Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down

It was with a slight edge of doubt that Malcolm entered his room. He still didn’t want to believe what the screen had said. Things like this only happened in dreams and movies, and anything out of the ordinary—ghosts, vampires, supernatural serial killers—were only spied by the delusional.

So why was this happening now?

Maybe it was just a crazed dream, the first nightmare he’d ever had. He hated feeling weak like this, brought down by his own imagination.

But come to think of it, when was the last time he’d dreamed? Could his mind even be capable of creating something as absurd as this?

The door shut behind him, and he waited for something to happen. If this wasn’t a dream—it also felt far too real—then it had to be a fake, a clever but twisted amusement park theme that would go so far as to use pain to get the guests to think they were truly doomed.

On the left wall, a screen like the one he’d seen earlier flickered to life. The same font of green writing scrawled across it rapidly as he craned his neck to look.

You have been chosen for release. You may leave for home. Congratulations.

Remove your key from the box to remove your bracelet and make your way to the exit.

Lights came on overhead, revealing the dusty floor and a clear glass box the size of a radio with a wide hole that covered nearly the entire side on top. A silver key, plain but slightly rusted, laid on its bottom. Fifteen feet behind it were the exit doors opened wide.

Is this a joke? he wondered. So how is it an amusement park if the damned things don’t even do anything?

He approached the cube that sat on the metal floor with a little more confidence than before. He reached inside and grabbed the key. It felt a lot warmer than he expected.

Malcolm tried to withdraw his hand—but found that it was stuck. The rim of the box seemed to be pressing around his wrist…

He tried again, but with no luck. Did it shrink when he—

No, that was ridiculous.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the screen change again. He strained to turn around and see what it was saying.

Did you really think you could escape that easily, Malcolm?

With a grating whirr, the floor plunged out from under him. He gave a shout as he hung above darkness, suspended only by his wrist still caught in the container. Desperately he looked around for a foothold to take the weight off, but the emptiness surrounded him at least ten feet in every direction.

“They…they weren’t lying?” he gasped.

But his brain continued to scream, Not possible, not possible. Not happening, just a dream, just a dream.

But the pain in his hand was so real. Too real and agonizing. So was the way he dangled, helpless as a fly caught in a web.

Frustrated, he screamed to the ceiling above, “Who do you think you are? Why are you doing this?”

He wasn’t expecting an answer, and he didn’t get one. Everything remained deathly silent.

“Let me go, you bastards! I swear to God, I won’t hesitate to—“

Click.

For what seemed like the first time in his life, Malcolm felt fear as he looked down beneath him. The sound had come from the bottom, but nothing had changed. It remained as black as ever.

Clickclick.

Without warning, he was sent hurling into space as the cube’s vice grip suddenly loosened and let him fall.

He tumbled through the darkness, mind spinning. Just a few seconds later, he crashed onto a steel floor with a dull crack.

Pain shot up his left ankle, and he realized it must have been broken. He stood up slowly, balancing on his right foot as he did.

The room—if you could call it that—was only lit by what came through the trapdoor. It was about the size of a large closet, with high walls painted in a deep gray hue.

One of the walls, however, had a television that looked all too familiar.

Just as he noticed it, it turned on and its sickly green light pierced through the gloom.

It has been decided that you may not come out of this trap alive, Malcolm.

“Get me out of here, asshole! This has gone on long enough, what’s wrong with you?”

The screen ignored him.

Sometimes people refuse to recognize the traps and what they stand for. Sometimes people don’t understand it was their fault, their ignorant mistakes that caused them to be taken to the carnival where nobody leaves alive.

One of these people, Malcolm, is you.

Metallic wires suddenly shot out of hidden compartments in the walls, wrapping and twisting around his body until he couldn’t breathe. He thrashed against them, trying to rip them away, but they didn’t bend more than an inch.

You’ll be receiving special treatment today.

And with that, the wires began to tighten.