Page 8 of Magpie
My heart skips a beat, but I calm it down. I sometimes shove the key in too far and lose track of it. This isn’t the first time I’ve given myself a scare thinking it’s gone.
Searching around again, barely keeping my panic at bay, I feel the first real prickling of absolute terror as I continue to come up empty-handed. It is here. It has to be here. I begin yanking great chunks of stuffing out of the mattress, tossing them to the side as I stick my hand in again and again, letting out a disgruntled growl as it continues to elude me.
I yank my hand out one last time, covering my face and screaming. Hot, angry tears spill down my cheeks. How long has it been since I last touched my key? Ten hours? Twelve? Bitter history has taught me the darkness will be setting in soon. The gnawing emptiness will fill me, grip me, hold me tight and refuse to let me go. I laugh at the cruel joke of it all. The only way I won my freedom was to take my key, something I cannot live without, and something I cannot hold for long. Because the longer I hold it, the more I become Magpie.
And he controls Magpie.
I sit up straight, glaring out the window at the moon that shines down on me like a wicked smile. Its perfect crescent shape casts barely any light in my empty apartment, just enough to illuminate the scattered mess of my mattress littered aroundme. I glance down at my watch as the numbness begins to return, begins to reclaim its lost ground.
12:13am.
October 1st.
He can’t have found me, not so quickly. The House is rumored to be on the other side of the country, although no definitive location has come up on any of the forums. I slowly shake my head, staring at the moon, repeating again and again the same words.
He hasn’t found me yet, he hasn’t found me yet, he hasn’t—
He steps out of the shadows near my window.
The feeble moonlight shines off the bright white edges of the magpie atop the key dangling from his hand, the red ribbon a stark contrast to his gleaming white glove. He’s wearing the same dark suit he wore on the day I left, with a cut along the chest, the material stained. I can’t make out the color in the darkness of the room, but I know it is a deep rust red. The exact shade of dried blood. He’s still wearing the top hat, the ace of spades with the skull on the back stuck into the side. How many people besides me know what is on the back of that card? I doubt he has shown it to anyone else.
His boots click softly against the wooden floor as he eats up the meager space between us. His piercing eyes are trying to find mine; I know they are, but I continue to look at the moon.
“Hello, Magpie,” he says, his voice exactly as smooth and deep as I remember. Exactly as horrifying. “It’s time to come home.”
Iblink wildly, rubbing my eyes. I stare in confusion at the scene in front of me. My eyes must be playing a trick on me. I came to the landing of the third floor, and before me is a hallway so long that the end is shrouded in shadows. There’s no way the House looked this long from the outside. Endless doors stand sentry on either side of the hallway, each with a glittering number etched on its surface.
I take a single step forward, hugging my jacket tightly around me. I’m not sure what I’m waiting for as I stand here awkwardly. My ears strain to hear the copycat voices of Tim and Jessica, but the hallway remains quiet, seeming to muffle every sound, absorbing even the echoes of my footsteps as I begin to trudge along. After my first few timid steps pass without any of the doors bursting open as another actor tries to scare me, I move quicker. Once the initial fright of the second story wears off, I’m frustrated and bored again. I’m finding it hard to believe that this house could be the same renowned one Tim and Jessica gushed about.
Resolution to get out fuels my steps as I hurry down the hall. I must walk for several minutes, but the darkness at the end remains the same, seeming to come no closer. It’s as if I’m walking on a treadmill, my steps refusing to move me forward. I look down at the old wooden floorboards as I walk, just to make sure they aren’t pulling me backward. Satisfied that the boards are stationary, I turn my gaze again to the hallway before me. Glancing behind me, I find I have to squint to make out the silhouette of the stairway.
At least I’m moving forward, even if it doesn’t feel like it.
After several more silent minutes of walking, I am no closer to an exit. Letting out a frustrated grunt, I begin to sprint. I want nothing more than to get out, and I’m going to make sure it happens one way or another.
Coming to a halt, I lean over, bracing my hands against my knees as I pant heavily. The end of the hallway remains shrouded in darkness. Somehow, I’m not surprised when I turn to see the stairway behind me is nothing but a vague memory in the dim light. I’m stuck in the middle.
Go Up To Get Out.
“How can I go up?” I grumble, leaning against the door closest to me. Scanning the doors, I find the numbers are in no particular order, all seemingly random. I hadn’t intended to be fooled into entering another room. I’m not going to give them the satisfaction of a jump scare. At least that’s what I told myself at the beginning of the hallway, but now that I am alone, with very few options, I realize I’m going to have to choose one.
Looking aimlessly across the hall, I note that not only are the numbers on the doors all different, but so are the doorknobs. Each one is ornate, made in some dark metal with intricate designs etched into their surfaces. Some glitter with embedded jewels while others sit unadorned, but each one is expertly crafted. Stepping forward, I take a closer look at the doorknobbefore me. This one looks like bones twisting around each other, forming the shape of a skull. For some reason, I feel pulled to this door, and I nearly reach out to it.
At the last second, I turn away and begin to study the doorknob beside it. A spiderweb weaves around this one, seeming so soft and delicate that I have to touch it to be sure that it is metal. Turning my back on that door, I study the one across the hall. A creeping mass of vines circles it, a black flower blooming from them. They spiral on and on, sinking down the never-ending hallway.
The quiet call of the darkened hall is lulling me, calming my racing thoughts, as I continue silently, studying the different doors. My resolve to not enter a single room is waning as the hallway looms endlessly before me, and abruptly I decide to grab a doorknob, determined to force my way in and demand an escort to the exit. Every ounce of me is certain of my decision, and yet when I move to open a random door, I find my hand hovering over the doorknob, unable to completely grasp it.
“No, not this one,” a voice whispers.
Did it come from behind me, or was it in my own mind? I tug my hand slowly back, letting it fall to my side as I turn around and let my gaze fall on the door behind me. The number thirteen is painted on it, but I barely notice it, looking instead at the doorknob.
Shining white feathers clash against the deep black of the metal. The sculpted bird seems so lifelike, I nearly expect it to lift off and take flight. Darkness is seeping out, dimming the already shadowy hallway, until this sole door is the only thing I can see.
But I have never been afraid of the dark.
I step forward and grip the handle. Letting out a yelp, I pull my hand back and look down at the deep gash in the center of my palm. Blood wells from the cut as my hand throbs. Swearing, I wipe my hand on my jeans. Did the doorknob just cut me?
Examining it, I find the end of a key sticking out of the bird’s open beak. Was that always there? I can’t remember seeing a key before, but I suppose I wasn’t paying enough attention. Shaking my head, I chalk it up to the mind games this stupid house is playing with me. Plucking the key from the bird’s mouth, I twist it in the keyhole, the click of the lock echoing out in the quiet hallway. For reasons I don’t quite understand, I’m not ready to be done touching the key, so I pull it out and grip it tight in one hand as I twist the knob with the other and push the door open.
