Brief intro here: I really liked how these characters began to write themselves over time (I'd never make a Helen Keller crack of my own accord). This is one of the concepts I'm planning to expand on, hopefully to the realm of novella at the very least. Please let me know what you think if you survive the daunting length without pretty image breaks.
Walking to class every day, Dave, Justin, and Stan never seemed to notice the towering figure of a dilapidated elementary school. Tonight however, the blackened brick and boarded windows mark the trios final destination. The three college seniors enter the condemned grounds, approaching the tall wooden doors behind the outline of a woman.
“Hello, ma’am,” The red-headed Stan says politely to the tall, thin figure of the woman. She stares at them through large sunglasses in spite of the pitch dark night around them, tight blond curls bounce around her. She responds immediately with an outstretched hand.
“Uh,” Justin, tallest and most handsome of the boys with dark black hair and brilliant green eyes, mutters. “Lookin’ for these?” he adds, handing her three invitations. “Can we call you somethin’, or is that not your style?” he smirks, adjusting his collar to guard against the crisp Fall wind.
“As the invitations you’ve received state, I am G.M.” she finally says in a sultry voice that makes Justin’s hair stand on end. “You know why you’re here, yes?” she inquires, producing 3 new pieces of paper on clipboards for each of them.
“Of course we do,” Dave of average height and tough build, lies. None of them had actually taken the time to read the whole invitation. Two lines did stand out to each of them, though. “Contest,” and “Cash reward.” A chance to prove themselves against one another is always in their interest, cash is a bonus.
“Good, then you don’t mind signing these waivers,” G.M. states. She hands them the clip boards for each to read. They sign quickly, barely glancing at the words on the paper.
“As stated in your invitations, this is a contest that will utilize each of your unique skills. You’ve been selected based on your academic performances, as well as your close relationship to one another,” G.M. begins. “My employer has watched you for some time, and hopes you will do well in these tasks.”
Justin and Dave are mesmerized by the way her ruby red lips move when she speaks. Stan is more interested in watching her breathing sway up and down in her tight fitting dress suit coat.
“So, what do you want us to do, exactly?” Justin asks after realizing G.M. has stopped speaking. “What kinda contest?” He adds, trying to sound competent.
“Yea,” Dave and Stan echo. Stan slouches awkwardly, adjusting his glasses as soon as he realizes where he’s staring. Dave continues to stare at her perfect lipstick, snapping back to reality as a closed fist hit his shoulder.
“It’s simple. You’re to survive for 36 hours, completing tasks as they’re given to you via P.A. system from inside the school. All of the necessary accommodations are there for you, but,” she lowers her head as though to scold them with her posture, “You already knew that.”
“Er, right. So what now?” Dave asks, absently rubbing his shoulder where Justin struck him out of his daydream.
“Now, you follow me. The guards will check the doors once you’re settled in,” G.M. turns on her heel, opening the doors with one powerful thrust. Her body is strong, her posture authoritative. Justin, Dave, and Stan all follow, trying to keep from staring at her powerful yet graceful sway.
G.M. bows her head slightly before giving her final instruction, “You have one hour to orient yourselves. After that, your first set of instruction will be delivered.” She peers at them through her dark glasses, “Good luck to each of you, I look forward to shaking hands with the winner on Sunday.”
Justin and Dave look at each other confidently while Stan stares at the floor. With a long creaking moan, the doors close. They can hear chains being pulled through the handles outside. They couldn’t seem to do anything but stare at the doors.
“Well, that wasn’t creepy at all. Why didn’t she turn the lights on?” Justin says, breaking the silence.
“I dunno,” Dave replies, “Stan-my-man, go find a light switch,” he orders.
“Who put you in charge?” Stan asks indignantly, trying to hide his discomfort with the dark surroundings. “I have no idea where the damned light switch is, you find it,” he retorts.
“Geez wusses, I’ll do it,” Justin scoffs. The others barely make out Justin’s form, arms stretched in front of him. Dave shrugs, heading the opposite direction. Stan gropes the walls next to the main doors.
“Got ‘em!” Dave shouts through the dark. As he hits the switch, old fluorescent hanging lamps begin humming to life. Some of the bulbs pop and burn out, while others flicker at their brightest.
