The yellow light was not only too bright, but it was too thick, displacing their air, hanging like oil. Marcus raised his hand and gently prodded it with his middle finger. It felt like jelly. The surface didn’t break but pushed inwards.
“It’s like a balloon,” Helen whispered. Both of them felt the strange yet certain sensation of being watched, or at least eavesdropped on, and so automatically they began to speak in whispers.
“Something like that,” Marcus said, puzzled. It was unlike anything he had seen before, but a balloon was a good enough description for him.
Carefully, Marcus opened the door, expecting for some strange reason for it to creak like an old haunted house. It opened smooth and silent. Together Marcus and Helen stepped out into the hallway.
“Good God.” Helen caught her breath as she spoke. The yellow light hung close to the ceiling, and travelled along the corridor before making a ninety degree turn to the right. “What is this place?” she asked the air, echoing Marcus’s thoughts to the letter.
“It’s like a Tardis, or the theory of one,” Marcus remarked. He felt his age when he saw the blank look of Helen’s face. “It didn’t feel this big when you looked out the window.” Marcus backtracked and redirected when he saw his Tardis comment would need extensive explanations.
The corridor stretched out in both directions and disappeared into the distance. The floor was carpeted with what their minds told them was a rich ruby red carpet, but in reality – or the reality they were in, at least – it was a faded pastel, pink. The walls were decorated in two styles; the lower half was covered in wallpaper, embossed with a floral-cum-tribal design that swirled around in semi-hypnotic patterns. The longer Helen and Marcus looked at it, the more convinced they were that the patterns were moving, swaying in some invisible current. Above the wallpaper was a wooden rail, not a feature of decoration, but more of a handrail to guide those who might get lost in the labyrinth. The rail stood apart from the wall, held by regularly placed brackets. Marcus wrapped his hand around the bar and gave it a series of swift sharp tugs; when it didn’t give, he seemed to loosen up just ever so slightly.
Helen could see in his naked torso that his shoulders were anything but at ease; his muscles rippled with every movement he made. The top half of the wall was painted what they thought to be cream, but it could just have been a dirty white. The color of the wallpaper was dulled beyond recognition. Miniature chandeliers hung at regular intervals from the – supposedly – whitewashed ceiling. The yellow beam swerved effortlessly around them like a slalom skier, first to the left and then to the right. To finish the look, there were delicate ornate wall lamps placed between each of the chandeliers. Yet, in spite of all the lights, the only illumination proved to be that emitted by the strange yellow beam which seemed even more vivid in the watercolor corridor.
“There aren’t any doors,” Marcus noted. It was a poor attempt to strike up a conversation and, coupled with his expression, he was surprised Helen answered him at all.
“No, wait, take a look at that,” Helen said, pointing to the opposite wall.” Marcus looked, following the guideline laid by Helen’s outstretched arm and finger.
At first Marcus saw nothing; the swirling design of the wallpaper stole his attention – but then just as he looked away he saw it. A faint outline –
Just a shadow
– against the wall. Marcus looked back at the door they had just walked through. It stood out like a sore thumb. Its mahogany coloring seemed completely out of place amid the faded kingdom that they found themselves trapped in. Marcus turned his attention back to Helen, who had moved away from him. She approached the wall, her left arm raised; she made to touch it. It looked to Marcus like nothing more than a thin crack. Granted it just happened to change direction at the crucial moments, creating the appearance of a door.
Helen had moved forward, unaware that Marcus had remained standing. The closer she got to the wall, the clearer the image became. The outline thickened, taking form with each step Helen took until she stood before it. She could do nothing but stand and stare. The door was plain, naked, untainted by stains or paints. There was something about the number 937 that spoke to her. They hadn’t been that high, assuming the hotel was numbered with the same principle as every other hotel she had ever known.
“I told you there was a door,” Helen called. She looked back at Marcus, giving him a look that only a woman can give properly.
