Chapter Four

I'm stuck in this dungeon with some ugly company

Watching me hungrily stumbling, bumbling…

- 'Hungry for another one,' by JT Music

After a long while of listening to her thoughts, Six summoned the strength to stagger to her feet. The sight of the Janitor and the boy's words had shocked her enough that she could almost think again, but the stupor clung to her legs, attempting to drag her back down. She leaned heavily against the bars, fighting against the urge that made her knees dip down and her head slump forward.

Just wiggle and the cage will fall off and open, the boy had suggested, but it seemed that it would take a bit more than a wiggle to get the cage to fall. She tried rocking, but even that was ineffective. Finally, summoning all her energy, she slammed herself into the side of the cage to get it to move toward the edge. Several times she did so until at last she found herself free falling, landing with a bruising 'thump' and hearing the top of the cage pop open.

Six scuttled out, brushing herself off. With freedom from the cage had come renewed resolve. She would escape and see the sunrise. This dream would not end with her death.

Six dragged one of the cages over to the pull-lever that hung from the ceiling. The cage's inhabitant didn't even flinch, even when Six hopped on top of the cage and began to swing like a trapeze artist on the pulley. The door came open and Six threw herself toward the opening, sliding through before it closed.

I made it, Six thought, shaking as she brushed herself off. The last of the cursed stupor had ebbed and she was able to stand without wishing to sink down to the floor. A general bleariness still veiled her mind and she blinked quickly, trying to dispel it. To get past the Janitor she would need to be as alert as possible.

I can do this, she thought, beginning to climb up the door's wooden grating. I'm fast. I'm small. I'm clever enough… I think. And he doesn't have any eyes, which is two less than I have. She dropped down into the adjoining room. And look, the floors are mostly lined with carpet. If I keep my head clear, this'll be the easiest thing ever!

But keeping her head clear was easier said than done. As soon as she dropped down to the carpeted floor, she became aware of a metrical murmur, low and grating, hissing from the far end of the room. Six, blinking very hard, skirted the nearest cages and looked up at its source: the Janitor.

He was swaying back and forth, his thin neck moving as smoothly as a snake's, his large, bobbling head rolling back and forth to its movement. The head was so large and the neck so thin that Six almost let herself be pulled back into stupor again, watching the rhythmic sway and wondering if this time would be the one where the head would dip a little too far and the neck would snap like a dried stick. The very tip of the Janitor's tiny hat was level with the countertop, where his stretching arms grasped and his limber fingers twined about their possession. He did not need to see when he could feel the work to be done.

"Silver scissors, snipping, snipping." Six could suddenly hear his words quite clearly. "Fabric all a-clipping, clipping. Twirling, twirl around the boy… all to give m'lady joy."

Six realized with a start that banished the spell completely that the limp, shadowy object in the Janitor's left hand was a child. She wondered briefly if it was the boy she had been talking with before, but then decided upon further inspection of the nearly cocooned child that it could not have been him. How long was I asleep? Six wondered. How long has he been gone while I was wrestling against the spell? Well, for his sake, and my own, I can't stop now. Trying to block her ears as the Janitor began another verse, she crept forward to the very edge of the carpet and prepared to leap over the uncovered gap. Holding her breath and taking a running start, she jumped.

Creak.

Six gasped and stumbled fully onto the carpet. If only the edge had been a little bit closer! The Janitor's head had perked upright. She could hear him sniffing, all senses gone on full alert, gently resting the mummified boy on the countertop as he turned in her direction. Six ducked into a nearby open cage, praying that those grasping fingers would not seize her. She could smell him as he passed, that now-familiar linty, smoky smell. Even though it was subtle, she could feel her throat closing up in resistance of the scent.

Go away, go away, please go away, she chanted silently, stooped in a half-crouching position.

He groped past her cage, feeling for the far end of the room, and Six breathed easier again. Except that's the area I'm trying to get to, she realized, feeling her stomach tighten with dread. Must go carefully. Carefully.

Six climbed up on top of the cage, being as quiet as she possibly could, overthinking every footstep, silencing every thought, listening to the Janitor's hushed rhymes:

"Little child meek and mild… Do not flee, come to me… Sink your head, hear my call… Feel the ashes of the Maw…"

The Janitor groped Six's way again and she leaned her back against a wooden beam, biting down on her lower lip. But his hands were skimming the floor toward the opposite direction and Six's fear levels sank again. She realized that on this cage she was just a little higher than the level of his hat. Looking down on him this way, the Janitor's scariness abated. He was no longer a predator but an old blind man searching for a sound in the dark. He didn't know she was there. For all he knew, a rat had made that sound, or it was just his imagination playing tricks on him. Six's lips twisted in a satirical smile as she backed away, watching the shaking old hands stretch in the wrong direction. The old fool, so easily misled and so easily tricked. She felt no pity for him. None at all.