The hallway is long and narrow. Stan stares principals office directly in front of him, chains holding the ornate door closed. Dave, off to the left is in front of a large arched wall with a small square door in the middle. Justin, on the opposite side of the hall finds a few barred windows.
“That’s weird,” Justin says, gesturing for the others to join him. “Look’it this. These bars are on the inside of that already-boarded window.”
Stan shifts uneasily. “That’s kinda weird, too,” he says, nodding to the chains over the principals office door.
“Okay, we’ve got an hour, right? Let’s see which doors in this place open and which don’t,” Dave suggests.
“Hold on a sec!” Justin demands, “We don’t have any idea what we’re gonna find. We should stick together, just in case. I’d also like to see where we’re supposed to be sleeping, too,” Stan nods his agreement quickly, following Dave and Justin through the small arched door.
As the trio enter a second hallway, they notice the air is very heavy and stale. Dust, dirt, broken blackboards and pieces of wood are scattered around the floor. Dave hits the switches on the archway. The lights play the same game as they had before, buzzing and crackling to life before pathetically illuminating the hall.
“Now, isn’t this cozy?” Justin jokes, kicking a pile of debris out of his way. A cloud of dust rises into the air, “So fresh, too.” Dave snorts in amusement at Justin. Stan, on the other hand, covers his mouth and nose, coughing violently.
“Dude, what’s your issue Stanny?” Justin asks, not in the most concerned or caring of voices.
“My asthma, dick! You kicked up all that dust and stuff, I could die in here!” Stan begins hyperventilating while complaining. “There aren’t any windows, or anything for fresh air. This sucks!” He continues to protest. Dave and Justin ignore him, making unflattering faces at one another to mock Stan.
“Four possible bedrooms in the form of classrooms,” Dave observes aloud. “I think we can split up from here and check around. Maybe we can crack a window for captain geek over there, too,” Dave chuckles to himself before approaching the first door.
“Okay, this one has a busted handle, and I think some shit is piled up on the other side. Door one won’t budge,” Dave confirms, moving on to the second door. Stan takes the door on the immediate right, while Justin explores the far room.
So far, no beds, food, or water for anyone. Each of these rooms is dark with just as much debris as the hallway. “I haven’t smelt anything so stale since laundry day,” Justin tells himself, hoping to hear a chuckle. “Ah, well,” he mutters before heading back to the hallway.
“Nothin,” Justin reports. “Same,” Dave confirms. Stan just nods. They trek up the stairway at the far end of the hallway. The stairway is in worse disrepair than the hallway or any of the first floor rooms. Tiles, part of the banister on either side, and all of the lights are broken.
“Hazardous, yet spacious,” Justin says with a wide gesture advertising the size of the stairwell. They make their way carefully up the stairs, through another set of double doors. After finding a light switch covered in cobwebs, the second floor is dimly lit.
Stan had a sudden burst of energy as he feels a draft down the hall. “I got the far-end down there,” he announces before jogging to the furthest door, tripping over debris along the way. When he opens the door, he immediately inhales the breeze coming from a small crack in the window. This one wasn’t fully boarded like the others, though the bars were still firmly in place.
Examining this room by limited moonlight he notices three very dusty cots, and a loaf of bread. He takes the opportunity to claim the cot closest to the window, tossing his jacket on it.
“Hey guys, I got something,” Stan shouts. The walls carry his voice through the whole building. Both of his companions emerge from dark rooms, excited for any discovery.
“Nice find, Stan-man,” Justin exclaims, giving Stan a hearty slap on the back. Dave and Justin toss their jackets on their cots, and sit to await instructions. The hour passes slowly while theories of their contest are bounced between them, each more ridiculous than the last.
At seven P.M. sharp the P.A. system crackles to life, and the lights in the hallways go out. The voice of the mysterious G.M. begins to speak. “As your first task, you are to find three pieces of yellow paper. There is a single flashlight somewhere on the second floor, which you may use in your search.” she clears her throat, “You have until midnight to find these papers. Read them carefully. Good luck,” she finishes, the speaker system fades once more.
