Chapter Nine
Livia
My muscles turn into lead. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. Panic starts to build in my stomach, and I feel nauseous.
I rattle the steel bars that dropped from the ceiling and disappeared into the floor at the landing of the stairs. Nothing happens. It’s conclusive; like the door upstairs, I’m stuck on this side of it.
“Are you lost, pretty girl?”
I spin around and press my body against the bars at the sound of the voice again.
I didn’t imagine that voice.And now I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve stepped into a trap. And in order to get out, I’m going to have to leave a part of myself behind.
Dear god, what’s going to happen to me?
“Where are you?” I ask softly, not trusting my ears. Not trusting anything about myself right now. Did I even make it up here? What if I died falling off a cliff and I’m just experiencing some out-of-life thing? I could always trust myself and my perception, but now I’m not so sure. The real question is, would it be better for me if I were dead instead of here?
“Where are you?” I shout this time, panic turning my stomach. I’m clutching the bars behind me that are keeping me trapped as if they were my lifeline. My gaze darts around furiously, looking for a hidden figure in the shadows. I see nothing but more shadows.
“Right here.”
The tone of the voice is soft, seductive, and dangerous, despite the voice modulation software used to disguise it. Still, goosebumps spring from my frosted skin. And that’s when I feel it.
Eyes on me. The weight of being watched sucks me further and further into a black hole. Instead of someone in the basement with me, I’m frantically looking around for a camera, but I still haven’t left my spot from the bars blocking my exit.
“Let me out right now,” I say, telling myself to stand firm and forceful before fear and panic turn me into a groveling mess where I beg to be released.
“You trespassed on private property. You don’t get to make demands, pretty girl.”
There’s a pause before the voice sparks up again.
“What do you think happens to sweet little girls who trespass on private property?”
An unearthly chill seeps under my skin. “Show your face,” I demand.
“Gladly, but in due course, pretty girl.”
My mouth is dry, and my lips can’t stop quivering, but I stand tall. I don’t know enough about what’s happening to gauge the extent of the peril. I don’t know how dangerous this faceless man is.
“There are people who know I’m here. They’re expecting me back soon, and when I don’t show up, they’re going to come looking for me.”
“No one is going to find you. Not now.”
There’s a finality in the voice, and the words drain the blood from my soul. The hope at the back of my mind, despite not knowing the full scale of horrors ahead for me, disintegrates. If I thought this was a scare tactic for trespassers, I’m quickly reassured that it’s real.
“This was a mistake. I… I have this fascination with fairy tales, and I may have told myself that this was a house from a fairytale, but I think I’m wrong. Fairytales don’t exist. I apologize for entering your property uninvited. It was a stupid mistake. Just let me leave, and we can go our separate ways. I made a mistake.”
“What fairytale did you think this house belonged to?”
“It’s a silly mistake—”
“Answer the question.”
“Goldilocks and Three Bears.”
The silence is more deafening than anything.
“So you’re familiar with the story.”
I nod.
“How does Goldilocks escape?”
She doesn’t, I say in my mind. She falls in love and lives happily ever after, even if that price of bliss and contentment came about with blood and sorrow. The same is not going to be true for me. At the end of the darkness, there might not be any light. I am possibly going to die here, and no one will find me.
“She’s given a chance to run away,” I say quietly, praying I would be awarded the chance to do the same.
“Wrong answer.”
I bite my lip, and I want to cry.
“She gets set alight and—”
“Wrong answer.”
I’ve run out of time. “She falls in love with the three bears.”
“Ah, so you do know the right version of the story.”
“Please, let me leave. I’m not a threat. I’m nobody. I just wanted to see the place. I didn’t take anything. I don’t even know who owns this property. There are no records. I know nothing else. Please, let me go.”
“How badly do you want to live, pretty girl?”
“Please…” I quiver uncontrollably, and all I can do is beg. It didn’t take me long to get to this point, and I’m seconds away from dropping to my knees.
“Then you have to do three things.”
But something bothers me. Something about the voice. The cadence. The way it hits differently sometimes. My heart starts to pound out of my chest. I can’t be sure, but I think I may be hearing three different voices even though the same voice modulation software is being used.
But I’m also convinced I’m now just creating unnecessary problems for myself in my head. I don’t need any more imaginary obstacles. I don’t need three persecutors. Even one is too much. And still, I feel I’m right.
I have three persecutors.
A sinking darkness drags me further into hell. There are three of them and one of me.
My attention immediately shifts to the table with three wooden bowls, the deathly-looking three chairs, and the three beds that aren’t very inviting either. This is no longer a fairytale.
There is also something about them that tells me no amount of begging, pleading, or negotiation is going to set me free. I’m fighting for my life now.
And there’s no certainty whatsoever that if I complete whatever those three things are, I will be released. My options are to do nothing and die, or do something and maybe, maybe not die.
I try to remove from my head all those horror movies I used to watch. Will I be the last girl to make it? Or the one who gets violently killed because she makes a stupid move.
“What do I have to do?” My voice breaks, and I sound as petrified as I feel. Maybe I should have begged more. Negotiated more. Everything feels rushed and surreal. However, nothing would have helped; I know this in the deepest part of my mind and soul.
“To play for your life, you have to first remove all your clothes.”
“What?” I ask. I can feel the shock and confusion seep into my eyes as I look around for the camera yet again.
“You heard me.”
I hesitate.
“Time is ticking, pretty girl.”
Dear god, please let me survive this. I bend and remove my sneakers. I keep my socks on. I then grip the hem of my hoodie and shrug out of it. I remove my long-sleeve t-shirt and then my long-sleeved thermal top, leaving me in only a pink bra. I can’t tell if I’m trembling because the room is cold or because I’m scared.
I dig my fingers into the band of my sweatpants and tug them down over my hips and off my feet. I’m standing in nothing but my bra, my underwear, and my socks.
“Everything.”