The Far House

The Turret

I tried to focus on positive thoughts as the steep climb upwards continued. This was difficult, given her hideous presence lurked behind me. My shoulders brushed the walls as the space narrowed. 

I was also aware of the mans presence; they squabbled continually. I tried to glean clues as to their motives – but nothing, just angry bickering between them.

finally, I could climb no further as I hit a heavy wooden door. 

She reached over my shoulder, keys rattled by my ear as she thrust them into an old creaking lock. The exertion she used to push the door suggested it hadn't been opened for a long time. She pushed me forcefully forward, “Get in, may as well get used to it, it’s going to be home for a while – until we decide what to do with ya” she said, with a sinister snigger.

I felt a moments calm as the space relieved the claustrophobic panic caused by the narrow ascent. Then, I became acutely aware of the silence. Dear God, don’t let me go through this nightmare alone. I cried out for Ryan. But the gag was impenetrable. Silenced. Blinded. Frightened.

A shuffle. Not alone. Somebody's hands grappled at my face. Tugging. Pulling at the rags. They began to loosen. My tongue pushed. The rags fell to my lap. I inhaled great glugs of air. My mouth moistened. Relief. I found my voice, “Ryan, are you here, please say you're here?” Silence.

The hands at my face again. Tugging the blind-fold. My head fell instinctively forward, to allow the knot at the back be teased open. After time, it began to give. The preasure eased. It fell from my eyes. Still dark. 

As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I could make out his athletic shape – “Ryan. Thank God it’s you!”

Ryan turned his back to me; instinctively I turned my back to his, I knew what had to be done. My hands, although clasped tight behind me, worked with a deft and desperate speed, fuelled by my urge for freedom. 

It took some time, but I did it. Ryan's free hands flew at his face, releasing his blind-fold within minutes.

A third person shuffled in the dark space, struggling to free themselves of their binds. I worked on the gag, Ryan the blind-fold. When the gag fell, the familiar lapping sound was followed by an angry voice – “What the feck’s going on here?” Ryan and I looked at each other, stunned. It was Dawna.

Once her hands were free, she ran them through her hair, then took a compact mirror from her skirt pocket and applied lip gloss. Once finished, she looked at me with angry eyes, "I can't believe this Paula Jane! It's Glee night tonight, the Britney episode; I've got the girls coming round to watch it – if this is one of your weird jokes, it's not funny. Now, open that door, I want out of here," she said, while checking  her face again.  

My head reeled with a mix of anger and confusion, "Well, do you see me laughing Dawna?" I shot back. Needing answers, I cut to the chase,  "How'd you get here?" She looked sheepish, but fessed up, “I followed Ryan when he left school, wanted to see what you two were getting up too. It’s all round school that you’s got caught doing IT in a field,” she said. Typical Dawna, focus on gossip rather than situation. "I lost him on that old lane. I was on my way back to school when someone jumped me from behind. I'm telling you, when I get my hands on whoever walloped me, they'll be sorry." 

Dawna sat on an old chest that rested against the wall while Ryan and I filled her in on what we knew. She fiddled with her hair, only half listening. Ryan looked at her, incredulous, "Hey Dawna, come on, we’re not going to no party you know. We're in a serious situation here." She stood up and dismissively smoothed her skirt, "Don't be so dramatic Ryan. This is small town Craghan, not California. If anyone's in trouble, it'll be that old bitch and her handy man who put us here." Her face suddenly lit up, "I can't wait to tell everybody about this in school tomorrow – hey, we could embellish it Paula Jane, say they tortured us and all that – we might get in the papers and the news – fame at last," she said, while checking for her phone. Her face dropped, "My phone – where's my phone?"

Dawna's phone was her life, the route to her fawning fans/friends, her portal to potential celebrity, "I took loads of hot modeling shots on it last night, I need my phone back!" she screamed, while pounding the door, "Let us out NOW!” 

Nobody replied. Dawna turned to me, a look of abject panic in her eyes, "Paula Jane, they will let us out in time for Glee – won't they?" I smiled, gave her a hug, and said, "I hope so Dawna, I hope so," that was the only real reassurance I could give her.

The old boot and her side-kick had also relieved Ryan and I of our phones. We were phoneless.

We surveyed our prison. A small hexagonal space with a high ceiling, a window sat about two meters above us. It was unfurnished, except for the small chest that rested neatly against one wall. "We're in one of the turrets of the Grogan's fairytale house," I said to Ryan.

Dawna started banging on the door again, "Hey, let us out, you mad pair of psycho's!" Ryan grabbed her fists, "Exactly Dawna, you get it – Psycho's – that's potentially what we're dealing with here, and I'm not being dramatic, I'm being realistic." He looked at us both, then focused on Dawna; he spoke to her with a calm rationale, "Me and PJ have stumbled on something here, not just the Grogan's, they're innocents." He looked up at the window, "It's something that couple have been doing here, something they don't want exposed. Bad people do bad things to hide their wrong-doing, that's the worry." He looked at me and smiled, "But, whatever it is they’re doing, we aint gonna be no victims, so let's figure out how to get outta here." Ryan’s positivity buoyed me.

......

I took off my shoes and with Dawna's help climbed onto Ryan's shoulders while he crouched on the floor. Slowly he rose until my hands grasped the indent of the window. "Is she too heavy for you Ryan? Maybe it would be best if I swapped with her, you know, being more petite might make it easier on you," whispered Dawna. Ryan ignored her, "Take your time PJ, just let us know if you see anything that could be a route out." 

What I did see, didn't encourage me; in fact, it chilled me to the bone. 

I hauled myself up onto my elbows to take a little preasure off Ryan's shoulders, and to be certain of what I saw. Dawna interrupted my viewing, "Hey Paula Jane, are they your grannies knickers you're wearing? They're passion killers for sure," she said, with a pathetic giggle. A surge of anger flooded me. "Dawna, cop yourself on and get real. Quit looking up my skirt and take a good look around you." I looked down at Ryan, "You can let me down now."

I struggled to remain calm, my anger towards Dawna gave me focus. Once down, I confronted her, "So Dawna, tell me, what do you see?" She scanned the space, "Nothing, we're locked in a small round room, or am I missing something?"

"Yep, you're missing the gravity of this situation..." ...Ryan interrupted, "Calm PJ, getting angry won't do us any good," he said, caressing my shoulder. He looked me in the eye, "What did you see out there PJ?" I took a deep breath – "OK, it's not looking good. That woman's charging round the grounds of the house giving orders to the man – I think he's dousing the whole place in petrol."

Ryan looked up at the window, a desperate urge for escape in his eyes, "Shoot, she said they'd make it look like an accident when they were bringing us here. The amount of wood in this place – It's a fire hazard anyways – the place will go up in a flash. We need to get outta here – fast!"