This is Not an Exit

Jen unpacked another box and set it on a stack with the rest. She was almost finished. Jen and her two boys, Eric, 11, and Adam, 9, had moved to the small house in the woods a few months ago. She hadn’t wanted to leave their beautiful home in the suburbs, but after Chris died it was necessary to make ends meet. 

The boys were settled into their individual bedrooms, playing Xbox or watching YouTubers. Jen brought her flattened stack of boxes to the basement for storage. It was dusty and unfinished, but so were most basements in homes from that era. Off to one corner was another set of stairs. Jen descended them to the dank walls and floor of the sub-basement. The floor was dirt but there were shelves surrounding three walls. She started wiping down the shelves. As she reached the shelf along the back wall, her phone flashlight illuminated a door behind the shelf. With effort, Jen was able to move the heavy shelf to the side. 

The door was affixed with a lock. “Extreme Danger”, “Never Open This Door!, “Keep Closed At All Times” accosted her. What could possibly be so dangerous to require all of these warnings? she wondered. The buyers hadn’t mentioned anything at closing. In fact, they’d been very quiet, almost solemn. Jen assumed that was because they had to move quickly; something about taking care of a sick relative in another state? The husband was the only one who spoke the entire time, and then just to hand over the keys. He said something to Jen she couldn’t recall.

Jen searched the basement, but there were no keys anywhere. She checked out in the garage but there weren’t any leftover tools that would help her. A quick Google search brought up a tutorial on how to open a lock without a key. Jen went back to the sub-basement, armed with her safety pin. She picked the lock and opened the door.

What greeted her was beyond her imagination. She was expecting a closet full of guns and ammo, a safe full of money or drugs, or some such other illegal possession. Before her lay a glistening white sand beach, blue-green water lapping at the edge of the sand. Bright yellow sun illuminated the tall palm trees, which swayed in the warm breeze. She inhaled the scent of the salty air and could almost taste it on her tongue. The rays of the sun broke through the opening of the doorway and warmed her skin. The sound of the waves crashing and palm fronds rustling relaxed her; at the same time she was exhilarated. This door was a portal to a secret world! Why on earth would this place be locked and marked as dangerous? Jen glanced around the world in front of her but could see nothing obviously wrong or out of place. Maybe the previous owners wanted to keep it as a safe haven from their kids. Jen glanced upwards but could hear no one coming. The boys were still busy with their electronics, so she decided to take the risk and step through the doorway.

Bam! The door slammed shut behind her and the island paradise melted away. Instead, she was plunged into darkness. Jen stifled a scream at the same time as she heard a deep baritone voice address her. “Greetings, contestant #99! If you wish to see, turn 180 degrees and feel along the wall to your right. There will be an opening about shoulder-height. You will need to reach your arm in to turn on the light.” Jen began to fumble for the wall and found the opening.  She reached in. She felt something slimy; something crawled over her hand and forearm. Despite the horror that encountered her there, she pressed on and managed to turn on the light. Once her eyes adjusted, she could see exactly what she had felt crawling on her skin – tarantulas, foot long centipedes and millipedes, giant hornets and wasps, giant worms. She swallowed against the bile that rose in her throat. 

Jen turned around and saw the owner of the deep baritone voice. A tall, muscular man with jet black hair, deep green eyes, and a chiseled jaw stood before her. “What…what happened? What is going on?!” Jen exclaimed. “I am Andy Christensen. I am The Guardian of the Games.” “Games?” Jen asked. “What are you talking about?” “Why, haven’t you figured it out, yet? You are at the entrance to hell”, he stated with a booming laugh. “But, “ she sputtered, “the beach…” and trailed off. “You see what you want to see the first time you open that door. It’s your idea of paradise. Once you step over that threshold, you become mine. You were warned, weren’t you? There were signs and a lock but you chose to ignore them.” 

Jen shivered. As she turned behind her to escape, the saw the closed door – with no doorknob. Large red letters on the top of the door stated, “This Is Not An Exit!” “There’s only one way out, missy. If you can pass all six levels of the game, you are free. If not, you continue on your way…to Hell”. 

“But…my sons, they’re young, they’ll know I’m missing, they’ll report it and come looking for me!” “Ah, sweetie, you’re basing yourself on earth time. Time is different here. What feels like 24 hours here is only mere seconds in earth time. They’ll never know you’re gone…if you make it”, chuckled Andy.

“What do I have to do?” Jen stated, her voice quivering. “Look down the hall.” Jen noted 5 doors; each was marked with either “Taste”, “Touch”, “Smell”, “Sight”, or “Hearing”. “You will see each room gives you an experience, related to the sense printed on the door. Here are your rules: You must survive each experience for 24 hours. If you do not survive, you proceed straight to Hell. If you go insane, you proceed straight to Hell. You may enjoy each experience in any order you choose, but choose wisely, because you must endure them all. If you happen to make it, you are free to go – with a few caveats. You’ll find those out upon completion of your journey”. 