“What are you talking about? I can’t see any door,” Marcus began. He walked over to Helen, his attention no longer focused on the wall, but rather he surveyed the scene as a whole, looking for something, anything.
It was then that Helen looked past Marcus, over his shoulder at the wall where their door had been. Only it wasn’t there. It was gone, vanished. All that was left in its place was the wall, uninterrupted, as if it had never been there.
Marcus looked at Helen and saw her pale as she opened her mouth to speak. Her eyes widened as if she had seen a ghost or some other spectral figure. The change was so sudden that he even felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Acting on instinct, Marcus took a look behind him, expecting to see some Hell beast which Helen had yet to find the right words to use as warning. When he saw nothing out of place, Marcus moved forwards once again, walking over to her, watching as her face didn’t change; the look of slight horror held firm. It was only when he got close enough to Helen that Marcus realized it wasn’t horror, but sheer puzzlement. The kind of bewildering speechlessness had come over her that affects a child when someone pulls a coin or a small toy out from behind their ear.
Marcus opened his mouth to speak but then saw part of the riddle for himself. The door. It was right before him. Marcus closed his eyes, squeezing them shut until they itched with cramp. When he opened them he expected the door to be gone, but it wasn’t. Marcus did everything but rub his eyes with the heel of his hands but the door remained fact. He reached out and touched it, expecting it to disappear, to burst like a balloon, but it remained solid. Marcus even made a fist and rapped three times on the door’s hard surfaced; the booming clouts of each blow echoed on the other side of the door and simply confirmed that the door did in fact exist, and so did the room behind it.
“I don’t get it. This place, I mean. What on earth is this place?” Marcus turned to look at Helen as he spoke. He noticed that her face had regained a measure of color, although it would never be what it once was. It was the atmosphere of the hotel; it was draining them of their color just as it had drained the building.
“That’s not all,” Helen began, but before she could finish speaking Marcus saw it for himself. The door that they had only a few moments ago passed through was gone.
“That’s interesting,” Marcus offered, unsure of what else to say. He was more surprised to find that he wasn’t surprised.
“Wait a second. Let me try something,” Marcus said, his voice distant, not really there. In a way, he wasn’t. Marcus had retreated, crawled deep inside his own mind. He acted, he didn’t overanalyze or underestimate. He simply acted with an innate knowledge; it was carved into his bones and had saved him on more than one occasion. Both in and out of the ring.
He turned his back on Helen once again and walked back towards the original door. His eyes were focused on the wall. As he had expected, every step he took brought the door further into focus; first the outline, then the shadows, and finally the substance. Marcus reached the door just as the handle appeared. He turned around and looked back at Helen. She was still there in the same spot. However, the door to room 937 was gone.
“Can you see me?” Marcus asked.
“Yes,” Helen answered him, confused and uncertain why had would ask such a simple question.
“Can you see the door?” he asked again.
“No,” Helen responded.
Marcus raised his right arm, and with firm strokes rapped against the door three times. Although Helen could not see any door, she heard the unmistakable knock of wood, of visitors requesting entry.
“Your turn,” Marcus called. He had a hunch that he would hear the same sound when Helen knocked on the wall (as he saw it). He was sweating; he could feel the droplets forming on the top of his head.
Slowly, Helen raised her arm and knocked on the door. Her hand shook – all her strength was gone – but Marcus heard it clear enough. Satisfied with the conclusion he had reached, he walked back over to Helen, looking over his shoulder with each step. He walked as if he was walking down the aisle.
Left foot forward.
Look at door 937.
Feet together.
Look over shoulder.
Left foot forward.
And so it went. One door disappeared and another came into being.
“We’re not going in, are we?” Helen asked once Marcus had returned to her side. She wasn’t sure if she wanted her words to sound hopeful or hesitant.
Marcus looked at her. His bare chest twitched as he thought, and despite herself Helen couldn’t help but give him the quick once over with her eyes.
