Chapter Eight – Beyond The Labyrinth

Sam recoiled suddenly, breathing in sharply as he felt his consciousness slam back into focus. He was standing back in the darkened corridor, the wheelchair in front of him, and the echoes of whatever it had just triggered still ringing in his brain.

What was that?

It reminded him of the bizarre experience he'd had leaving the bedroom earlier, but he had no way of figuring out what that was all about now. If he allowed himself to dwell on it now it would only erode his sanity further, and that could be as good as a death sentence in his current circumstances. The only way to get answers would be to keep going, and for now his main priority was to find a way that led out of here. Even if it meant being pursued by some kind of creepy possessed chair.

It seemed he couldn't even touch it without there being some kind of horrible effect on him, which meant turning it upside down wasn't going to work. If only he had some salt with him. Was there some kind of spirit or ghost in the chair causing it to move, or was it something else…? Well, in either case, with no effective weapons to hand, Sam didn't want to risk finding out.

"Okay, I am going to keep walking now, and you are not going to follow me," Sam said firmly, not expecting the words to have any effect other than to make himself feel slightly better. He turned round again and continued on, and sure enough, the squeaking of the wheels resumed much too loud in his ears as he advanced further down the corridor. Sam gritted his teeth at the noise and resisted the urge to look back. If all it was going to do was follow him and nothing more, then he thought he was just going to have to let it. Actually doing anything to it wasn't going to work, and he had no desire to try touching it again, but he hoped that he'd soon reach a staircase the chair couldn't follow him up.

It was difficult to hold his nerve and not break into a run, but Sam managed to keep his pace steady as he came up on what appeared to be the first junction in the corridor, giving him the option of turning either left or right. He chose right, hoping there was a chance that the chair would decide to go left of its own accord, but of course that turned out not to be the case.

The light grew dimmer yet again as he rounded the corner, there being even fewer light bulbs in the walls now to guide the way. Sam considered pulling out the flashlight again as the light fixtures were barely enough to illuminate the floor, but then decided that conserving the batteries may be a better idea if he didn't know when he'd need it again.

After a few more yards, the wheelchair still chillingly and infuriatingly trailing him like a dog following its master, the corridor branched again and offered him a further choice of directions. If Sam wasn't careful, there was a very real chance of him getting lost now, and he was growing increasingly fearful of what he might encounter around any corner. This time, still going entirely on guesswork, he chose left.

Going further still, it wasn't long before the various forks and junctions Sam encountered turned into an all out maze. Now it was almost pitch dark, there was some kind of possessed wheelchair following him, and Sam still had no idea which way he was going. If he hadn't been so focused on getting out of here so that he could find out what had happened to Dean, this may well have been the point at which he'd snapped.

"Hold it together," he told himself, "You've come through worse than this, and you're not going back now."

He'd only just given himself that pep talk when in the distance there came the sounds of banging. Three of them, evening spaced, and then there was silence. Sam froze again, turning to look behind him and trying to get a feel for where the noises had come from, but he simply couldn't tell. Did that mean there was some other danger out there, following him, or not?

Whatever had caused the noise, wherever it was coming from… it could turn out to be as harmlessly unsettling as the chair, for all Sam knew, or it could be something much more deadly. But there was no way he could take the risk. If the sounds spelled danger, he wasn't equipped to deal with another threat. "Dammit," he growled, thinking now might be the time to run.

When after a moment or two there came several more bangs, Sam decided that would be the right call.

He broke into a sprint, taking each junction with a snap decision as to which direction he headed, hearing the screech of wheels behind him as the chair tried to keep up. I hope its fucking wheels fall off, Sam thought to himself, but the sentiment did little to supress the panic that was building inside him as he realised he was completely lost. He had no idea if he was going back on himself, running towards the danger, or simply going in circles.

He'd been running blind for almost a minute, heading through spots of pitch darkness where the intermittent light failed to reach, when he heard the banging sound again. This time it was closer, although if he was running towards it or it was getting closer to him, he had no idea.

Rounding yet another corner, Sam's eyes fell upon a wall up ahead. Set in the middle of it was a dim incandescent bulb, glowing yellow, and beneath it Sam was surprised to see something drawn on the wall: an arrow pointing left. The sight caused him to hesitate momentarily, wondering what it meant. Was it telling him where to go? How could he trust it? Especially when everything in this place seemed out to get him.

The noises sounded again, and Sam knew he had to make a decision. Maybe he was still better off taking his chances with the arrows that running round aimlessly and only getting more lost.

Sam started on again, and when he reached the foot of the corridor he took the turn as indicated to find himself running down another hallway that was almost completely dark save for another light at the end. This time there was an arrow drawn on the floor pointing right, and again he followed.