Jen blinked and glanced back at the door to the sub-basement; it remained as before. “Your only way out is to complete the game.” “How do I know I won’t die or be transported to Hell as soon as I open one of those doors?” Jen questioned Andy. “You don’t!” he chortled. 

Jen perused the door titles again. What could possibly be the best order? There had to be a way to gain an advantage. She stepped up to the one marked “Smell”, twisted the knob, and entered. 

The door slammed shut behind her, just as the door to the sub-basement had done. The doorknob also disappeared; just to the left on the wall was a 24 hour clock. There was a small oak table with written instructions. “Dear Contestant: Welcome to the Smell Room. Please choose one of the following scents: Rotting Durian fruit, Stinking Corpse Lily, or cigarette smoke. There are buttons on the opposite wall corresponding to each of these scents. You must inhale this scent for the next 24 hours, without vomiting. You may not breathe through your mouth. Your time will start counting down when you press the button. Good luck”. 

Jen considered each scent. Rotting fruit didn’t seem too bad, certainly better than a flower that smelled like a stinking corpse.  In the end she went with the scent she knew – cigarette smoke. She walked across the room and pressed the button. Two things happened immediately – the clock next to the door began to count down from 24:00:00, and the room began to fill with cigarette smoke. Before long, the room was thick with gray smoke, obscuring her view of the clock. It was thicker than any dank frat house basement, dimly lit bar, or raging nightclub she had ever been in. Jen pulled her shirt up and covered her nose and mouth. She didn’t dare breathe through her mouth even though it was covered. She coughed and placed her arm over her face. Surely she had been in here for a long time. She made her way closer to the clock to read it; 23:58:00. It couldn’t be; it was a lie. Two minutes?  It felt like hours. What was it Andy had said about time here? Time was not the same; it stretched out. Jen had no choice; she had to hold on for her boys. Avoid looking at the clock. She laid down as close to the floor as her face would go, kept her shirt over her nose and mouth, and alternated arms over her face. Still, her nostrils burned, and her eyes reddened and watered. They leaked onto her sleeve as the day passed. Time drug on; her stomach roiled with each inhalation of the noxious fumes but she kept swallowing. After what felt like an eternity, the wall clock finally read 00:00:00 and a doorknob appeared on the door. Jen wriggled over to it, grasped it, and crawled out in to the hall. She sputtered and coughed, spitting gray mucous on to the floor. Andy howled. “Cigarette smoke, unique choice! What’s next?”

Jen continued to cough as she contemplated the remaining doors. Taste? It was certain to be awful and maybe the smoke inhalation had dulled her taste buds. But then again, with all of the coughing she was doing, she was afraid she’d choke. Her throat was still burning. Sight. Sight shouldn’t be too taxing and would give her time to regroup. She stepped forward and opened the Sight door.

As before, it immediately slammed shut behind her and the doorknob disappeared. Once again, there was a 24 hour clock located on the wall and a table with instructions on it. “Dear Contestant: Welcome to the Sight room. Please choose between one of the following sights: Strobe lights, laser show, or black and white checkerboard pattern. You may blink your eyes but not keep them closed for any extended length of time. Please make your selection on the wall by pressing the button corresponding to the visual stimulus stated above. Good luck”.

This was an easy choice. She immediately rejected strobe lights (migraine-inducing) and laser show (permanent eye damage? No thank you). Black and white checkerboard it was. Jen made her selection and the clock began its countdown. This was easy! Other than needing to focus on not closing her eyes for too long (she was beginning to feel very tired, despite her rushing adrenaline). How much time had passed? She couldn’t risk checking. “Focus!” she told herself. She continued to stare at the checkerboard pattern, tilting her head to the side. Were they moving? Yes, they were! The checkers were moving, undulating in waves…coming towards her. They were coming for her!  She looked at her escape route; there was no escape route! The door was sealed shut. Then she glanced back at the pattern; they were no longer coming for her. This pattern of hallucination and reality went on for the remainder of the 24 hours. By the time the doorknob appeared, Jen had a tenuous grip on her sanity. She slowly tiptoed to the doorframe and through the opening.

“Took you long enough!” Andy boomed. “You liked that room, didn’t you?” “I…I’m so tired. The squares…”she muttered. “Ah yes, I have a fix for that. Wouldn’t do to have you falling asleep in the middle of the game. That would ruin all of my fun”, Andy sneered. With one touch of his hand to her head, Jen felt refreshed, yet cold and repulsed at the same time. She shuddered. ‘Well, I’m surprised! You’ve made it through two rooms. Pick your next poison!”