“I think we are supposed to follow this light.” Marcus realized how corny it sounded when spoken out loud but he meant it.
“I guess you’re right; I mean, it does seem to be going somewhere,” Helen agreed. They both knew that following the trail of bright yellow floating jelly was the right idea, but neither was ready to put their complete trust in it.
“Do you think this is another part of Hell?” Helen put the question out there. It had been resting on the inside of her lips ever since she woke up, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to raise it; now seemed like as good a time as any.
“I don’t think so. From what you told me, we were in two different places. Two different...what was it, chambers? I’m no expert on Hell – I don’t even think I believed in it all – not to this extent – but I don’t think you just get moved around. Judged is judged. That whole process seemed damned official. If you ask me, I think something pulled us out.”
They walked as they talked, Marcus always half a step ahead as they followed the yellow bubble of light. It was that half step which allowed Helen, with help from the yellow glow emitted from the beam, to see the mark on Marcus’s shoulder. It was as clear as day in the strange light. A bright red burn covered Marcus’s shoulder; a hand...an enormous hand, but a hand nonetheless.
“Jesus, you’ve got a...um...you have a hand...handprint on your back,” Helen stammered. The print was enormous; easily three times the size of a normal man’s hand, but it was unmistakable.
“What?” Marcus stopped. It wasn’t so much Helen’s words, but rather the vision they seemed to create.
He was falling. The bodies around him cried out, laughed at him. A few threw lumps of molten flesh in his direction. Then the hand grabbed him, just as those beasts had flown away. It had grabbed him by the shoulder and lifted him to safety.
“I remember,” he said before Helen could say anything.
“What, what do you remember?” Helen asked.
“Turn around,” Marcus told her. Reaching out with his hands as he moved, he pulled her shirt upwards. Her shoulder was bare, the flesh unblemished, flawless. “Shit. There goes that theory,” he said out loud to himself.
“What are you?” Helen asked, her words catching in her throat as her own vision broke through into the forefront of her mind. A hand had reached out nowhere – light – and grasped her by the ankle. “Wait...wait...” she said, kicking off the shoes – which, much like the clothes, had been placed upon her between her rescue and her waking – and rolled up her trouser leg. “I was upside-down. They grabbed me by my leg,” she said, her voice filled with an excitement she couldn’t explain.
Marcus saw the imprint, but only once Helen stood in the glow of the yellow beam. The large red hand print that wrapped around her ankle. The imprint was not as clear as the one on Marcus’s shoulder, but it was clear enough.
“Do you—” Marcus began.
“Yes, I remember,” Helen finished.
“Okay, well that gives us something we can go on at least. We were pulled out of Hell and placed here, so that means, in theory, that this is...what...some sort of safe house?” Marcus pondered; his mind busy working through a number of different theories.
“Okay, then why us?” Helen asked. Questions bounced around inside her head, desperate to be spoken. Not because she expected Marcus to offer her anything other than a thoughtful observation, but because she had missed having somebody else to talk to, and wanted to make the most of it should everything fall apart. Sure, Luther had talked to her, had broken the loneliness, but that wasn’t company; that was just his fun and games.
The only sound was a strange, electric buzzing noise, like when you stand too close to overhead power lines. It came from the yellow light. Neither of them was surprised.
“Beats me, it really does, but my guy tells me that if we follow this path long enough we will either find either the beginning or the end. Either way there has to be a way out.” Marcus looked over his shoulder at Helen; he could feel her nerves and felt sorry for her.
The emergency lighting, as they liked to think of it, took them down the corridor and then turned right into a second corridor which was just as long as the one they had come from. Impossibly long given the size that they had gauged based on the other buildings in the street. The meandering corridors appeared and disappeared much like the doors, which they now passed at regular intervals – even numbers on the right and odd numbers on the left. They’d made yet another turn when Helen stopped; frozen, she looked over her shoulder, certain that someone was watching them; there was nothing. No sign of the corridor they had just left. Instead, she stood but a few feet away from a wall. She reached out and touched it. It was real. Marcus, who had felt her fall behind, stopped and turned to face her. While he wasn’t surprised by what he saw, he still let out a startled grunt.
