JUNO

  MINDEN, LA

  OCTOBER 1986

  I can’t stand this chain.

  The shackle alone must weigh ten pounds, putting immense pressure against my left ankle. And it makes such an unpleasant sound, echoing across the floorboards of this place. I can only go as far as the kitchen, dining room, and bathroom. My son’s crib is in the living room, near the threadbare sofa with his toys scattered across the floor. Toys that I did not buy him. In the midst of the peeling walls and stained torn up carpets, the house reeks of cleaning solution and cigarettes. But it barely masks the scent of decay that leaks past the basement door.

  It’s really hard to walk with a chain. The started using it after I tried to run out the door that one time with my son. It’s not like how I envisioned it in the movies at all. I have to lug this heavy cold thing wherever I go, even in the middle of the night to relieve myself. It’s left a green mark on my skin. The ends of the shackle are rusty and tinged with orange.

  I have been inside this dark house for one month, two weeks, and four days. I’m not even allowed to go the windows. The creature has boarded them up with some wood and rusted nails that are bent at the edges. I see them take Rush out all the time, however, they never go far with him. Just to the front yard, where my one-month old son is able to lie out on a worn quilt and smell the fresh air amongst the shriveled, burnt grass. I can’t see them, let alone the figure’s shape. But I have never seen my boy cry once with my abductor, rather, he falls fast asleep in their arms when they do return with him.

  And it beyond irritates me.

  I think back to Amy. Had she ever bothered to alert the police and let them know I have gone missing? I doubt it. She is probably focused on other things going on at her restaurant. As for Georgia Brunswick, she’s far more concerned about Tom’s disappearance.

  I’m focusing on the wrong things. I haven’t been sent back to the game in an agonizing four weeks. I keep waiting for the creature to do it again, like it had when I had tried to run out of the house with my son, but they just won’t. I’ve tried everything I can to provoke them, just so that I can gain more exposure to the rules. I know that this game is the key to getting Rush out of here for good. I’ve destroyed all of their plates in the kitchen, dumped my abductor’s sketchbooks in the toilet, and left all of our food supply out in the sweltering Louisiana heat to spoil.

  C’mon, I think. Get mad.

  But the creature doesn’t react.

  It spent last week plunging the toilet, sweeping the broken pieces off the floor, buying non perishable goods, such as canned fruits and vegetables. It’s even gotten paper plates from the store because I’ve ruined all of their own. Sometimes, they’ll be gone all day. For what, I’m not sure. I use this time to search the house for anything useful to break apart my chain. I have yet to be successful.

  At least my abductor doesn’t take my boy away from me for too long. Maybe I’’m complaining too much. They leave me behind three meals a day. They have never laid a hand on me—outside of chaining my foot. And more often than not, they are trying to come up with more ways to convince me into actually liking them. So far, it’s not working.

  But I’m counting the days on the yellowed calendar hanging up on the fridge door for some resemblance of normalcy. Besides, there are educational programs playing on the TV, so I have them softly playing in the background as I talk to Rush. He’s all I got—a light to help me cope with the excruciating loneliness. He’s a smart kid, too. An easy baby. He smiles at me with his pink gums, and for a moment, it’s just me and him. And I forget for a moment.

  But when my abductor returns, all that is shattered.

  I scoop up Rush in my arms. I recognize the creature’s dirty car pulling up in the overgrown driveway and scramble to my feet, hobbling down the hall to hide. It’s the ugliest Volkswagen I’ve ever seen, with a missing headlight. It looks like it came straight from the junkyard. My chain rattles against the floor. I’d shut myself and my boy in the tiny hallway bathroom. They’d removed the lock but I’ve barricaded it with other things. I lean my back against the peeling wall, sweat staining my dirty T-shirt. I don’t make a sound.

  My abductor knocks on the door.

  I do not answer. There’s an impatient sigh, a shifting of feet. In the morning, when I am sure they are gone, I finally come out. I see that they have left me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on a tray, a glass of milk, and two large cookies. I dump them in the trash.

