Journey to The Maw: A Little Nightmare

Escaping The Transmission

The Thin Man sat still in his chair, limbs stiffly straightened. Ever since he had gotten stuck here, he had pondered why and how things had gone so wrong. There was nothing else to do, he told himself often, so what was the harm?

Every moment of every hour he spent reliving his life with his friend, Six. He had no idea what had happened to her after she disappeared behind a silver screen, and he often wondered this as well. Had she gone on to find some kind of normal? Did she get to someplace safe? He shivered, as he always did when this thought approached: had something caught up with her?

The Thin Man hoped she was still alive, wherever she was, and happy. It would be a tragedy for both of them to live on in misery. His eyes made their way down to his hand. Oh, how he hated the gangly figure of it's back— and yet, he always found himself glancing at it at some point or another.

Still staring at his decaying fingertips, something else caught his eye. Shifting his gaze, the Thin Man's stomach dropped. Sitting in the corner of the room was a little music box. It had a crank on its top and had a single eye drawn over its curved face.

The sight was alarming for many reasons, first and foremost because he had not seen it in the room before. Feelings he had been numbed to for the past years rose from his throat, and he let out an audible gasp.

The Thin Man wasn't sure wether or not he should move, but he wanted so badly to pick it up. He had never tried before to stand up out of his chair, but now he considered it. Why had he never tried to stand up? What had stopped him? At first, perhaps it had been a fear of what would happen, but now he could not care less.

Focusing hard on getting up, the Thin Man rose to an unholy height. Standing felt so very unnatural, and he was surprised that his muscles even allowed him to. If he had been any sort of normal person, they would have deteriorated into nothing, and this would not be possible.

Another realization struck him as he took a step forward. Nothing had happened to stop him from standing. Had he been able to this whole time? Or had the sudden presence of the music box made a difference?

The Thin Man bent over himself to grasp the little contraption, but he stopped before his hand even got close. Curled around the music box was a glitched remnant of Six. She wasn't playing with it, but she just sat around it, almost like she was keeping it safe.

He closed his eyes tightly, not wanting to look at her. No, at it. The Thin Man reminded himself sternly that it wasn't her. It was only a rippling shadow, simply reminding everyone who saw it of her previous existence here. That's all it is.

Refusing to look, he stretched his long hand back out to pick up the music box. The Thin Man opened his eyes slowly, relieved that the glitched remains had vanished. Raising the toy to his face, he tilted an ear towards it, and began to crank its top.

The sound that escaped from the slits on the music box's roof could not be mistaken— it was the same eerie yet beautiful tune that Six had been so lulled by. The Thin Man took it with him and sat back down on his chair.

It was quite a relaxing melody, now that he thought about it, and no sound could replicate the way it made him feel. So many emotions swarmed through his chest that he could not decipher which ones they were. He wished he could go back. He wished that he had been able to help Six, and that she had not dropped him.

Desire to leave this place filled the Thin Man as he began to hum along with the chiming notes. His voice was incredibly hoarse, and it cracked a myriad of times from disuse. Though his rumbling was off tune, humming made him feel ever closer to the times he missed so dreadfully.

His eyes shut slowly, nostalgic tears trickling down his rigid chin, and he began to doze off to sleep for the first time since he had been imprisoned here.

Moments after, he was jolted awake by displeasure. The music box had stopped playing. The Thin Man cranked it again, but no sound escapes aside from the clicking of the mechanics.

He turned it with more vigor, getting increasingly frustrated as it failed to work. This wasn't fair— the only thing that had brought him any form of comfort had ceased to function after a mere few seconds!

With a furious growl, he threw it at the stupid metal door before him. Worthless piece of junk. It collided with the grey eye placed on the top of the door, and the Thin Man sunk deeper into his seat. He kept on vocalizing to the song, even though it was no longer playing.

The walls seemed to slowly shift closer to him, and he grew gradually more claustrophobic. The Thin Man gripped his pants, balling his fingers into a fist. Once again he looked at his back of his ugly hands, shuddering.

The Thin Man stared up at the grey door, the eye engraved in its top staring right back into his. Suddenly, and idea struck him. He had never actually tried to open the door. The Thin Man huffed angrily. No way it would open. What kind of eternal prison would this be if he could just step out of it without a struggle?

Then again, if he had never tried, how could he know? He shook his head roughly, deciding it wasn't worth trying, but a voice somewhere in his head asked, Why not?

He stood abruptly, his fingers working in the air. After contemplating it a moment longer, the Thin Man approached the door with an outstretched arm.

Suddenly a burst of noise boomed from the door. The closer he got, the louder the ear-splitting frequency became. He swore he could feel his brain being pulverized, and he covered his ears with his hands.

The Thin Man considered turning back as his ears began to drip red. His heart raced as he pushed forward. Once he got to the door handle, he paused. He would have to remove a hand from his ear to open it, and yet, if he did he was sure his head would split open.

The music box at his feet began to play again, partially drowning out the whirring noises that seemed to be coming from the door. Beginning to hum with it once more, the Thin Man drew enough courage to pry his right hand off his ear and turn the door handle. The blood trickling from his ear freely flowed now, and he forced himself to not focus on the excruciating pain.

A mixture of fury and exasperated joy filled him as the door creaked open— fury because he had been stuck here for years and years and all along it had been this easy to leave, joy because now the pink light was fading behind him as he stepped into the same twisted blue hall that he had ran through many times before.

Hurriedly, he turned and grabbed up the music box from the room, and then turned to face the hall. The Thin Man heard the door slam shut behind him as he hesitated to move.

The strange echoey sound had ceased the moment the door closed behind him, and he didn't dare utter a sound amongst this new silence. His right ear was continuously ringing from the burst of noise, but the bleeding seemed to at least slow.

He began to walk, one lanky leg after another, the music box still tucked safely in the crook of his arm.

Heart pounding, the Thin Man picked up the pace. Though the hall was silent and still as ever, he could feel prying eyes as though he was being watched. His spine tingled as he found himself stopped at a blank, door-less wall.

This couldn't possibly be all that was here. Maybe that's why the door wasn't locked. He shoved the thought from his mind. There had to be a way out of The Transmission.

As The Thin Man's arm rose up and his fingers tickled the wall, it began to ripple, much like a television screen. He pulled his hand away in alarm, but then placed his hand back.

Hope filled him as it slid through the dead end as though it wasn't there. The wall moved in a familiar staticky style, and his fingers felt a cold breeze on the other side. He tightened his grip on the music box, keeping it firmly against his body. He began to smile as he breathed.

Inhaling one last time, the Thin Man stepped through the false wall, unsure of what he would find on the other side.