The Ant Farm

Mary Anne lay in a corpse pose, her eyeballs flitting beneath her closed lids. She moaned, biting down on some spongy wads that crowded her mouth. A cold, bitter, liquid gushed forth and pooled in her throat. She swallowed and gagged, trying desperately to constrict her gullet and prevent the vile cocktail from resurfacing. Her eyes flew open, and she jolted upright, emitting a belch that left a metallic aftertaste. She spat out four, sopping-wet globs into the palm of her hand. Total darkness enveloped her. After throwing aside the saturated masses, she wiped her hands on her jeans and lightly grazed her corneas.

Yep, my eyes are open, she thought to herself. The last thing she remembered was lying down for a nap in her tent.

Reaching into the blackness, Mary Anne sought out the pole that held up the canvas. When all she found was emptiness in front of her, she spread her arms, as if she were trying to tunnel through the murkiness, until her palms hit the rigid barriers on either side. She slid her hands downward, noting that the hard, smooth ground beneath her was flush with the walls.

“I’m in a box?”

It was close quarters; the space was long enough for her to lie down but not wide enough for her to thrash around. She sniffed, detecting the earthy and spicy scent of cedar. Her lower jaw dropped.

“A coffin? — Buried alive? No — wait — I’m sitting up.

She raised her arm above her head, then scrunched her knees to her chest and swiveled to the right. With her toes touching the wall and the soles of her shoes planted firmly on the solid surface beneath her, she felt it was safe to stand. Wrestling to her feet, she again extended her hand upward. After making the sign of the cross, she let her arm dangle by her side.

Please don’t let me crash into a roof or anything.

Mary Anne squatted, throwing her arms into the air as she jumped. But her landing wasn't as graceful as her lift off; her knees bent and her backside struck the wall behind her, forcing her nose to smash into the barrier in front of her. She remained wedged in that position for a few seconds and as she arduously straightened, she could feel the skin scraping off the prominence of her nose.

In a hole — or stuck in a crevice?

There was something under the heel of her shoe. She got down on her hands and knees and probed the area until she found two of the soggy cotton pads she had discarded earlier. She rocked backward, sitting on her heels.

Hmm, four of these aren't enough to be a gag, then she recalled the fowl taste when she bit down on them. These are damp with more than just my saliva.

When Mary Anne was younger, she had to have a couple of teeth extracted. After the procedure, the dentist packed her open wounds with gauze. The situation she was in at the moment had some similarities. Tears brimmed, trickling down her cheeks.

As a homeless woman, it was not unprecedented for her to be a target of society’s cruelty.

A lovely young woman had been visiting and chatting with a few of the homeless individuals as of late. That morning, she brought Mary Anne a sack lunch and a thermos filled with hot tea. Now, Mary Anne cursed herself for letting her guard down and being so naïve.

She tried seeking out her teeth with her tongue but found nothing. A feeling of trepidation flooded through her. Grimacing, she ran her thumbnail across the smooth enamel of her canines and molars. Her shoulders drooped with relief at the sound of the rhythmic clicking. And then she futilely tried to lick her lips.

Something’s seriously wrong with my tongue.

She poked a quivering index finger between her parted teeth, her unseeing eyes widening in the pitch as the digit’s second knuckle grazed her upper incisors. Once she encountered the tender organ, an excruciating shock of pain surged through her skull. She withdrew her finger, nearly amputating the tip as her jaws chomped shut.

When the pain subsided, she hesitantly inserted her finger into her mouth a second time, gently palpating what remained of the severed muscle. Pinching her eyes shut, she attempted to scream, but only a muted squawk erupted from her vocal cords, the bizarre sound startling her. She clutched her neck, merely managing to squeeze out another eerie shriek. Tears streamed down her face.

Speak no evil, see no evil.

Mary Anne gathered her emotions weirdly comforted that she heard herself cry out.

Morris Code, SOS: is it two long, two short, and two more long, or is it two short, one long, and two more short? She curled her fingers and began knocking.

Screw it.

Mary Anne beat on the wall with both fists. And when her hands started to ache, she began swiping her open palms across the unfinished surface of the lumber. A splinter of wood embedded itself in the pad of flesh below her ring finger and she winced, surrendering to the quietude. She sniffed and twitched her nose, then dabbed her eyes with the backs of her hands.

Be brave, be brave, she repeated to herself. And with her palms pressed against the walls on either side of her, she warily rose to her feet, doing her best Frankenstein impression as she shuffled forward.

When her fingertips brushed the barrier at the end of the corridor, a feeling of claustrophobia coursed through her body. She collapsed onto the ground, resting her head on her outstretched arm. Minutes elapsed before it occurred to her that the limb her head rested on extended well beyond the borders of the passageway.

Mary Ann crawled along a second narrow hallway. And at the end of that hallway, she turned left into yet another hall. When the third hallway ended, she had a choice of entering the passage to her left or the one to her right.

I’m someone’s damn lab rat in a freakin maze.