  Does this creature sleep? I have no idea. The house is as silent as my abductor is, and the stench of this place is so bad that it stings my eyes. I can’t tell if it’s coming from upstairs or downstairs. I think about Tom, who is below, his remains still lying in that cardboard box.

  I wonder what Player 099234 is doing at the moment.

  Honestly, I’m losing my mind. Maybe it’s the ever present smell of cigarettes, urine, and garbage. I don’t know. Some days, the figure stays with me in the house, but not without having me restrained to something. I can only go from the family room, kitchen, and the tiny bathroom. The chain stops just right at the foot of the basement, which is darker than the rest of the house, if that is even possible.

  I’ve tried everything, from pencils to utensils to break up the chain around my ankle, but it’s no use. Searching for the keys to unlock the shackle has proved fruitless, but I continue anyways. I look for possible hiding places in the holes in the walls, under the stained carpets and rugs, behind the dust covered television, everywhere.

  When the creature is here, I don’t put up a fight anymore. At least, I’m trying to convey to them that I’m slowly giving up. They keep giving me stuff I don’t want or care for, like books and clothes and board games. Brand new items from Burlington, that still have the price tags on them. I ignore them and let these gifts gather in a towering pile by the threadbare couch.

  My abductor managed to fix the TV, and they keep it on mostly for background noise. Neither of us watch it. I’ve memorized what time things come on. Magnum P.I, The Cosby Show, The Simpsons, Knight Rider, Different Strokes. They don’t seem to like sports.

  I’m too exhausted, and I hate how it notices that I’m allowing it to come closer and closer to me each and every day. I’m too worn out to head to the bathroom whenever they arrive in the house, so I just sit curled up on the couch. My broken arm is starting to heal beneath my cast, and it’s itching something fearsome. It’s so dark in this house. I need to see the sun. I miss the feel of fresh air on my face and hair. I miss the grass and trees.

  Send me back. I think. Why won’t you send me back to the game, already?

  The creature leaves at five in the morning. I then destroy the living room and kitchen each day, scattering everything across the floor. I throw a book against the window, causing it to shatter near the moldy curtains. Each morning I when I wake up, it’s back in its shabby order. So I do it again. The creature has been hiding its drawings, but I rip them to shreds until they are indistinguishable. At this point, I know they aren’t planning to kill me or stuff me in a cardboard box.

  Well, not yet. I am on borrowed time.

  But I need to find out what pushes their buttons. Clearly, the messes I’ve made barely faze them. But I continue, because I’m out of options at this point. I don’t expect the creature to give me an answer out of the blue.

  But they do.

  I’m feeding Rush one rainy morning, surrounded in the middle of the messy living room, positioning the warm bottle in his mouth. The stillness of the house is gradually lulling him to sleep. My darling boy has had a rough night, so I’ve stayed up with him. His eyes are halfway open, and I am softly humming to him. My mood is immediately spoiled when I spot the figure sitting at the foot of the stairs. Water leaks from the ceiling above, causing a puddle to spread outwards on a rotting floorboard. I can see two white dots, where the creature’s eyes are supposed to be. They are the only things visible in the pitch black. I shudder and begin to move.

  Shoot. It is seven thirty.

  When did they get home?

  I didn’t even hear them come in. Nor did I hear their car pull up. I didn’t hear the door open or close, either. I rub my eyes. Once Rush is finally asleep, I will make sure to barricade ourselves in the bathroom again. While I am at it, I’ll take a much needed nap.

  My arms tightens around my child, and I instinctively shield him away from the creature’s sickening glare. I always do this, and it knows I can’t stand being in the same room as it. I know it hurts my abductor, and I like that it does. But it should expect it. I do what I usually do. I put enough distance between us so that when the creature is home, we do not interact.

  The room spins.

  I stand up to go to the kitchen where I can feed Rush in peace. If I find any plates or glasses, they will be dashed upon the floor.

  Juno?

  My name flashes in front of me, like a text bubble. A startled shriek escapes from my mouth, and I stumble back, accidentally knocking over a small chair. It lands on the floor with a thud. It’s so dark here. I can’t see a thing. Not a thing. I am shaking. The room has disappeared. Where did the windows go?