She was still not ready to taste anything. Hearing? Vestibular (what the heck was that)? Touch. That was it. Jen stepped forward and went through the door. Same as before, door shut behind her with no doorknob, 24 hour clock, choices. “Dear Contestant, Welcome to the Touch room. You must choose from one of the following options: Bullet ant bite, scabies, or exposure to cold (approximately 45 degrees). Good luck”. Exposure to cold…too much of a possibility of death (although that was starting to seem like a welcome proposition). Bullet ant bite? She’d seen enough of her son’s crazy YouTubers exposing themselves to painful experiences for likes to know better than to try to suffer through that for 24 hours. Scabies…how much worse could it be than poison ivy? Jen made her selection and the countdown began.

How much worse could it be? Turns out if felt like insects were crawling underneath her skin, and she could not scratch them away. By the end of the 24 hours, she had scratched herself raw. She escaped the room, her jaw clenched so tightly it hurt to move it. Her head pounded and her eyes twitched. Was she still sane? She wasn’t sure. Maybe just enough to hold it together.

She chose Taste next. “Greetings Contestant. You may choose from one of the following tastes – Haggis, Fermented shark meat, or Jello Salad. This will be presented as a dissolvable pill you must keep on your tongue until fully dissolved. You may not vomit. Good luck”. Jen chose Jello salad; it seemed by far the least objectionable of the three. Hadn’t she seen that on one of those Facebook posts about Forgotten Foods of the ‘70s? 

The countdown began as she placed the green, white, and pink pill into her mouth. It wasn’t too big; it couldn’t take too long to dissolve. But as it did…oh it was awful. Slimy lime jello mixed with tuna, olives, and beef. This was an abomination!  She grimaced and her stomach roiled. Finally the pill was dissolved. Swallow it down, she told herself. Deep breaths. Tell yourself, “You are not going to be sick, you are not going to be sick.” As a recovering emetophobe, she still remembered her old techniques. An eternity later, after hours of swallowing bile, spitting, and scratching at her tongue, she was released.

“Bravo!” boomed Andy. “You have done well, toots. But still one more room to go.” Jen looked around, dazed. It took her a moment to realize where she was. The basement…sub-basement…oh yes, the locked door. She was in some kind of tunnel with a gorgeous but dangerous man…playing some sort of sick twisted game with her. Now it was coming back. 

“How”, she swallowed against the thickness of her throat. “How many…?” “How many have passed through here, my dear? Well, you are number 99. How many have made it this far? Seven. Most have clawed out their eyes or tongues by this point”, he chortled. Jen shuddered at the image. 

Hearing…here we go.

“Greetings contestant. Please choose from one of the following: Car alarm, Dial up modem, or jackhammer. Good luck.”

She chose jackhammer. By the halfway point, she was curled in a ball, cupping her hands over her ears. Her head was pounding. Time stretched on, as it had in other rooms. Finally, she was set free.

“Congratulations, Contestant 99! You have won the game. You will be free to go, if you follow my final instructions.”

“Wait”, Jen said tiredly. “What will I tell my sons? I’m a mess”. Indeed, she was worn, scratched, bruised, and reeked of noxious fumes. “Ah, yes. Remember, I said time on earth was not the same as here? For them, you will have been gone mere minutes. When you return, you will appear exactly as you did before you entered. Your mind, however…well, darlin’, that’s up to you. “If you choose to leave, you will need to do as all of the other contestants who have left have done – procure me another contestant”. “You mean…” her eyes widened in horror. “You want one of my sons?!” “That’s your prerogative. It’s been done. So has threatening another at gunpoint, although that does not pan out to be as effective as more gentle means. You have three months. If you don’t secure one, you will need to come back and repeat the game.” 

“What happens once I leave?” “As I’ve stated, you will appear normal to everyone around you. You may not speak of your experience to anyone else. You must place a lock on the door and keep the warnings on it. But you must not attempt to warn others in any way. No burning down the house, etc. A contestant tried to do that once…he ended up finding his way back to the portal.”

Jen looked at the door to the sub-basement. The doorknob had returned and the sign above the door now read “Exit” in big bold red letters. She walked as fast as her wobbly legs would allow, flung open the door, and slammed it shut behind her. She never looked back once. 

As Andy had stated, she appeared the same as she did before she went in. Her clothes weren’t torn, her hair was straightened and tied in a low ponytail, and all scratches and bruises were gone. Her phone, which she had left on the shelf she pushed aside, read 2:07 – exactly 5 minutes before she had entered. She replaced the shelf and put some of her used boxes and bins on it.

2.5 months later

Jen sat quietly at the closing, signing all of the necessary documents. As she stood up to hand the keys over to the new owners (a young couple who were just moving in together), she felt a strange sense of déjà vu. Yes…she had experienced this moment just a few months before. She smiled at the couple, handed over the keys, and said sadly, “Good luck”.