to think, to wonder: video games sometimes glitched and rendered impossible landscapes. Could his mind be doing the same? Or the world itself? Had he somehow slipped beyond the borders of reality?
Then those thoughts were washed away as fast as they arose, and only this reality mattered: that something horrible was coming for him.
Run, he told himself. Run and don’t look back.
But run where? Outside there was only emptiness, an unformed landscape stretching for a thousand miles. Were there colored hills beyond the bleached horizon? Or only emptiness and oblivion?
He turned in time to see Mister Skitters come crashing out of the hallway, shattering the doorframe and sliding sideways. He raced up the stairs, the creature leaping at his heels. He smelled rot and felt heat from the beast as it stumbled and tried to climb the hardwood steps. Its legs were unbalanced, unsure, and for every two steps it took up the wood stairs it lost one and swayed back.
A great crack echoed out as it stumbled into the banister, half snapping it. Then it leapt forward, a tremendous pounce that brought it to the landing and only a few feet behind Aiden.
Gweeeeee! it shrieked, putrid breath tainting the air. Gweeee!
Six furious steps brought him to the top of the stairs, the second floor and its separate bedrooms like an unrendered purgatory of colors and pure whites. At the end of the hall, the master bedroom where his father and Julie slept was a void of space; white walls and white furniture and white floors and white light. The other end the hall was dissolving, color bleeding out.
Only his bedroom held color, familiarity, and the suggestion of safety. He rushed down the hall, feet sliding on the hardwood floor as he threw the door open then slammed it shut and locked it.
He took in the room, the familiar surroundings, the posters and the bed. It was all the same as it'd been a half-day ago, all identical to how he remembered it.
Yes, he thought. It was exactly as he remembered it. Exactly. But he'd never been to the other parts of the house, never filled in the gaps in his mind. For all he knew they had always been white, unrendered, and empty.
The door rattled and shook as Mister Skitters crashed against it. Another terrible thud and the door grew a dozen cracks. Plaster cracked along the ceiling, little waterfalls filling the air with white dust. A third crack buckled the door, a broken bulge blooming out from the center, and from within it that arm flailed about, thrusting and tearing at the splintering wood. Beyond the cracks those horrible eyes, those abyssal pupils all focused on him. Beyond, teeth ground and gnashed.
For a moment, brief and beautiful and soothing, Aiden felt his sanity slip sideways and a giggle seemed to rise from within.
"Sometimes I wonder if our life's a big video game," Brian had once said. "And we get déjà-vu 'cause we've messed up and had to restart."
A game, he told himself. That's all it was. That's all it had ever been. Twelve years of life, twelve stages to the game he was in.
A game. And perhaps this was the final boss. Perhaps it had even been a three-player game but Brian and Freddie hadn't made it to the big battle. After all, Aiden had always been the best, but he never beat anything on the first try. And if that was the reality beneath it all, if that was the final layer, then perhaps all would be right in the end.
Perhaps he would get a retry, a do-over.
A continue.
Then the door shattered and with it went any idea of save points and continues. Perhaps the world was all a game or perhaps he had woken a true horror, but neither mattered in that moment. There was only this: the acrid stank of a tumor-covered horror, a dozen eyes, a hundred teeth, and the sheer desire to fight on. To put as much distance as he could between that thing and himself. To run to the ends of the Earth if he had to.
But there was no way out. It had the door, had broken through part of the wall even. There was
Then those thoughts were washed away as fast as they arose, and only this reality mattered: that something horrible was coming for him.
Run, he told himself. Run and don’t look back.
But run where? Outside there was only emptiness, an unformed landscape stretching for a thousand miles. Were there colored hills beyond the bleached horizon? Or only emptiness and oblivion?
He turned in time to see Mister Skitters come crashing out of the hallway, shattering the doorframe and sliding sideways. He raced up the stairs, the creature leaping at his heels. He smelled rot and felt heat from the beast as it stumbled and tried to climb the hardwood steps. Its legs were unbalanced, unsure, and for every two steps it took up the wood stairs it lost one and swayed back.
A great crack echoed out as it stumbled into the banister, half snapping it. Then it leapt forward, a tremendous pounce that brought it to the landing and only a few feet behind Aiden.
Gweeeeee! it shrieked, putrid breath tainting the air. Gweeee!
Six furious steps brought him to the top of the stairs, the second floor and its separate bedrooms like an unrendered purgatory of colors and pure whites. At the end of the hall, the master bedroom where his father and Julie slept was a void of space; white walls and white furniture and white floors and white light. The other end the hall was dissolving, color bleeding out.
Only his bedroom held color, familiarity, and the suggestion of safety. He rushed down the hall, feet sliding on the hardwood floor as he threw the door open then slammed it shut and locked it.
He took in the room, the familiar surroundings, the posters and the bed. It was all the same as it'd been a half-day ago, all identical to how he remembered it.
Yes, he thought. It was exactly as he remembered it. Exactly. But he'd never been to the other parts of the house, never filled in the gaps in his mind. For all he knew they had always been white, unrendered, and empty.
The door rattled and shook as Mister Skitters crashed against it. Another terrible thud and the door grew a dozen cracks. Plaster cracked along the ceiling, little waterfalls filling the air with white dust. A third crack buckled the door, a broken bulge blooming out from the center, and from within it that arm flailed about, thrusting and tearing at the splintering wood. Beyond the cracks those horrible eyes, those abyssal pupils all focused on him. Beyond, teeth ground and gnashed.
For a moment, brief and beautiful and soothing, Aiden felt his sanity slip sideways and a giggle seemed to rise from within.
"Sometimes I wonder if our life's a big video game," Brian had once said. "And we get déjà-vu 'cause we've messed up and had to restart."
A game, he told himself. That's all it was. That's all it had ever been. Twelve years of life, twelve stages to the game he was in.
A game. And perhaps this was the final boss. Perhaps it had even been a three-player game but Brian and Freddie hadn't made it to the big battle. After all, Aiden had always been the best, but he never beat anything on the first try. And if that was the reality beneath it all, if that was the final layer, then perhaps all would be right in the end.
Perhaps he would get a retry, a do-over.
A continue.
Then the door shattered and with it went any idea of save points and continues. Perhaps the world was all a game or perhaps he had woken a true horror, but neither mattered in that moment. There was only this: the acrid stank of a tumor-covered horror, a dozen eyes, a hundred teeth, and the sheer desire to fight on. To put as much distance as he could between that thing and himself. To run to the ends of the Earth if he had to.
But there was no way out. It had the door, had broken through part of the wall even. There was
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