  Hey, June Bug. My pretty girl.

  It’s not a voice. But it feels like one—a message bubble in the cartoons. I pinch myself. Maybe I am hallucinating. They’ve drugged me again. Somehow.

  Why do you keep doing this? Destroying our house? Why you doing this to me?

  I begin to feel around in the dark.

  Why?

  My chain is rattling against the floor. The silence is not really silence. There is a static sound flooding the background, washing through my ears. I hold Rush closer to me, his hair soft against my chin. I no longer hear the calm rain outside. The horrendous white text keeps appearing in front of my face, and I can’t bat it away, even though I try.

  You can’t ignore me forever.

  Oh, yes I can. I keep my eyes on the black abyss in front of me. I need to figure out the instructions to the game. It’s somewhere in this house, probably in one of the creature’s journals. I know they’re about to send me back to the system any moment, and I brace myself. But then I stop and ponder for a while. My mother’s voice echoes in my head.

  Everyone wants something, Juno.

  There is a hint of desperation. A footstep.

  Why won’t you just talk to me? It’s been so long. I can’t even say good morning to you?

  I shift uncomfortably on my chain. My son fusses as I bounce him up and down in my arms. I lightly pat his back to burp him. He sighs with relief as he begins to fall asleep against my shoulder. Immediately, I glance up. The figure is immensely closer than before, although all I can see in front of me is black. Below us, Tom Brunswick is in a box. He is rotting, head to toe, in a cardboard box.

  And it is all my fault. I must do this.

  I’ve tried to keep you comfortable here.

  Oh, how thoughtful of them. I roll my eyes as I feel a cold hand slowly linger around the base of my elbow. Heavy, slow breathing. They have come even closer, and they smell of cigarette smoke. A face, suddenly buried against my shoulder. Thick, woolen hair—too long for a man’s and too rough for a woman’s. As their arms wrap slowly wrap my waist, I stare ahead in the pitch black. Their heart beat is slow against my chest. Skin and flesh. It is not, nor will it ever be, like my own.

  You don’t have to fight me, June Bug.

  I fight the urge to slap them away.

  I won’t hurt you. You need to understand that. So there’s no need to break things.

  A dull pain has settled on the right side of my head. I adjust Rush in my arms. The figure’s cold fingers gently tilt my chin to face them.

  ”Can I go outside?” I quickly ask. “I need some air.”

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  Silence.

  I hold my breath. They seem thoughtful for a moment, before gesturing at my sleeping son. He places his thumb in his mouth. He is dressed in his frog printed onesie. My eyes faintly water as I observe his peaceful, calm face. We are getting out of here, I promise him. Sooner or later.

  Put Rush in his crib. I’ll open the front door for you.

  I grit my teeth, but reluctantly obey. I place a small kiss on my child’s forehead. Obviously, the creature knows that I wouldn’t leave here without Rush. The sound of the creaking hinges makes my heart palpitate. The fresh, glorious scent of rain is apparent, but I can hear the jingling of keys, the clanking of metal heavy against the floor. I bend down and massage my sore ankle, sighing with relief. I try to find out where my abductor has placed the keys, but it is too dark to see.

  It always is.

  When I step outside on the porch, puddles have formed around the burnt remains of my car. The water quickly seeps through my thin yellow dress as I walk barefoot across the scorched yard. I deeply exhale and close my eyes, sinking my fingers deep into the mud. The sky is gray, but just enough light so that I can see the figure’s frame leaning against the doorway. The keys and metal shackle dangle from one of its long arms. As the cold water seeps through my hair, I observe the creature. They seem quite unsure what to do with themselves, lingering in the shadow of their crumbling, pitch black house.

  I glance behind me at the empty muddy road. It lacks tire tracks—and there are only other abandoned neighboring houses that are in worse shape than this one. And it seems so easy, to just take off, doesn’t it? The temptation to just get up and run seems stronger than ever. But I know better at this point. They have a car; I no longer have one. I know that they are physically stronger than me. I know they are far more familiar with these woods than I could ever be. Most likely, they are testing me. I feel their eyes on me at all times.

