The Room
“Not at first,
it liked the hot weather, and how it made us act,” Milo said. Thinking about
the unchecked sun made the sterile box of a room seem oven-like for just a rare
second.
“How often?”
Scott said.
“We tried to
keep track at first when we realized we wouldn’t be going anywhere. It tricked
us pretty easily at the beginning, but we figured out the more unpredictable we
were, the more predictable it was,” Milo said.
“The Phantom?”
“Who else Scott? Don’t make me repeat it,” Milo said.
“Who decided to
call it that anyways? Especially if you don’t want referring to it,” Scott
said, pretending to scribble some notes. Whenever Milo would show a little
frustration he’d mark his memo pad. When their interview was over, he’d count
the amount of times Milo had collided with his own emotions. He’d refer it back
to the material of Milo’s instigation, and try and build some pattern out of
it.
“What?” Milo
said.
“Who decided to
name it that?”
“Oh, I don’t
remember, it was just sort of the name we adopted. Conversations run together
after that long amount of time, only certain acts sort of spring out to me.”
“Certain acts,
like moments of violence?” Scott said. He wanted to skip ahead, past the
moments of wandering the woods and looking for a way out. They had hundreds of
years to cover within the woods, but, they had only fifty minutes to evaluate
these centuries in their claustrophobic tin box. The table kept on getting
bigger and wider, a mahogany sea pulled wide by the intensity of their
conversation. Scott had to keep pressing him about the disturbing details
within the woods. He had to play Milo like the time lapse was real, even
though, Scott didn't believe Milo quite yet. The watered trembles of Milo’s
eyes as he recited these little tidbits were convincing though. They were
melting away at Scott’s analytical core like a corrosive salt-tear acid.
Milo didn't say
anything for a few seconds after Scott’s last sentence. The room had become
narrower to Milo, and the looking glass behind him had grown into a square
black eye. Just fifty more minutes till he’d be free to return to his family.
The press would get wind of his story and they’d be swarmed by oblong bobbing
towers of cameras and reporters. The FBI said they wouldn’t release his story
to the press, but he knew something this wild and dark couldn’t be kept a
secret.
“How about
discoveries?” Scott said, breaking the
silence and the growling motor of a distant furnace.
“Discoveries?
What do you mean?” Milo said.
“You know, you
sound like you sort of understood the situation you were in, what kind of
discoveries did you guys make to give you even a little closure?”
“Closure? There
was no such thing, Scott. We got vague and abstract answers, and our
imagination filled in the rest.”
“Then fill me in
those Milo, if you have vague answers then I have vague questions. What was the
phantom using to make all these nightmares for you poor kids?”
Milo set his
thin face on his right hand like a drunk at a bar. The kindness at the end of
Scott’s question made him only say one word.
“A machine,”
Milo said.
“What?” Scott
said.
“I think it used
a machine.”
The Woods
Milo had pointed
out the dark shape of the machine what seemed like hours earlier. Now, they’d
sprinted through the narrow green breaks of the forest. They all knew time had
passed between each charge. Melissa and Milo had slept between their runs,
resting their dirt-pounding feet and slashed skin against the soft breezes of
the endless forest. Ron continued chasing the oblong shape, which was sitting like a lost
barge one green ocean away. He’d sprint until his feet didn’t feel like they
were below his knees. He’d sprint until the forest looked like a cracked trail
of broken twig and branch, but the woods would never stay wounded for long,
and would revive itself in subtle glows of white fog. Sometimes, if the kids
had cared about how the forest had worked, they’d see the thin lines of pearl
faces in these healing clouds.
They weren’t
that observant yet.
They knew the
machine was there and in the forest. It would appear behind them, in front of,
or even what seemed like above, attached to the high limbs of the sky-blocking
trees. Ron even tried to climb a few trees with his bloody fingers, but they’d
shake him loose like an angry water buffalo. Ron wouldn’t stop any of his
physical movements no matter how much Melissa screamed at him, and how much
Milo begged. Ron was completely slashed to pieces. His white skin was nearly
non-existent. Only his eyes retained any hope in comparison to his frame. He
eventually stopped chasing the monstrous block of a shadow. He didn’t stop out
of exhaustion, but only because he sensed that the machine wanted him to chase
it.
“It wants us to
chase it. Look, I see it right there like it can hear me,” Ron said. They were
all sitting close to the sealed entrance they’d come in through before being
trapped. The island and ring of swamp water was to their right, and the plants
glowed around the inky strips of the bog like little narrow flames. The brick like
outline of the machine was just beyond them up the path where Milo had
originally noticed it. Melissa was sleeping in the sunlight, and Milo was
starting at the island.
“Yeah, we
figured that out a long time ago Ron, that’s why we stopped,” Milo laughed. He
was getting tired of his ignorant friend.
“Well, you guys
never said anything to me,” Ron said.
“Yeah, yeah, we
did. You don’t listen to anyone Ron. Now, you look terrible. You should go back
in the water and wash yourself off,” Milo said, with a sneer.
“I’m not going
back in there. I’m not going in the water ever again,” Ron said.
“Okay, well, we
need to figure out food and water, and stop trying to get out,” Milo said.
“I’m not hungry,”
Ron said.
“Well, you will
be. Besides, I’ve got an idea on how to get out of here,” Milo said, pulling
together a pile of broken branches on the path.
“Oh, how is
that? You've finally got an idea?” Ron said.
Milo banged a
couple of sticks together to get their weight.
“Yeah, we’ll
build a fire.”