“Uh, Okay. Should we split up to find the flashlight? I mean, we can totally hear each other no matter where we end up,” Dave suggests, “a flashlight is pretty much necessary.”
“Yea, good idea,” Justin chimes in, looking to Stan who simply nods his agreement.
The group searches the second floor, feeling around in the dark for anything that could possibly resemble a flashlight. Once they find it, they regroup to search the first and third floors for the pieces of yellow paper. They spend hours searching filthy classrooms, digging through debris and trying to pry open jammed doors. By the time they find all three papers, they’re sweaty and tired from effort. Chalk dust and dirt sticks to their sweaty skin, making them feel itchy.
They bring all three pieces of paper together in their designated classroom, examining the documents with the dim flashlight. Justin chuckles, “Wait a minute, this is like the letter I got yesterday,” showing the group the first piece of paper. Dave notices the second piece of paper is a replica of the one they just signed.
“What the hell?” Dave mutters, “You read these, braniac,” he says, shoving the papers toward Stan as they all sat on the floor in a circle. Just as they begin to examine the papers, the P.A. system crackles to life again. This time they’re addressed by the distorted voice of an unknown man.
“Good evening, gentlemen. By now you should have found the objects of your first task: a flashlight, and three pieces of paper. You may recognize these sheets of paper. The first is the invitation letter you received, sent by our associate designated ‘G.M.’ The second is the waiver and stipulation for your stay here. The third and the most important, contains the instructions for the remainder of your stay,” the voice explains evenly.
“As we have stated, this is a contest. However, it is not a standard contest of strength or wit. This contest is that of willpower and decision making. As the paper in front of you states, you are to select one among your group to be sacrificed,” the voice pauses, allowing the words to be absorbed fully. “You will have until Sunday at 6 P.M. to decide which one of you shall die. The two remaining group members will receive the prize money as promised, ten-thousand dollars cash.”
The boys begin shifting, squinting at the papers in front of them. “What is this, a joke?” Dave asks. Justin’s eyes widen to respond, though the mans voice from the P.A. system interrupts them.
“There are, however, rules for contest. Rule one, you are not to take the action of murder upon yourselves, or all of your lives will be forfeit. Rule two, if you do not complete this contest by the alloted time, all of your lives are forfeit,” the voice explains.
All of them turn a sickly shade of green. “This is probably some reality show gimmick,” Justin tries to joke, though the choking in his voice is obvious. “Maybe tomorrow we’ll find out this is part of the test,” he suggests before being interrupted by the speakers a final time.
“Gentleman, make your decision using any means necessary. However, keep in mind the rules, clearly stated on the documents in front of you. Good luck,” the system shuts down.
All three of them sit silently for several minutes before Stan asks, “What’ve we done?”
“This has to be a joke,” Justin assures them, “you’ll see.” The three lie in their cots, pretending to sleep. They spend restless hours in the dark evaluating their situation silently until the sun pierces the dusty classroom.
“What time is it?” Dave asks without looking at his own watch, slightly delirious from a restless night.
“Seven A.M.,” Stan responds solemnly, picking up the bag of bread. “What do we do, now?” He asks, taking a bite out of the stale bread.
“We read this shit,” Dave states, picking up the papers, “and try to figure out if this is real, or a joke.”
“Of course it’s a joke. Stuff like this doesn’t really happen,” Justin says as lightly as he can. “Last year I took this class where we learned how to write Reality shows,” he explains.
“But,” Dave interrupts, “If you write them, how are they real?”
“Well, you do like this,” Justin suggests. “You trick people, get ‘em to sign stuff and film it. Producers pay all kindsa money for that low-budget stuff.”
“That’s fucked up,” Dave states firmly. “Let’s just read this stuff and see for ourselves.” He reads the first page intently, then passes it on. Each of them read all three pages repeatedly, unable to find a loophole, or any phrase that suggest this could be anything other than what the man over the P.A. system explained. Their vision blurs after hours of reading.
By noon, they were all staring at each other, unsure what exactly to think about the situation. None of them had slept so their minds were drifting in and out of rational thought.
“We need water,” Dave suggests randomly, standing quickly and walking in strides fast enough to suggest he just wants to get away from his friends. “There’s gotta be a fountain or somethin’ with water.” He fakes a cough before escaping the classroom.