  Thunder rumbles above.

  I make sure to take deep gulps of the fresh, strong air. Water trickles down my neck. I simply must wait at the right time; the right moment. There is a place for everything. My mother has always told me; that once people consistently receive what they truly want,

  that is when they are most vulnerable to deception.

  It’s the same way with my clients back in New York , with me being able to lure them on the streets. Once I had them wrapped around my finger, they were willing to do anything. Anything.

  I have to find out what this creature wants.

  * * * * * * * *

  ”What’s your name?” I ask the following evening. “You never told me, you know.”

  My voice is unrecognizable and shaky from the lack of using it for so long. It’s mostly dark, except with the exception of a few candles sitting on the nearby table. The figure remains hunched over by the stove in the shadows, digging into their plate piled high with food. They look slightly unnerved by the question, loudly setting down their fork.

  “You have a name, don’t you?”

  Nothing.

  We are having pancakes and sausages for dinner. The dreadful chain is back on my ankle, and I loosely swing my leg back and forth. I’m a bit hesitant to touch my own plate—I’ve been living off of potato chips and dried fruit, since I’ve been too afraid to try their cooking. Three large buttermilk pancakes and a large sausage with Cajun seasoning. They’ve been trying to get me to eat—and despite it smelling wonderful, I’m worried they may have slipped something inside of it.

  They’ve drugged my food before.

  “Who are you?” I ask.

  They lean against the wall, still chewing. Eyes fixated on me. Nothing.

  I reluctantly take a bite of my pancake.

  It’s soft and warm and fluffy, and despite me shaking I actually end up shoving the plate onto the floor. As I wipe my mouth, the figure dumps their dirty dish into the sink. It shatters into pieces, causing me to jump a great deal. They abruptly turn around, breathing heavily. I get to my feet, begin to run for the bathroom. I am too slow.

  The words flash across my face like fire. It’s like a shout, although I can’t hear a sound.

  You don’t appreciate anything I do.

  They destroy another plate, more shards flying across the air. As I trip over my chain, they rush towards me, abruptly grabbing me.

  I trip as I try to run away, but they catch me. All the food in my stomach is tossing and turning. I can’t help but scream, their ice cold fingers digging into my hands.

  * * * * * * *

  Good morning, my love.

  Morning. It’s such a wonderful day.

  You overslept, so I have breakfast waiting on the table for you. Scrambled eggs and grits. It must’ve been a rough shift for you last night.

  It was. I appreciate it. We were very busy at work. Boss gave me a promotion.

  That’s wonderful! I’m so proud of you!

  That…that means a lot.

  You’ve earned it. And I’m glad you’re off today.

  Say, you want to go outside for a walk? We can take our son to the park. There’s a pretty big playground there.

  Maybe. I’m down for it.

  Do you want to help me decorate his room?

  Hmmm. I’ve been thinking of painting the walls yellow. So it’s sort of like he’ll always have sunshine spilling into his room. Even on rainy days. That sounds a bit silly, I know.

  Not at all! Tell you what. I’ll run to the hardware store and pick up some samples. You tell me what you like, and we can go on from there. We’ve got to move his crib upstairs anyways. That’s going to be a job in itself. And with you at home with the baby all the time, you’ve got your hands full already.

  You see? That’s what I admire about you. You’re so dependable. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’m so lucky to be a part of this family.

  You’ll stay forever, won’t you?

  Huh?

  You’ll stay here forever. You won’t leave. You’ll stay forever and ever and ever and?????

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  MISSING FILE ERROR

  * * * * * * *

  I pick at my plate full of pancakes and sausage. It’s a lot of food for one person. I set down my fork. The figure is finishing their plate by the sink. They scrape up what else is remaining and gesture at me to keep eating.

  So I force myself to take a bite, chewing slowly. I’m prolonging this meal as much as possible. I really want to check on my son. He might need a diaper change. But before I can do so, the words float in front of me again.

  I have drawings in the attic.

