Demon's House

You're Kidding

I realized for the first time I hadn't seen any identical doors save for the plethora leaving that room.

"There's no way." I threw the door open and found myself back in the famed room of temptation. "No. No, that didn't just happen." With a confident step forward, I waited for the room to be an illusion and melt away. But nothing happened. The room was still intact, just as I'd left it. "No." My brain's attempt at preserving sanity wasn't having it.

I walked back through my latest door and started back down the corridor. Maybe I'd taken a weird turn or missed an important one. My eyes scanned every inch of the wall as I marched along angrily. There had to be something in this hallway. It couldn't just-

My foot tripped up on a threshold. Looking up, I saw that I was, in fact, back in the kink room. Anger and numb denial had a small war in my heart. It was impossible for all of these to just go in some weird circle without at least intersecting. They didn't even seem to turn or arch. I could've sworn that hallway was completely straight. Surely the other doors lead somewhere.

After deciding I had just picked a bad door, I walked over to the one across the room from me. I made sure all the doors previously ruled out were still opened and added another door to the count. This hallway was the sterile white. The slight difference gave me hope, and I marched along. Hugging my arms around myself, I realized it was starting to get cold. I looked up, where I imagined the sky was - there was no telling in this hell hole. "Is it already sunset?" Band practice was definitely over. Someone had to of noticed my truck still in the parking lot, and if not, I didn't have any family waiting for me to realize I wasn't home. Even though I made such a point of being punctual since getting my license, I didn't even have a partner to perhaps surprise visit me and become suspicious. I'm gay, and I don't even know any other gay boys - or men, for that matter - in this small, bible-belt town. Have I been reported missing? Was I fated to join those missing posters on the wall of the Walmart lobby that everyone avoids looking at?

I sharply sucked in a breath and tried to left it out slow. "Whatever happened to being so determined to escape?" My voice sounded small and pitiful. The stare I gave the dark door in front of me likely resembled it; it was identical to the kink room doors. Slowly turning the cool knob, I stared dejectedly at the middle room. I was back again.

"No. No! This can't be real!" I stomped into the room, and it stayed as it was. Not an illusion. Or maybe everything was an illusion now. Maybe I was lying passed out in that bedroom, and this was all fake. As my eyes scanned the room frantically, I realized this door came out by the knife pillow. They always say if you pinch yourself...

My hand darted for the knife so hurriedly, I knocked the pillow over. The knives spilled onto the carpet, and a small noise of frustration, possibly fueled by insanity, bubbled out of my throat. I dropped onto my knees and grabbed the knife that landed closest to me. It was fairly large, but I was convinced I wouldn't be able to feel any pain. This was the only thing that made sense. I was gonna try to cut my arm, and it wasn't going to do anything. It would just wake me up on that big, comfy bed, fully rested and sane. Or even on the floor; I'd take what I could get. Then I would be able to efficiently find an exit, go back to the school, get my truck, and go home. To my dark, lonely home. Trick or treaters don't go through where I live off a small country highway, so I would be completely at peace, alone in the two story house I'd been left by my mom before she moved across the country.

It'd been a while since I'd let out my emotions through self-harm. This would probably be good for me even if it didn't work. I rolled up my hoodie sleeve and held the cold blade to my skin and took a deep, grounding breath. Pressing the sharp side down into my skin, it took a moment for me to realize I could feel the sting. Another moment later, and I was dropping the knife, with a quiet thud, back to the carpet. This wasn't a dream. Unless it was a more sophisticated illusion than that room, this was real. And I was still trapped.

It seemed I was too exhausted, emotionally and physically, for anger to come to me. I walked back to the original door, set off from the others, and turned to scan the room once more. I'd never taken the time to count, but there were only five doors, six if you counted the staircase door. The other doors were in pairs. This one was alone, and it was the one across from the original door. Either it was the way out or it led back to the stairs. There had to be something there; an adjacent hallway, some kind of intersection between the already discovered ones, a room...

My brain suddenly blanked. There was something in the room I knew for a fact hadn't been there before. On the leather padded "table" in the center of the room, there was what appeared to be a yellow sticky note. Calm curiosity consumed me, and I walked over to it slowly. Tilting my head to the side like a confused puppy, I reached out to touch the note. I didn't intend to pick it up, but I felt the need to gently almost caress it as I analyzed the handwriting that could only be described as neat and masculine.

All roads lead home.