The Playroom

Playtime was approaching. He sensed its arrival. Despite feeling nervous, it wasn't as overwhelming as usual. He was gradually becoming accustomed to the unpredictable nature of playtime. Today, he harbored hope for a good day, yet he understood that hope held no sway in the playroom. The playroom embodied the personification of childlike imagination.

Seated in the living room, he focused on an episode of his favorite cartoon. The rhythmic sounds of his mother chopping vegetables emanated from the kitchen—perhaps a carrot or maybe broccoli. Either way, he contemplated ways he would avoid eating the disliked vegetables during dinner. His father would arrive home from work soon and then playtime would begin.

He watched as the cartoon mouse skillfully sliced the dimwitted tomcat on the television screen, using a knife similar to the one mother used to chop the unappetizing vegetables feet away from him. In the midst of the animated chaos, his mother's voice called out, instructing him to head to his bedroom once the episode concluded. 

He walked upstairs to his bedroom, his hand rubbing the railing as he slowly approached the second story. Photos lined the modern gray walls, showcasing family moments captured every year—a portrayal of the seemingly perfect suburban family. At the top of the stairs, he turned down the hall to the left, passing the guest room on his way to his own.

Upon entering his room, he stared at the navy blue walls. Seating himself at the desk below the large window facing the driveway, he reminisced that his parents had recently gifted him this desk for his 9th birthday, symbolizing his transition into the increased responsibilities of his growing age. Once, he had completed homework at the dining table, but now, he was left to reside in his room. After playtime had concluded, of course. 

Outside the window, he watched a black Lexus pull into the driveway. As his father stepped out, he heard the slamming of the car door. A sound that had been ingrained into his mind. His father, a middle-aged, handsome, tall, slender brunette man with perfectly kept facial hair, strolled towards the front door. Clad in a tan golf polo, white khakis, and brown oxfords.

Mother, a beautiful and statuesque ginger-haired woman greeted father at the door. He observed from the window as mother welcomed him home with a kiss. Mother donned a sleek black dress that landed just above the knee. Despite her subtle makeup, her face radiated with such luminosity that it seemed she was illuminated by something ethereal. The front door closed, and he waited in anticipation.

He fixed his gaze on the door to his room, waiting. Each passing second felt like a minute—no, an hour. The nervousness intensified, not as severe as it once was but certainly more pronounced than an hour ago. His mother's heels echoed a rhythmic click-clack on the hardwood floors, signaling their approach down the hall. The golden door knob turned slowly, and the door creaked open. First, his father entered, followed by his mother.

"Hi buddy," his father chimed in, "Are you ready for playtime?" He nodded, aware it was a lie. There was no true readiness for playtime, as each session was unpredictable. "Ready" implied preparation, and there was no preparation for the unforeseeable. His father crossed the room toward a bright red door on the west side, opened it, and stepped back, gesturing with his arms to invite him inside.

He walked through the doorway and began ascending the 15 steps leading to the playroom in the attic. Fifteen steps, a count he repeated every time. Each step marked the countdown to the commencement of playtime. The door closed behind him, leaving his father and mother on the other side. His mother remained silent, as was her usual demeanor, at least until after playtime concluded. Once alone, he took a deep breath. "15... 14..."

"3... 2... 1." Reaching the tops of the stairs, he surveyed the small room with rafters adorning the ceiling. The walls, sloped due to the pyramidal shape of the attic, created the feeling the room was gradually closing in. Stepping towards the large circular rug at the room's center, he sat down, contemplating what exactly this playtime would bring.

As his mind wandered, he recalled a previous playtime—a good one that had conjured a park with swing sets and slides made entirely of candies and desserts. The sweet, artificial taste of cherry licorice ropes lingered in his memory, where they had suspended the swings. His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by an armoire in the far corner that began to shift into a large stalagmite.

The walls seemed to melt, transforming into a suffocating dome reminiscent of the depths of a catacomb. The room quickly began to create the illusion it was expanding. He knew, however, he was confined within the playroom, destined to return to its normal size eventually. Each remnant of playtime would be left behind, as if it had never existed—as if he had simply dreamt it. 

The room, or more appropriately, the catacomb, plunged into darkness, with the only remaining light emanating from the window. A window which was gradually morphing into a large cocoon. Lifting the rug he was sitting on, he retrieved a packet of crayons. He selected  two crayons from the container, the brown and orange. With determined strokes, he began drawing on the catacomb wall, sketching a wooden torch bathed in flickering flames. Moments later, the room was bathed in a bright, glowing light.

The newfound illumination revealed that the catacomb had expanded, presenting a large tunnel on the left. On the right, the cocoon pulsated, appearing less like a silky casing. Its rhythmic pulsations hinted at a heartbeat, as if it itself was a living creature.