“How big is this place?” Helen asked, breaking the silence that had fallen between them once again. Their pace had increased ever since they reached the agreement on the safe house theory. They felt much more relaxed and even walked side by side, as if they were old friends out for a stroll.
Despite the relative comfort that had fallen over them, they were both still uneasy with the strange atmosphere that hung in the corridors. Every corner they turned, every door they walked past, they just couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched.
“I have no clue. I think it’s as big as they want it to be,” Marcus answered before Helen had finished speaking. It was the same question he had been asking himself since they made the third ninety degree turn. They had walked for a good twenty minutes now, twisting and turning through various corridors, following the light which never wavered or diminished in any way, shape or form.
“Who are they? If they rescued us then why can’t we see them? What’s going on? Can we leave? If we find a door, I mean,” Helen continued, rattling off half questions which seemed to answer themselves. Marcus didn’t know whether they needed to be answered or not, and so he kept quiet until Helen was finished.
“We’re trapped here.” It was a simple answer, and when Marcus saw the look of desperation wash over Helen’s face he decided to elaborate. “Someone or something rescued us from Hell, but I don’t think that this is the end of the journey; rather a truck stop if you want to think of it in terms like that. We aren’t being held prisoner, but I don’t think this place wants us to get out. Not just yet.” Marcus unraveled his mind, which had been balled up like a knotted ball of yarn. His answers may not have answered any questions, but Marcus felt better for speaking it, and he could see from Helen’s expression that she felt better for having heard it.
Helen nodded for a while, contemplating what Marcus had said. “You mean we’re in a maze,” she commented at last.
III
A short while later, they stopped walking and stood in the middle of the corridor, both acutely aware of the sudden hunger pangs that had cramped their stomachs. Helen began to swoon. She put her hand out to steady herself against the wall. The door appeared out of nowhere, as had all the others. Helen fell against the door and was immediately thrown back by a jolt that could only have been electricity. Bright green sparks filled the air. They zigzagged over the surface of the door as if startled.
“Helen!” Marcus called, rushing over to her. The force of the shock had thrown her into the corridor, where she lay motionless. A faint licking of green sparks drifted over her body in much the same way as it had the door.
“I’m okay,” she said groggily. She sat, her hair filled with static. Marcus crouched beside her, careful to avoid all contact until the residual charge had gone.
“Well I guess now we know it’s their maze and we are the mice.” Marcus offered a smile with his words and felt relieved when he saw Helen’s eyes twinkle, the corners of her mouth rise up. A second later, a small giggle escaped her lips. He also saw how her nose wrinkled slightly on the bridge when she smiled. “Do you want to rest a minute?” he asked with genuine concern.
“No, it’s fine. Let’s keep moving.” Helen stood groggily, speaking like someone recently roused from a deep sleep. “Just don’t let me rest against any more doors,” she said, smiling, as she brushed her hands against her trousers. They both saw green dust-like flecks fall from her clothing and disappear into the floor.
Moving at a slower pace, they resumed walking. Helen felt a strange dizziness creep over her but she said nothing. She knew that Marcus was a good guy and on her side, but she wasn’t quite ready to unload everything on him. Like the way she kept seeing Luther every time she closed her eyes for longer than it took to blink. He stood with his razor blade in hand. How he would turn towards her, creeping ever closer each time, as if he planned to jump out of her mind and take her back with him.