Mary Anne stomped her feet and fought against the unforgiving enclosure. She clawed at the wood, breaking and tearing several of her fingernails until she felt the stabbing pain of another splinter penetrate the tip of her pinky. She crumpled like a discarded marionette, wailing and pounding her fists against the floor.

Pull it together, girl, you just need to find the exit. Every maze has an exit, right? —right. You already made three left turns; one more left turn forms a square and you might be back where you started. So, Mary Anne grappled onto her feet and went right.

She staggered onward, counting her steps to keep her mind occupied and alert, as well as to calculate the size of her prison. The tiny wooden shard bulging from beneath the skin on the palm of her hand throbbed. She began picking at it, managing to tear the calloused surface. A slippery fluid oozed from the wound, and she instinctively pressed the injury to her lips. Her eyes welled with tears.

I can’t even lick my wound and this stings like a bastard.

She waggled her injured hand like a floundering trout and continued her search for the way out. After rounding her seventh bend and taking a few steps forward, she felt something lumpy under her shoe. She crouched, poking about, finding the absorbent pads that she tossed earlier.

Shit. — Are you kidding me?

Her disappointment at discovering that she was back where she first started was devastating. She slumped with her back against the wall and slid to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest, the tips of her boots jammed against the partition in front of her. Her head tilted back and thudded against the wall. A deep, husky growl escaped through her clenched teeth. She crouched there for a long time, then her chest heaved as she took a breath.

Okay, new plan.

She stood up and removed her boot, hammering a crescent moon into the soft wood with the heel. The indentation would notify her that she’d already been down that hall and that she should take a different path. Mary Anne would carry out this method at the beginning and end of each corridor.

She rounded the corner leading to her ninth hallway and stiffened when she heard the rapping.

[Knock, knock.]

After several seconds of silence, she resumed her trek. Then she heard it again.

[Knock, Knock.]

She froze, hesitated, then knocked five knocks to the tune of Shave and a Haircut. She stood stock still, then she heard…

[Knock, knock.]

She called out, her holler sounding more like a wild goose than a human. She took a few steps forward, gradually picking up the pace. When she found an offshoot from the path she was on, she knocked again… [5 knocks to Shave and a Haircut.] She stood motionless.

[Knock, knock.] The thumps were very faint.

No, no, no, she silently pleaded. Don’t move. — How can I tell you to stay there and let me come to you?

Mary Anne hurried in the direction of the knocking, but it would be the last response she would receive to her attempts at communication.

~~~

Son-of-a-bitch, that thermos of tea.

Tears flowed again as Mary Anne relieved herself in a corner of the maze, removing her flannel shirt and sopping up the mess with the cotton tank she wore underneath. She hoped the aromatic cedar would overpower any unpleasant odors. She left the soiled garment balled in the corner then put her flannel back on before continuing her mission.

Trudging ahead a few more paces, she nearly stumbled over an obstacle in her path. She stooped, her fingers lightly thrumming the flooring. Her hand patted something soft and smooth, and she retracted her arm in fright.

An animal?

Her body shivered as she reached out and stroked the form. It was a human limb, a warm human bicep. She found the connecting shoulder and shook the body. The being jerked away from Mary Anne’s touch and a creepy howl echoed through the passageway.

Suddenly, the maze illuminated. Mary Anne staggered backward, her eyes clenched tight, and she bowed her head against the glow, but not before glimpsing a distorted figure in brown plaid scuttling down the passage like a panicked crab. She squinted. The flooring was light-colored hardwood, thin slats. It reminded her of a gymnasium floor.

Guess I’m not blind.

She raised her fists and again began pounding on the wall with fury. When the lights flickered out, she sagged against the wooden divider, the screeches from the stranger fading. Mary Anne straightened and carried on. She didn't know what time it was, but she was pretty sure five hours had gone by, her stomach growled.

Soon light flooded the passages a second time, and again Mary Anne lowered her head away from its intensity. She heard mumbling, rustling, and the clanking vibrations of a garage door. Then a man’s voice echoed through a megaphone.

“Welcome to my ant farm.”

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. An audience of raucous people applauded and shouted words of excitement. Then the male voice again.

“As you travel through this monstrous maze, you may hear the sounds of my pets dying to follow you out.”

Mary Anne fussed and bellowed as loud as her body would allow, but her clamors could not be heard above the boisterous throng. She darted through narrow passageways, bouncing off the walls like a ball bearing in a pin ball machine.

She halted. A figure in tattered overalls was hurrying toward her. It was a woman. She wondered how many people were trapped there. The woman threw her arms around her and began to sob. But Mary Anne only glared at the crescent moon notch in the cedar to her left. Then she heard swishing, like something being scraped along the other side of the partition. And giggling. Muffled talking. She put her ear against the divider and could hear a conversation on the other side.

I think we’re trapped in the walls of this maze, she thought angerly.

Mary Anne started slapping the palms of her hands on the wall while forcing out menacing, pitiful cries. The soft chatter on the other side momentarily paused, then was replaced by screeching, laughter, and the rumbling of fleeting hooves.

End