He grabbed the torch from the wall and ventured down the left tunnel, leaving the pulsating chrysalis behind. He soon encountered a fork, offering two possible paths. Attempting to peer down both, he found himself unable due to the seemingly endless darkness. Choosing to keep to the left, he continued, taking note that he would more easily be able to retrace his steps if need be.

As he progressed down the path, he encountered a curve and detected the faint sound of dripping water, or at least he hoped it was water, in the distance. Rounding the bend, he entered a large opening, the torch revealing a large tree-like organism suspended from the ceiling. Water dripped into puddles scattered across the catacomb floor, and from the plant hung bulbar purple-gray fruit. As he cautiously navigated the room's perimeter, he avoided walking directly beneath the tree, wary of potential dangers associated with the mysterious fruit. Afraid the fruit may contain some form of poisonous substance just waiting to fall on him. That it would combust upon impact and fill the room with a dangerous gas, leaving him paralyzed. 

Spotting a door on the opposite side of the room, he begins to make his way toward it. Halfway there, the fruits begin to shake. Slowly at first, their movements escalate with each step he takes. To his astonishment, the fruit unravel, revealing large wings. They weren't fruit at all but creatures, resembling bats, each divided into eight segments, like an insect, with the head identical in size to the other seven segments. The wings connected to the middle four segments on each side, while a large antennae extended from their heads, resembling an elephant's trunk with a scorpion-like stinger at the end.

As more of the fruitbat creatures began to awaken, he felt panic wash over him. Acting swiftly, he retrieved the crayons from his pocket and hastily drew on the wall. Using the gray crayon, he sketched a (somewhat) round shield, large enough to cower behind until he reached the door. He yanked the imperfect version of the shield off the wall. Reminiscent of a shield that had been bludgeoned with a hammer by a blacksmith before discarding it into the pile of metal that he would later melt down in an attempt to mold a better version.

The creatures begin flying from the tree, a swarm of 12, maybe 15, buzz through the air with wings flapping ferociously. He could hear the pings of their stingers hitting the shield as he sprinted. Running, he grabbed the door handle just as the creatures' stingers pierced through the makeshift shield one after the other, latching on like ticks. He hurled the shield backwards into the room, buying just enough time to slam the door shut as the creatures struggled to free themselves from the metal of the shield.

He quickly drew four rectangular figures horizontally across the door, stepping back, as the figures transformed into sturdy planks that thwarted the creatures' attempts to breach the door. Turning to survey the room in which he was now trapped, he noticed the walls, once reminiscent of a catacomb, had transformed into wooden log planks, resembling a mountain cabin. The hardwood floors beneath his feet creaked with every step.

Examining the room, he saw a large cobblestone fireplace on the right, casting a warm glow across the space. To his left, a wooden staircase with a railing on the right led to the second floor, adorned with an assortment of taxidermied animals. Alongside the wall beneath the staircase, a faded green velvet sofa sat, topped with two throw pillows and another on the floor. In front of the sofa, a coffee table displayed 13 candles of varying styles and sizes, with only one candle lit—the tall candlestick at the table's center.

On the far side of the room, the wall was adorned with clocks of various types—traditional, analog, cuckoo, pendulum, alarm. Made of wood, plastic, metal, and ceramic. They came in different shapes—square, circle, inorganic, triangle. Every clock displayed the exact same time: 12 o'clock. As he approached the wall of clocks for a closer look, each clock simultaneously ticked to 11 o'clock. Immediately following the synchronized change, a wick on one of the smaller candles on the table spontaneously lit.

Overcome with curiosity, he approached the table to closely observe the candles. As he did, the synchronized ticking of the clocks brought them to 10 o'clock. Without delay, a whimsical cat-shaped candle ignited. Intrigued, he pondered what would result when all 13 candles became lit. Standing at the bottom of the stairwell, he contemplated ascending before the countdown reached its conclusion.

In a sudden flurry, the clocks counted down from 9 to 4 in quick succession. One after the other, six candles on the table lit up, leaving three unlit. He noticed the fire in the fireplace had transformed from a comforting orange to an entrancing pink hue, as if the source of the fire had shifted from wooden logs to lithium. Abruptly, the room began shaking, as if the countdown had triggered an earthquake. The clocks showed 3 o'clock, and a candle in a round, pink glass jar flickered, leaving only two candles yet to be lit.

The tips of the fire within the fireplace shifted from neon pink to vibrant blue, and the flames of each candle followed suit. The room, still trembling but less violently, dimmed as the blue hues permeated the surroundings. The clocks indicated 2 o'clock, and a citronella candle in a ceramic orange pot illuminated. The flames in the fireplace subsequently transitioned from blue to a hauntingly transparent silver, as if the flames were a living being that had passed, leaving behind a ghost-like skeleton.

The trembling stops, leaving the room still and silent. He watched, almost paralyzed by both fear and wonder. As the clocks struck 1 o'clock, the final candle, a yellow-striped birthday candle protruding from a wax cupcake figurine, ignited.