  A shiver runs down my spine. My fork clatters against the plate. My pancakes have maple syrup on them. I don’t even like maple syrup.

  Why do I have maple syrup on my pancakes?

  Why am I eating pancakes at night?

  Want to see?

  I blink. The static white words hang in front of my face. They are embedded in my vision, and no matter how much I try to close my eyes, they always follow me.

  Want to see my drawings?

  The creature has more? I thought I destroyed at least the majority of them remaining in this house. At least, the ones that I can find. But my stomach twists and turns.

  I shake my head. “No, thank you.”

  But their hand is already pulling me up the steps, my chain rattling on each stair tread. It is a very long chain. By the time we reach the landing, I am shaking. I don’t like the attic. It’s pitch black. There is a cold wind coming through the space. I keep tugging away from their hands, but they are too strong. I see the ladder; the smell of death meeting my nose. Their grip tightens.

  “No!”

  My voice echoes across the tiny hallway, so much so that the figure loosens their grip for a moment. With what remaining strength, I shove them away and stumble down the stairs. I hear their footsteps follow me. My hand goes for one of the candles, and I abruptly hold it in front of me. They remain in the shadows just before the light hits their face. Strands of hair settles over my vision.

  ”Stay back,” I gasp. “I said no.”

  They slowly sit at the foot of the stairs, in the darkness. For a moment, they rest their arms on their lap. I clench the wax stump of the candle with both hands, which are shaking so bad I can barely hold it. My orange circle of light is a field they cannot cross. But they remain seated, although their eyes are on me. I can’t tell what color they are. They are just quietly observing me.

  The weak flame blows out, leaving us in the dark. My vision is blurry. I hear them stand. In the pitch black, I can make out a very faint whisper. So quiet, it barely meets my ears.

  ”Please.”

  No text. It is a whisper. Barely. I blink, surprised for a moment. It is barely a whisper.

  ”What…” I swallow hard. “What did you say?”

  Come here.

  ”No,” I weakly repeat, backing away from the words now floating in my vision. “I’m not going up there. You can’t make me.”

  In the dark, my hand feels around on the kitchen table. The handle of a knife. They don’t see this, I hope. I feel their fingers reach for my arm once more, and, with one swift motion, I drive the blade deep into their flesh. There is a stifled gasp, before a hand firmly wraps around my wrist. Something warm and hot is dripping down my sleeve.

  It is very red

  R e d

  If the disk stops on one disk mode, swap disks and press space! If the screen flashes then you must use side two of the destination disk.

  

  

  * * * * * *

  “You drew all of this?” I ask.

  We are sitting on the porch steps, eating popsicles. Mine is strawberry. It is partially melted. Rush is sleeping peacefully in my arms, with a fresh diaper change and a full bottle of milk. I pull down the paper wrapper of my popsicle as I flip through the pages, one by one. The strange characters on the pages make me laugh, for the first time in ages.

  “I really like these,” I say, even though my head is killing me. There are words floating above me, but I can’t read them. I don’t remember coming out here. The figure reaches into the cardboard box and pulls out another labeled notebook with Scotch tape. They place a hand on my shoulder. I quickly glance up at their darkened shape. It’s very, very tall.

  The pain in my head worsens. I yawn, begin to bounce Rush in my arms. “I think I’d better lie down,” I murmur. “I’m about to pass out.”

  I’m confused as they help me to my feet. With a guiding hand, they lead me through the hallway, my chain rattling against the ground. They take my son out of my arms, place him in the crib. I try to follow, but their palm gently wraps around mine. I settle down wearily on the sofa in the dark living room, feel their cold fingers gently stroke my hair. The act is so comforting that my eyelids droop, even though I can’t remember a thing.

  I can’t remember

  ??????o????u?????’?????r????ē???? ????n???????????? ????s???????p????p??????????s????e?????d???? ????t????o????

  * * * * * * *

  Player 099234’s bloodied form is impaled on a wooden pole in front of me.

  All of his teeth are visible through his open mouth, which collect flies.

  His muscles twitch.

  His eyes face the pixelated sky above.