She also wasn’t ready just yet to divulge that she wasn’t alone, that she carried a baby in her stomach. A living thing that had died with her before it was even large enough to be called a baby. Yet Helen was consumed by the haunting knowledge that her baby was still inside her – that it was alive. She had seen Luther slice her stomach open, she had watched as he pulled the rotting fetus out of the long gash in her abdomen. Helen knew beyond shadow of a doubt that inside her womb, her baby had returned. It was floating in a bag of stagnant amniotic fluid, its body decomposing, rotting away as nature intended – until the green lightning had given it a kick start, brought it back to life and given it a hunger that could not be quenched, a thirst for blood that would be satiated not matter what the cost.
The beam carried on before them and took one of its now customary and tiresome turns, this time to the left. Both had noticed it followed a simple left-right pattern, only this time when they reached the corner, there was nothing. No new hallway for them to march down, no monotonous continuation of dying colors and moving wallpaper. The swirling effect of the wallpaper – which they were now both certain moved – had given them both a headache, and so they now walked either looking at the beam or at the floor, thus minimizing eye contact with the walls.
“Great. What does it want from us?” Helen asked before adding, “I’m sorry, I know you don’t have any more answers than I do, I just feel better asking questions. It calms me down; you should have seen me in school.” She smiled.
“I had noticed, but I don’t mind. I’ve got the same questions in my head, too, and it does good to keep things out in the open.” Marcus retuned the smile. He had a friendly smile; a single glimpse of it was enough to put anyone at ease. Or so Helen thought as she stared and image of her husband Mark flashed in her mind. She felt tears coming, but managed to hold them at bay.
She and Mark had always been in the same schools, right from primary school. Yet Helen never noticed him until they met several years after high school had ended. It had been a chance meeting that worked out great for both of them. A whirlwind romance followed by a stylish but not too over the top wedding, all within eighteen months. Despite the time that had passed, they both seemed to remember everything about each other. As if their subconscious had been one step ahead of them and decided to take matters into their own hands. They were best friends before they became husband and wife, and had remained so until the end.
“I guess we just have to wait,” Marcus said. Helen saw he had turned his attention back to the wall, studying it as if it were a piece of art.
The both stood and stared when, without warning, a crack appeared. It began at the bottom, just above the skirting board. It proceeded to trace its way upwards before taking a ninety degree turn to the right. A little later another right turn was made and the crack hurtled down towards the floor like a rollercoaster on that final descent, the one that everyone simultaneously dreads yet longs for.
“It’s...” Helen began
“A door,” Marcus finished.
They watched as the doorway materialized before their eyes, and to their combined relief there was no sign of any danger, green or any other color. It was just a door, a real, solid wood door. It appeared like world’s largest Polaroid picture being developed.
“Don’t tell me. We have to go through this one,” Helen said, once again taking the words from Marcus’s mind and making them fact.
“Looks that way. Besides, we don’t have much choice,” Marcus answered her, gesturing with his head. The hallway was gone; there was no sign of where they had come from; only a black shadow-like cloud that successfully limited the options available to them.
“What the hell is that?” Helen asked, panicked and unable to keep it hidden any longer.
“I don’t know, but it started following us not long after you got shocked by the door back there. It could just be coincidence,” Marcus added, realizing that it sounded as though he was placing the blame at Helen’s feet.
“But what is it? Shadows, is it them?” Helen asked, her words coming out so close together it was hard to distinguish between them.
“Think of it like being trapped in a Mario game,” Marcus said. The strange image popped into his mind. He saw the two of them crashing through the door to find giant mushrooms wandering around and nothing but a thick green drainpipe protruding from the wall on the other side.
“Great. Then I hope it’s unlocked.” Helen began to panic, her voice higher in pitch. Her eyes had begun to water – not cry – and she could feel her heart thunder like a stallion towards the finish line of the Grand National.
Marcus reached forward, his hand shaking. The veins in his arms stood thick and proud, tracing their way up his forearms before disappearing beneath his biceps. He knocked on the door; careful, fearful, testing it for any current that might be lying dormant. He felt nothing. The wood felt warm, as if heated.