Justin and Stan were left staring at each other. Justin tries to break the silence by asking “What do you think of this?” casually. Stan doesn’t answer. Instead, he displays catatonic traits, barely moving and certainly not speaking.
“What is this?” Justin demands, “The silent treatment?” He moves closer to Stan’s personal space, hoping to eliciting a reaction. “C’mon, Stan-man,” he says, unable find anything to add. The two sit in silence for what seems like hours in a hungry daze before Justin decides to explore more of the building while some daylight is creeping through the boarded windows. He hopes for some other solution to their challenge to present itself by going through some of the stale classrooms alone. He doesn’t find one.
Dave, on the other hand, locates water. Unfortunately, the only running water is in a bathroom sink on the third floor and it’s not exactly clean. When he turns the handle, rusty red water sputters out of the faucet in uneven spurts. “Gross,” he comments before dipping his head into the sink for an unfulfilling drink.
Dave uses the remaining daylight hours to explore the rest of the third floor. He scours the library in case the few books left on the shelf were deliberately placed as clues, or any of the high windows hold an escape route. His stomach growls as he scans the shelves, as though it is hopeful for a ham sandwich left for him. He feels helpless and lost. What’s worse, is he feels for the first time in his life that he is alone, turned against his best friends.
After the remnants of sunlight fade, they find themselves back in the same classroom, left in an awkward position by the contracts they signed. They are only able to see one another by dim flashlight. “One flashlight, one room with a single tiny window for daylight. It’s like we have to stay with each other,” Dave realizes.
“Maybe, we can just escape,” Justin suggests, finally accepting the situation as it is. “Maybe, a cop will be lenient on us when these dudes say we broke that contract. We can tell them that psycho woman confused us, or seduced us!”
“Right, we’ll just squeeze through the bars on any of the busted ass windows, or break down the solid front door,” Dave sarcastically replies, annoyed from hunger and the rusty taste in his mouth. “What about him, why isn’t he talking anymore?” Dave asks, pointing to Stan.
“I dunno, he just stopped talking after we read that stuff this morning. He won’t say why or nothin’” Justin answers, shrugging. “Maybe we should just feed them Helen Keller over there,” Justin suggests, gesturing at Stan.
“That’s not funny, Justin,” Dave says sternly, watching Stan’s face contort as though he is trying to respond. “What if we just gave ‘em you, then we could all go home and forget this,” Dave glares at Justin.
“I was joking, man. Chill,” Justin holds up his hands defensively. “What do you think we should be doing then, since you’re taking charge anyway?” he replies with sharp poison in his words.
“What do I think? I think I’m gonna read the instructions next time,” Dave replies, “And, I’m going to sleep, it’s like one in the morning. I got a headache,” He shrugs before shutting off the dim flashlight.
“Right, boss,” Justin says louder than necessary. “Or, how about this. We figure this shit out right now so I can go sleep in my own damned bed,” He says, standing up quickly. His harsh movements flip over his cot, spreading dust through the air.
Stan starts coughing, but doesn’t protest. Justin flips the flashlight on again, shining directly in Dave’s eyes.
“Is that a tough request? Why don’t we just draw straws or something? Flip a coin,” Justin suggests several seemingly fair alternatives to simply deciding one of his friends should be killed by the mob, or whoever his tired mind deems responsible for their predicament at the moment. Physical and mental exhaustion take their toll on them, each becoming less coherent as time passes, aided by the stale air and clammy skin.
“Because that’s stupid. You can’t leave something like that up to chance. But, I guess you’re cool with that since you got all the luck out of any us, huh?” Dave snaps, inviting an attack with his open arms.
“Hey, you’re the lucky one, fatass,” Justin quickly retorts, “My sister said you sucked in bed that time you got ‘lucky,’ by the way. Why do you think she didn’t call?” He takes a step toward Dave, shuffling more dust around.
“Ya know what? This is stupid, I want to sleep, and unlike your princess self, I don’t care where I am,” Dave taunts, laying on his cot with his back to the flashlight and Justin’s harsh attacks.