About five turns later, with the wheelchair still on his tail and the noises sounding sporadically in the distance, Sam rounded a final corner and suddenly came to a stop, surprised at the sight in front of him. It seemed that somehow he'd reached the end of the maze, and stretching on ahead of him was a long dark corridor. There were no lights in the walls, and for the most part the floor wasn't even visible in the darkness, but in the distant he could see a small rectangle of bright, white light: a doorway. Could that be the way out?

Sam felt a strong urge to run towards it, desperate to reach the light, but at the same time a deep sense of unease was holding him back. This felt wrong.

He'd been running round in the dark, pursued by some unknown monsters in a world he wasn't even sure was real, and now he found himself facing a literal light at the end of a tunnel. Heading towards it perhaps wasn't the best idea. What if this was all inside his head? What if he was still in the hospital, in a coma? Running towards the light could be what woke him up, or it could mean he never woke again.

But then, what alternative did he have?

As Sam stood frozen in his moment of indecision, behind him he again heard a noise. It wasn't the banging this time, but instead it was the same creaking squeak of the wheelchair. But this time, Sam wasn't moving.

On edge, Sam turned to look back at it. It was still a few metres away, but slowly, but surely, it was rolling over the floor towards him. After the long time trailing him, it seemed as if it was finally trying to catch him up.

Sam took a pace backwards, wondering if that would have any effect, but if anything he thought that the chair seemed to get slightly faster. Sam swallowed, feeling another rush of fear creep its way up his spine.

Come on, it's just a chair. What's it going to do if it catches you?

The thought was meant to be a rhetorical attempt to alleviate his fear, but as he contemplated the answer, Sam began to think that maybe it could be quite sinister after all.

From the direction he'd come in, not too far away, he heard the rhythmic pattern of three bangs again. Instinctively, he took several paces back again away from the noise, and in response the chair sped up yet again. It didn't look like he had many options left.

Sam turned and ran.

Ahead of him, the light beyond the doorway shone like a beacon, and despite his tired limbs wanting to just collapse and rest Sam urged them onwards. He could hear the screech of the wheelchair on the floor behind getting faster, and again the intermittent banging noises seemed to be approaching him, increasing in volume.

Come on, this has to be the way out…

Feeling certain that whatever was behind him was about to catch him up, Sam bolted the last few yards in a desperate sprint. Finally, his feet pounded over the threshold into the room beyond, and the premature rush of relief he felt was stifled as he realised this wasn't over yet. There was a doorway, but no door, and nothing to slam behind him to keep the monsters out. Unlike last time, nothing magically silenced whatever was chasing him, and Sam could still hear them getting closer. Desperately, he cast his eyes about this new room in search of another way out.

This new room was perfectly square, with black and white linoleum tiles on the floor, and white incandescent strip lights in the ceiling, which would have been comfortingly bright if circumstances weren't otherwise so dire. In the back left corner of the room, Sam could see a table pushed up against the wall, upon which was sat an old circular-dial faced telephone. But other than that, the room was completely empty, and from what Sam could tell, there were no other doorways and no other way out.

Panic rushed through him as he desperately tried to think what he should do now. Could he go back? Was that even a possibility? And even if he were able to fight the things off, what was it he'd be fighting?

Still he could hear the bangs echoing in his ears, and he spun round to face the doorway, steeling himself to face whatever may be about to come through.

Sam could see the wheelchair rolling closer, frighteningly fast, and he was preparing to kick and smash and break the fucking thing the minute it was in range. But then, just as it was about to cross the threshold to the room, it stopped abruptly. Along with it, the banging fell silent.

What…?

The sudden inexplicable quiet left Sam confused and unnerved. He stood staring towards the chair, bewildered, while at the same time feeling a cautious sense of relief. Why had it done that? He took a tentative step in the direction of the doorway, wondering if that would coax it into moving again, but it simply stood motionless just beyond the threshold. It almost seemed to be waiting for him, for when he would, inevitably, have to go back out into the dark.

Well, if it was at least no longer following him, Sam thought that, for now, he could live with that. He let out a slow, shuddering breath of relief, wanting to just collapse on the floor and grateful that he at least had this moment of relative safety to gather himself together. He had no idea why he wasn't being followed into this room, or how he was going to get out again, but for now he was glad for the chance to recover.

His nerves had almost managed to partly unwind themselves from the state of permanent tension they'd been caught up in, but a moment later, that was halted abruptly by the sound of a high, piercing noise invading Sam's ears: that of the persistent and far too threatening ring of a phone.