“Come on.” Helen hurried him along, trying hard not to scream. She watched the ground disappear behind them. Only a few meters of flooring remained before the black abyss would swallow them. She knew what that meant: it would send them back to Hell... send her back to him.
Marcus tried the handle. The door wouldn’t budge. He twisted it further and pushed again but got nothing. He pulled, thinking maybe it was all just one big trick, yet the door remained immobile in its frame.
‘It won’t budge.” Marcus grimaced as he pushed against the wood with all his strength.
“Do something. Break it down. You were in the police. Try anything. Hurry!” Helen screamed. The shroud was less than a meter away and she could feel the vacuum grab at her. The pressure of the air around them increased with every second; Helen could feel it crushing her chest. Her entire body felt heavy.
Marcus crouched down, shifted his weight, and launched himself at the door. His shoulder struck and twisted. The sound of it popping out of joint was loud enough for even Helen to hear above her own screaming mind. The door wouldn’t budge.
“Help us! Somebody, please! I don’t want to go back. Not to him. I can’t take it anymore.” Helen was crying, stinging tears that felt like concentrated acid burning her cheeks, peeling away strips of her flesh as she wept. She kept glancing over her shoulder at the approaching shadow, and that was when she saw him... Luther. He stood – no, floated – in the black center of the void.
Marcus turned to face the door. He gripped the side of the frame, raised his foot and brought it crashing down against the lock. Once, twice, three times – and finally the door gave way. It flew inwards, crashing against the wall. The lock splintered and the frame buckled, causing Marcus to fall into the room, his momentum carrying him forwards. He turned, with reflexes honed through years of police training and gym work. He grabbed Helen by the arm and pulled her through the door just as the void ate the spot where she stood. She fell; her arm slipped through Marcus’s sweaty hands. He grabbed at her again, but felt her slip father away, as if a greater force pulled on her than he could counter.
“Don’t let me fall. Please...oh, God, don’t let me go back there, please!” Helen begged, her eyes were wide with fear.
She was caught in the threshold, her balance thrown. Leaning backwards, her arms flailed wildly, trying to pull herself forwards. Marcus gritted his teeth, set his feet and pulled her as hard as he could, grabbing hold of the sleeve of her shirt for extra leverage. With one final heave he felt the momentum shift and Helen fell through the doorway. He caught her and they fell backwards into the room, stumbling to keep their balance.
Marcus hugged her close to him and Helen hugged him back; her entire body trembled, and the tears she had kept locked away for so long flowed in a tide.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you, you’re safe now. Look...it’s gone. We’re safe here,” Marcus said, badly shaken himself now that the he had time to reflect on it. He showed Helen that not only had the encroaching void disappeared, but so had the door. Once again they were sealed in a bedroom.
The room they had been lead into was similar to the one they had just left, its decoration just as sparse. It was the mirror image of the room they had just left. Even the pictures above the bed and in the small alcove were exactly the same. While the decorations were the same, the walls were a pastel yellow, with a matching carpet. The only difference that Marcus saw was that the window was smaller than the one in their first room. It was about half the size and framed by long curtains that stopped just short of the floor.
“Let’s split up, there has to be an exit,” Marcus whispered to Helen. “I’ll take this side and the window, you have a look along that wall, and see if we can’t find a door or something.” He gestured with his head as he spoke.
Helen nodded, too shaken to find her voice. Helen ran her hands over the smooth painted finish. The walls felt warm and strange to the touch; they didn’t feel solid, not in the real sense of the word, but rather fluid. Helen had the feeling that if she pushed hard enough she would not break through but fall. And she knew what darkness waited for her.
“I don’t see anything. Do you?” Helen said once she reached the end of the long sidewall. The room was narrow but deep, unlike their own, which had been square. She looked over at Marcus. She watched him pace up and down, staring at the wall as if he just expected something to happen. She noticed that he never passed the window, stopping each time about a foot or so short. Probably some cop thing, being seen through the window or something, Helen told herself.