“Whatever,” Justin snaps, allowing his own fatigue to get the best of him. He shuts off the flashlight after righting his cot. The anxious trio spends hours lying in bed, staring at flecks of dust that catch the moonlight through the broken window, still unable to sleep. The crisp Fall air trickles in, piercing the cots thin fabric.
Dave has the most trouble staying still when the breeze cuts through his thin tee-shirt until he finally decides to pace the hallway away from the cold. His mind races, trying to sort the details of their situation to find a viable solution that wouldn’t ruin their lives. His efforts however, are in vain as hunger, fatigue, and thirst distracted his thoughts.
Justin stays in the room half-awake, but his mind is also busy. Though, his thoughts were even less helpful than Dave’s. Justin spent the dark hours of the morning brooding over every injustice either of his friends had done him since they were children.
Stan’s body shakes with terror as he imagines how easily he’ll be chosen as the contests sacrifice. He reminds himself that he’s the weakest, slowest, and most pathetic of the group. In the dark corner, he’s crying.
As the sun begins to rise, Justin sits up. “Hey fag, did you sleep at all?” Justin asks Stan, “What time is it?” He waits a few minutes for a reply. His head is pounding, frustration dictating his reaction.
“Okay, what is this shit? Why aren’t you talking to us no more?” He demands. The noise could be heard in the hallway, but Dave doesn’t return. Justin decides to make Stan react.
“Ya know, I had a dog once. The bitch wouldn’t stop barking. We finally had to beat her to silence,” Justin explains, standing from his cot. “Maybe the opposite will work on you, bitch,” He warns. Several blows to the face and stomach cause Stan to cry out.
“Alright! Stop! Why do you always hit me?” Stan sobbed, blood flowing freely from his nose and a cut above his eye. “I thought if I could make you forget I’m here, you’d finally leave me alone! You could go bicker with Dave for once, instead of just picking on me!” Stan shouts, picking up his glasses from the floor. One of the lenses broke, and the bridge of the frame is bent so they don’t sit right on his face.
“What the hell was that?” Dave shouts as he barges into the room. “Why is he bleeding? What happened?” He asks Justin, who is standing over the cowering Stan.
“That silent shit,” Justin begins, “Didn’t it bug you? I mean, isn’t that like silently saying he’s better than us, or he doesn’t need us?” Justin asks, “Or worse, that he doesn’t hafta help us figure this mess out? He’s just as guilty as any of us,” Justin explains through labored breathing.
Dave rolls his eyes, scanning Stan, who’s pleading eyes suggest he expected a timely rescue. “What do you want me to do about it? You’re asking for it every time you fail to stand up for yourself,” Dave snaps, feeling a mixture of guilt and irritation simultaneously. Stan’s brow furrows in response, but he says nothing.
Dave stands in the doorway, staring at Justin. Justin stands to leave. A few minutes later Stan follows. Dave takes the opportunity to help himself to the last piece of stale bread, which he painfully chokes down. Hours alone allow Dave to remember the fun he had with his friends when they were kids, and teenagers. He fondly smiles at the memories, as though his life was flashing through his delusional mind one last time.
Stan is the first to return as the sun is brightest in the room, sometime after noon. He looks pale, filthy and more pathetic than usual. His broken, filthy glasses contort on his face. “I hate you,” he says upon entering the room, glaring from behind his broken spectacles.
“Uh, why? What’d I do?” Dave raises an eyebrow at the harsh greeting.
“You think I’m weak,” Stan clenches his shaking hands. “You think I deserve to die for this contest, don’t you? You wanted to leave Justin to do whatever he wanted,” he accuses.
“I didn’t say that. Look, we’re all stressed, tired and hungry,” Dave tries to reason with him before being met with Stan’s outstretched foot. Dave is hit hard in the chest, knocking the wind out of his lungs. When he hits the ground, pieces of old blackboard, tile, and other debris distribute a thick cloud of dust in the air.
“I need the money more than you!” Stan cries, his fist meeting the side of Dave’s head, sending both of them reeling in pain. “You never respected me, or my ambitions!” Stan draws his hand back for another swing when he is caught by Justin.
