The Locked Room

Your heart bangs wildly as you rush through the smothering crowd. The suitcase in your hand gets caught between others’ legs; you tug at it. No use. The crowd pushes in tighter, sealing around your wrist. Terrified, you pull harder. You glance around alarmed, like a cornered prey that’s sensed death, and finally, let go of the suitcase, and begin to run reckless, fighting through the mass. 

“Move! Move!” you shout, pushing people. Yet, nobody seems to relent. They eye you casually, and then, look away. Glancing behind, you see the masked guy still following you. No, no, NO! He’s catching up! 

The noisy sea is never-ending. It pushes you, taking you along in its wave (you keep glancing behind — he’s still there). You're tossed around from shoulder to shoulder, jostled like a doll, crushed and ground— 

Suddenly, out of nowhere, you bang into wood. Sharp agony electrifies up your nose and temples. 

“Grrrrrungh.”

“Mind your step, Fyodor!” growls a colossal voice (oh, by the way, that’s your name — Fyodor).

Glancing up, there’s an oak tree looming over you. 

“Apologies, sir... Didn’t-didn’t see you there,” you pant (and peek behind you — he’s gone!...No! There he is!!), and then, attempt a slight bow and tip your nonexistent hat. “Was rushing to catch...my train. Hope...hope you had a good vacation, sir?” 

“Just got back from Morocco...” the tree grumbles vaguely and lumbers away.

Now that the tree’s out of the way, there is much better ease at wading through. But it still feels a bit like slipping in between scratchy, narrow walls. 

No time, no time, you think. In the gap of half a second, so suddenly, a piercing whistle stabs through the air — the train! You halt mid-way, unable to crunch down the sharp note, clenching your eyes and ears and jaw shut-but it doesn’t stop-the mob knocks into you, and you keel over-the screech of the whistle drills its way inside your head, ricochets around in there, decibels notching up higher-higher-HIGHER!-until you could take it no more and your head feels like it’s splitting and your jaw aches from the way you are gnawing down the torture—

You shoot upright, sit up shivering and gulping in gushes of breath. It’s life-saving. A bead of sweat rolls down your cheek. Your heart is throwing a tantrum so fierce that you can feel its pounding in your ears, mingling with some faint, distant shrill...from the dream.

You gaze around the familiar surroundings. You’re in bed, in your room. Sunlight showers in through the window. Two chairs stand against the wall; a pair of dice lie scattered in the middle of the room; there’s your journal on the bedside table and a few other motley stuff lie around here and there.

Picking up the journal, you flip its pages (a few written in and a lot unwritten), like you’ve never seen it before. Abruptly, you hear a series of hurried knocks from under the bed. The journal drops with a soft thump.

"Fyodo’! Fyodo’!! List’n! There’s no time. No, don't bothuh searchin’ fuh me! You know you ca’nut see me. Now list’n!," a muffled voice insists.

"Yes, tell me what, Cedar," you reply softly (Cedar’s your childhood friend).

"There's a way out through the ceilin’, try it,” you hear it say. “Knock there an’ a door will open.”

“But what about the real door?” you doubt, glancing at it.

“’Tis sealed. It’ll nev-uh open. They’ve lock’dt you up. That’s why I’m heere — I’m heere to help you out. Now, use the chairs to stand up on the bedt an’ knock on the ceilin’,” Cedar says. “Quick! They’ll come any min’te!” 

“Oh, yes! Yes, I’ll do it! I’ll do it,” you whisper. Somehow, you know what he means by ‘they’.

Crawling out of bed, you place your feet on the wooden floor. It feels slightly cold. Your instincts tell you something is odd. You look up and inspect the room curiously, with a new idea dawning on you. And then—

“We’re in space, aren’t we?” you ask.

“Genius! You rememb’ed it! Yes, we are. But ca’eful, the floor will open up if you tread hard. It’s all a part of an out-uh space exp’riment. You, me an’ the others an’ everything. They attempt’d to wipe out our mem’ries, but di’n’t work, I reck’n,” Cedar whispers back.

“Others?”

“Nev-uh mindt. Do what I say,” he replies hastily.

“Wait. Why aren't things floating around me? Why am I not floating?”

“Because we’re all heldt down by some pow’ful grav’ty machines or somethin’. Now do as I toldt you. Quick! We’re runnin’ out of time!” His voice is almost squealing from the pressure.

Now you are afraid of each toe on your feet; afraid that it might press down a little bit too hard. You don’t want to fall into nothingness.

“Space...space...space...” you keep chanting softly.

First step — on your toes. Then, you cautiously apply the rest of your sole. The wood groans. Then, the other foot (creaaaakkk). Then slowly, you peel the first foot off the floor, and fix another vigilant step.

“Fast-uh, fast-uh...” Cedar eggs you on.

And finally, you get there (“space...space...”).

“What about the pair of dice, Cedar? Why is it there?” innocently, you turn and ask the bed.

Silence.

For no reason, you feel slightly uncertain about all this, then, drop by drop, fear seeps into you. Something is going to happen... You can sense it. Cedar’s lying, he’s a cheater. But you’ve no clue what, why, or how.

Solid silence...

You ask the question again, unease thrumming in your chest.

“Nev-uh mindt that. ’Tis there to distract you,” replies Cedar. “Quick! I can’t keep waitin’! Do it. Fast,” he hisses. There’s hunger in his voice now. 

All at once, Cedar’s words start rushing out rapidly, in a sort of blabber,“The exp’riment has gone wrong they’ve foundt us out ev’ryone’s woken up! NOW! DO IT!! I SAIDT DO ITTTT!!! Do it. Do it, do it, do it, do it, do it do it do it...!”

The voice rises furiously, scaring your heart into doing the same; you feel as if a boulder is on your chest, hanging down from your throat. The screech eventually turns into a torture scream, like he was possessed by fire.

By now, your heart is blindly racing to nowhere; it could be heard all over the whole room, booming off the walls, or it might even be the ‘others’ banging on the floor and walls from other locked rooms, wailing, screaming, tearing apart their voices, crying for escape...

There’s no escape. You swivel your head around, unable to make sense of anything! You’re helpless. There are several voices now, clashing over each other, spitting insults at you. There’s no more Cedar or friends or childhood in here. It’s war. It’s death.

The voices rise to a climax, like it’ll never stop. You feel the noise — you feel it pressing you, pinching your skin, storming inside you, raising the hairs all over your body. You are shrieking, your heart is shrieking, the so-called Cedar is shrieking, everything was screaming the hell off like a mad pharaoh.

Unexpectedly, you feel arms hugging you. Warm, comfortable arms, full of love. 

“Please, Harry, stop! It’s alright! I’m here with you, it’s fine, it’s alright,” a woman's voice persists. The screams start to move away...away...and then fade.

You jerk back to reality. Looking around bewildered, you realise that you are still in your room. But the voices have disappeared, the screams have ended and the only ones alive is you and your wife Jane.

And then, you lie down on her lap and tell her what you heard and felt — what you alone heard and felt. She patiently listens to all that you say, which is very comforting. She tells you it’s all fine, it's okay, and she’s with you. She soothes you like she’d do a child, and her words feel lovely and ticklish in your ears. You listen to her, vacantly staring at the floor. A smile plays its way into your lips. There was never space or Cedar, now you realise, it was all a figment... A figment, an illusion, a delusion, of your schizophrenic mind. But there’s one thing that’ll always be there: hope. And Jane. They both have always been synonymous to you. And she’ll always be there by your side... Always.