperate to see again. The place you thought might be forever out of your reach. The place where you belong.
Except you try to envision it in your mind and there is nothing. You try to remember what it felt like and there is nothing.
And, despite the stitched up cat's warning given what feels like an eternity ago, you look back.
There is a pinprick of darkness in the light. The way back to Gregory House and the last thing tethering you to this realm.
What about the others? What about the others like you, trapped in that unending torment? You remember the rows and rows of jarred souls. You remember the countless souls swarming the cavern beneath the hotel. How many more will find themselves lost in a strange forest with no memory of how they got there?
"You don't want to go down that path," the reaper warns. "It won't end the way you're thinking."
But you're too far gone to listen.
There is nothing for you to return to. You try to remember what you've been running towards for so long but there is nothing there. If you had a family, if you had a home, whatever memories you held were stripped from you a long time ago. In the end escaping Gregory House was nothing but an impossible lie you were foolish enough to believe. How much suffering could you have avoided if you'd realized that sooner? It would've been better to meet the reaper in the usual way instead of risking being jarred and consumed.
There is nothing for you to return to. There is nothing that can save you. It's too late for you, but perhaps it's not too late for someone else.
The reaper sighs. He's seen this before, too many times to count, but it still hurts.
"Another one," he says. "Well, I hope we'll meet again. But I doubt we will."
The reaper fades away and the light fades with him. Your body grows heavier and heavier as you fall back down to the world below. Once more a dense fog reaches up to envelop you like hands eager to drag you in. You don't close your eyes. This time you embrace the darkness that claims you.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The newest arrival at Gregory House runs down the halls. Their chest burns but they can't stop because a monster is close at their heels. They wrack their brain for a safe place or a better escape route, but they haven't been here long and in their panic they can't remember the way back to their room.
They take a corner too quickly and their legs skitter out from underneath them, sending them crashing into the wall. They try to stand but their body fails them. Their only option is to press against the wall and hope for a miracle. There will be no miracle.
The guest begs and cowers before you, pleading for mercy as your claws scrape across the wooden floor. As you draw closer you start to see the outline of their soul shivering in their body. You can smell their fear. It draws you. Feeds you.
They scream as your shadow falls over them even though you haven't laid a hand on them. Not yet at least.
"Stop screaming," you tell them. "It's better this way, trust me. It hurts now, but it won't last. Soon you won't feel anything at all."
Your hand falls, and then there is silence. A soul emerges, warm to the touch and its gentle light barely illuminating the hallway. You gently cup it in one hand before letting it go. Whether or not it finds the reaper is out of your hands now. Either way you don't have time to linger. Gregory House will call another soon enough, and you have to be ready.