“Hey! What the hell?” Justin asks dragging Stan away from Dave. Justin has to guard his head from Stan’s thrashing protests. Stan’s foot finds part of Justin’s leg, causing Justin to let go. Stan slumps to the ground. All three of them are wheezing from dust inhalation and dehydration. Each of their minds racing, but no coherent thoughts arise to form words. They sit in a heavy silence for nearly an hour before the P.A. system crackles to life for the first time since Friday night.
“Gentleman, my employer will be joining us shortly, at which time we await your decision,” The voice of G.M. echoes. “At six P.M. sharp, you will deliver your decision to the main office. State the name of the sacrificed through the door, and you will be released,” she concludes calmly. They all stare at each other, as they hear the lights in the hallway buzzing to life.
“By now, it’s pretty clear that we all hate each other, so maybe we should all die like this,” Dave reccomends, feeling the blood on his lip mix with dirt on his chin. “But then, I want to live a little longer, so maybe we should just draw straws. Maybe one of us will get something out of this mess,” Dave suggests.
“Fuck that,” Justin snaps. “I suggested that on Saturday, and you turned it down because we ‘can’t leave something like that to chance,’” he challenges. “I say you,” Justin concludes, lowering his head. “I say we give them you.”
“Yea,” Stan agrees. “You think you’re so smart, but you didn’t figure it out. You didn’t help me, or anyone else. You never help anyone,” Stan glares, sure in his decision.
“That what you want, huh?” Dave’s eyes tear as he digests what he hears from his long-time friends. He wants to argue that they still had six hours left to decide. He wants to beg for his life. He simply doesn’t have the energy left after this dreadful weekend. “Fine,” he surrenders.
They shuffle downstairs, Justin and Stan in the lead. They trip over debris, and cough against dust and dirt in the air. Justin whispers “David Connolly,” through the door of the Principals office.
“I don’t think that was loud enough,” Stan suggests.
“Then, why don’t you do it? I’m not cool with killing Dave like this, it’s too weird,” Justin scowls. His own mind was betraying him. He hoped the promise of a large sum of money would make the process easier. It did.
“Fine,” Stan agrees. “David Connolly,” he bellows in a voice that echoes through the building. Dave, who is standing in the doorway, collapses as though the reverberation of his own name zaps away the bones in his body. He stands on shaky knees, walking to the giant front door. He sits on the floor in the stale dark hallway, refusing to make eye contact with Justin or Stan.
After several agonizing minutes in the flickering lights, they hear the chains on the front door being removed. They listen intently for the sounds of a small corporate army, or some other unsavory characters intent on ending a life. The front door creaks open, sunlight pouring through the door causing temporary blindness to the former captives.
“Well done,” came the single voice of G.M. from the daylight. “As promised, your money,” she drops a black bag on the ground next to her. “However, things are not as they seem for you,” she says to Stan and Justin specifically.
“A contest can have only one winner, when one bag of money is present,” she begins, pacing in the doorway. “David, claim your prize,” she says firmly to the figure of Dave sitting on the floor. In the sunlight, her features were much less attractive to them. Her skin is pale and scarred. Her translucent sunglasses revealing a cold, vicious stare.
“What?” All three choke in unison. A feeling of relief and terror rushes over them. Dave stands to face her. “What did you say?” he demands.
“The prize, is yours,” she says in a stern voice that almost growls.
“Why? What was the meaning of this? Are you gonna kill them now?” he rattles off questions, not sure he wanted to know any of the answers.
“This was a contest, as I said,” she states plainly. “No one is going to die, and I have no employers,” she says.
Dave doesn’t respond. Instead, he charges her with all of his remaining strength. She effortlessly deflects his attacks, laughing as she defends herself “Oh, please! You don’t think I’d abduct young men without first have a plan to defend myself, do you?”
“You keep your filthy money, witch. I’m going to the cops with this. You’re going to pay,” Dave threatens, tears washing away chunks of dirt from his cheeks.
“This great country we live in doesn’t acknowledge that what I’ve done as a crime. I haven’t held you against your will,” she says, showing them the legal contracts they signed. “The only damage you’ve sustained is psychological, and probably social. I’d share more, but you won’t pay attention anyway,” she explains coldly.
“One newspaper calls me a ‘social serial killer.’ I dare you to do better.”