Simultaneously, the clocks crashed down from the wall, striking the floor and scattering into various locations across the room. The flames in the fireplace extinguished themselves, leaving behind a cloud of ash and smoke. From the dissipating smoke, a figure began crawling out of the fireplace, emerging into the room.

As the figure emerged, it revealed an unsettling amalgamation of human and insectoid features. Its body, a grotesque fusion of the two, displayed a jet black exoskeleton that imparted an uncanny hardness to its form. Four limbs extended from its torso. The front limbs, though rigid and insect-like, bore finger-like projections that enabled the demon to crawl with an eerie, almost humanoid quality. Despite their hardened exterior, these appendages appear oddly dexterous as the demon moves.

In contrast, the hind limbs resembled the sinuous legs of a praying mantis, terminating in razor-sharp points that emitted a clicking sound each time they struck the ground. The demonic entity's head was obscured beneath a veneer of fuzzy red fur, within which only two beady black eyes pierced through the crimson shroud. 

Pulled out of the paralyzed state he had seemingly been trapped in, he sprinted toward the stairs, the demon scurrying relentlessly behind him. The demon leaps with its hind legs, extending the front limbs toward him, the finger-like projections opening. Reacting swiftly, he drew lines in the air, cross-hatching them into multiple diamond-like patterns. A mesh net materialized midair, capturing the demon as it landed, its front and back legs entangled within.

Taking advantage of the demon’s momentary roadblock, he raced up the stairs, the demon fiercely struggling to free itself from the mesh net. As he neared the top, the demon broke free, scurrying up the stairs quickly behind him. The creature emitted no sound beyond the clicking of its pointed hind legs.

He turns around to run back down the stairs only to face another dead end. The stairs behind him have disappeared. 

Upon reaching the top of the stairs, he is met with a solid wall directly in front of him as well as to his right. Hastily rounding a corner to the left, he entered a dark hallway, illuminating the returning catacomb walls with his torch. At the end of the hallway, a dead end loomed. Attached to the wall sat the cocoon, now three times larger than before, glowing and pulsating forcefully, as if on the verge of bursting.

Turning around to retreat, he faced yet another dead end. The stairs behind him had vanished, leaving him trapped in the catacomb with only the cocoon.

He hears a shredding sound behind him. Swiftly turning around, he witnessed something tearing through the cocoon. A creature emerged, breaking free from the confinements of the cocoon with a mesmerizing display of rebirth. The newly revealed being bore the semblance of a large, slender beetle. Its underbelly, resembling the tender flesh of a newborn mole rat, exhibited a curious nude hue, a stark contrast to the surrounding exoskeleton. The outer layer, akin to the hardened shell of a crab, enveloped the creature in pristine white armor, displaying an impervious fortitude reminiscent of the sea-dwelling arthropod. Earthy stains of dark brown adorned the tips of each leg, as though the creature had traversed through mud. 

As the creature unfurls its body, the head, concealed beneath the same resilient white shell, emerges into view. Brown whiskers extended from the head. The delicate tendrils flickering with every movement the beetle makes, as if guiding its trajectory. From the beetle comes a low-pitched groaning sound as it begins advancing purposefully. In its eyes, he senses a purpose, a mission. He feels himself shaking, an inexplicable fear has washed over him. 

Without warning, the beetle pounced, crashing into him and launching him backward. His back forcefully collided with the catacomb walls, and he groaned in agony. The beetle's whiskers brushed against his cheek, causing a stinging sensation as the razor-sharp tendril cut into his flesh, as if he had just received a paper cut. Instinctively, he kicked the beetle off with all the force he could muster. The enraged creature collects itself from the floor and begins approaching once more.

Staring at the creature's underbelly, he swiftly draws, with as much precision as he can in the short few seconds, the knife he had seen the cunning mouse use to cut the tomcat in half earlier that day. Grasping the knife midair, he slashed through the stomach of the creature just as it pounced. The beetle landed next to him, deep maroon goo pouring from its wounded flesh. The warm and sticky liquid dripped onto his hands from the knife. 

Suddenly, the stairwell that had vanished earlier reappeared.

Hearing the clicking of the demon from the fireplace ascending the stairs, he braced himself, knife in hand, prepared to fight the creature when the time came. The clicking sounds of the creature's legs grew closer and closer as he took a deep breath. Just as he sensed the creature approaching the top of the stairs, the walls of the catacomb began to melt away, revealing the previously sloped walls of the attic. The remnants of the cocoon transformed slowly into the window frame, and the stalagmites returned to various pieces of furniture scattered around the playroom. Click-clack-click. The sound persisted, however.

As the walls transformed, he watched as his mother ascended the stairs. Gasping as she reached the top, she looked down at his hands and noticed the blood dripping. In his hand, he clutched the knife tightly. In shock, he dropped the knife, and it landed directly next to the body of his father. His mother screamed as he collapsed to the floor in exhaustion. Lying there, panting, he felt a strange sense of comfort. Playtime was over, forever.