You wake up in a room. A tall room. Cramped, with shelves and filing cabinets stacked to what you assume is the ceiling. The shelves tower endlessly when you look up. The metal drawers rattle and clang when you pull them, creating a domino effect of sound, but none of them open. Light emanates in a small radius from an electric lantern on the floor, roughly the size of your head. Your whole body aches. You don’t know where you are or how you got here, but I know what you’re here for.
A whisper at the back of your skull tells you to find her.
You pick up the lantern and examine the room fully. All walls save for the one on your right are crammed with filing cabinets and storage paraphernalia. Turning to your right, you are faced with a white door with a simple iron handle. A small number ‘5’ is printed on its surface. You wonder what it could mean. Is this the first door out of five? Or just one out of an endless series of numbers? Your heartbeat quickens at the thought of being trapped in an endless series of doors, and your grip on the lantern tightens.
Snap out of it. Find her.
Seeing as there is no other way forward, you grab the handle, push down and enter the next room. The door swings smoothly shut behind you. A faint ‘click’ is heard. You can no longer return. The new room is awash with a peculiar darkness the light from your lantern can barely pierce through, so you shuffle awkwardly on the floor, sneakers squeaking against polished wood. Eventually, your foot bumps into something. Hard. You raise your lantern to see what it is. In the pale glow you make out a low table made of dark wood, with a circular indent just about the right fit for a lantern. Instinct pushes you to slot your lantern in. It slides into the indent, filling it perfectly.
Within seconds, the room is filled with light, revealing walls plastered with photo frames of various sizes and shapes, each containing an unfamiliar image. You are drawn to a photograph in the centre of the west wall, enclosed in a cherry wood frame and decorated with smiley face stickers. The photograph shows two girls, smiling and hugging. The one on the left is you, you think. I think so too. Short-cropped, choppy dark hair, ill-fitting glasses and a shirt one size too big. You don’t recognise the girl on the right. A voice in your heart screams that you know her, but try as you might, you cannot recall.
Raising your hands to the frame, you trace its outline. You run a finger along the face of the girl you know but also don’t. Her facial features slip in and out of focus; you think her eyes are hazel? No. Brown, maybe. Or grey. Both hands gripping the frame, you feel an ache between your brows.
Find her!
With a swift tug, you pull the picture off the wall to reveal a small cubby carved into the wall. Inside is a photograph of a bundle of forget-me-nots. Something about them feels familiar. As you continue staring at them, an inexplicable sadness pools in your chest. Those flowers were someone’s favourite. On the photograph, a number is written: ‘10’. You recall the number on the previous door. Could there be a pattern to the rooms? Multiples of five? These numbers have to mean something; so you pocket the photograph for later.
The grating sound of stone against stone jolts you out of your stupor. You turn around to find a gaping pit where the table and lantern used to be. You approach, taking cautious steps towards the opening in the ground. Gashes in the rock spiral into the depths below. A cold rush of air snakes around your ankles. As if it’s trying to drag you in. A shiver runs down your spine, one of fear — or one of anticipation. Gingerly, one foot after the other, you make your way down the steps, footsteps echoing off the stone walls.
You finish your descent and find yourself in a hallway. The fluorescent lights above flicker and buzz in a monotone drone. The walls are a flaky, sickly yellow, and the fuzzy flooring squishes wetly beneath your feet. You don’t see an end to this hallway. You turn around, only to find a blank wall where the staircase once stood. You can no longer return. So, you walk, and you walk. The further you go, the stronger this feeling of wrongness grows, like a pit in your belly threatening to swallow you whole. But you can’t stop now. With each step you take, the more these wretched walls feel like home.
The lights go out one by one as you walk, the wallpaper peels, and the carpet disintegrates, leaving behind a void where they used to be. The whisper in your head grows into a cry. Wailing. Pleading. Until it stops.
You are faced with a door. A copper name plate is scratched beyond recognition, and a number is scrawled on the door: ‘2009’. You were expecting the number ‘15’. There has to be something those numbers have in common. Closing your eyes, you contemplate the numbers, recalling where you found them and more importantly, when.
Something rearranges itself in your memory and clicks into place.
The numbers weren’t part of cryptic code or meaningless digits. They were like a neon sign pointing right at the truth you sealed away. Some memories from that day trickle back into remembrance, making your brows furrow and your lips twist in anguish. Flickers of the past gnaw from within your chest cavity. Why did you forget? To protect yourself? To make life easier?
How dare you.
You take a deep breath, twist the knob and walk through the door.
This room is unlike the others. This one, you recognise. Your old bed, too small for you now, sits in the corner of your room, striped sheets neatly made. Your old wardrobe, bookshelves, desk, and bulky desktop computer are just as you remember them, except; the square screen is alive with a bright glow.
You investigate the screen and find that words are materializing on the page from behind a thin vertical line. You blink, then squint at the words being written. You cannot believe your eyes. How odd, you think. How did it know that? You think. Every one of your actions dictated, recorded, stored for heaven knows how long. I know. I keep them for however long I want to. You look around in a frenzy. Relax, you’re the only one in this room. Don’t you remember what you came here to do? Of course you do.
The screen flickers and you no longer see the text, instead a box appears for you to type something in. A password perhaps?
‘5/10/2009’.
.
.
.
‘ACCESS GRANTED’
A video begins to play, you watch, entranced by the visions displayed via RGB. It’s a record of you and me, on that fateful day when you committed an act you could not take back. The sun, the lake and the ensuing quiet.
Two young girls chase each other in circles near the shoreline of the lake. The afternoon sun casts kaleidoscopic light on the placid water’s surface. They laugh brightly, the shorter-haired chasing the other around, dress flowing behind her. Soon, both of them stand at the edge of the dock, gazing out across the water. They begin talking. It’s hard to make out what they’re saying, but you easily fill in the blanks. You could swim, she couldn’t. You did not believe her. The short-haired girl stretches out her arms and gives the other girl a cheeky shove. Splash.
Do you remember me now? Do you accept the reality of what happened? No? So be it. I’ll do this as many times as it takes.
[SYSTEM RESTART]
.
.
.
You wake up in a room. A tall room.