Six took another running leap and landed safely on another battered stretch of carpet. With a single triumphant look backward, she ducked through a short shaft and out of that room, leaving the Janitor to bumble about without her.

There was a large winch drum set onto one of the wooden beams that stretched to the ceiling. Six followed the rope leading off it with her eyes, still keeping half an ear cocked to the Janitor's position. The rope led from the drum, up the beam, across the ceiling, down another beam, and then wrapped around the handle of a very heavy-looking metal trapdoor set solidly into the floor. Much too heavy for me to lift on my own, Six decided. I'll have to use the winch.

She searched around for the crank, which seemed to have been separated from the rest of the contraption. It might have been wise to do so, Six considered. If it had been set out of reach in some hard-to-get area she might have had some difficulty finding it before the Janitor found her. But as it was, lying out in the middle of the floor in plain view, the difficulty was minimal and Six soon had the crank in her grasp.

This will probably make noise, Six thought, gritting her teeth and sliding the crank into the winch. I'd better be ready to run as soon as the trapdoor is open.

She pulled on the crank, her eyes fixed on the trapdoor. Her back was to the door, which caused her some anxiety, but she would rather know when her exit was open so that she didn't panic and run too soon. Through the closed door behind her back she could hear the Janitor turn. The crank was relatively soft, but for one whose ears were so attuned to every noise Six might as well have been shouting and clapping her hands, slamming her feet down on the ground and knocking her winch against the pillars.

Just a little more, she thought. Just a little more.

She heard a bellow from the Janitor and the door behind her slid open. All thoughts about the Janitor being a senile old fool suddenly dropped from her mind and terror rose again. The trapdoor clanked against the beam and the rope attached to the winch went slack. Six didn't even look back at the Janitor. She fled in a tense, desperate run toward the gaping exit, not knowing or caring where it might lead. The Janitor gave a hiss and she could feel the wind of his searching arm as she jumped. She could hear the pop of his knuckles as they clenched and the snap of his hand as it clasped empty air.

Then she was falling. The smooth sides of a metal chute welcomed her and Six plunged into the darkness. The fall was short – not even long enough to allow Six to glance upon the rashness of her actions – and soon Six's feet hit the uneven ground. The little girl gave one quick look upwards and scampered into the nearest branching shaft. Her imagination had summoned an image of those long, bony arms reaching in after her, fingers pawing the ground where she had once stood. Six did not turn around to see if this was the reality. She crawled, one hand up to hold her lighter, deeper into the shafts. Every so often a larger area would open up and Six could stand, but she kept moving forward, pressing onward into the blackness.

A rumble sounded up above. Six cowered, arms stretched up above her head, as something heavy descended, striking her over the back and on her sheltering hands. She kicked out, propelling herself into the darkness. When she was far enough away, she looked back.

A mismatched pair of leather boots lay in the place where she had been a moment prior. As Six watched, a third rumbled down and out of a gap in the chute's ceiling to join them. Six stared at them for a moment as if waiting for them to sprout legs and scuttle after her like crabs, but they made no such movement.

After she had determined that the shoes were just shoes, Six turned away and continued down the circular metal path. But if she had thought that those shoes were the last ones she would see that night she was sorely mistaken, for as soon as the tunnel ended and Six was allowed to straighten up, she found herself on the edge of a short drop into a room that was crammed with the things. They covered the floor like water would cover a shallow basin. Six could hardly tell how deep the room was because of just how many shoes there were. Every so often an overhead chute would dump another ten or so into the mass and they would roll, tumbling into the nooks and crannies left unfilled and lay there, waiting patiently until they would move again.

Six was pinched by an unexplainable feeling, one that was akin to sadness, but also seemed to be related to fear. She knew, although she did not dwell on the thought very long, that two shoes belonged to a single person, and that as a seemingly infinite number of pairs were rolling about this very room, a massive number of people had belonged to these shoes. People who, Six guessed, had no need of these shoes anymore.

The little girl allowed herself to drop onto the jumble of shoes and immediately fell to her knees. The shoes were tricky to move over. There was always a hole for her foot to get caught in, or a slick surface to slide over. The shoes constantly shifted and Six moved through them in a half-wade, half-stagger, stumbling kind of movement. As she went, she couldn't help noticing what kind of shoes she went over. Big brown boots, like those that would belong to men. Sleek, battered women's shoes with flat or spiked heels. Smaller shoes, painted gray in the scant light, some small enough almost to fit Six herself. Children's shoes. Adult shoes. Men's shoes. Women's shoes. All kinds were here in varying conditions, in different sizes and colors and makes, causing the room to reek with the smell of decomposing leather, with mold, and with mildew. Six coughed slightly as her foot sank into the grimy pit of an oversized man's shoe, letting loose a horrible smell. She gagged, but moved on, trying to brush off the slimy feel from her bare foot.

And then she froze. Something had brushed her foot – she was sure of it! The shoes around her were shifting, turning over, starting to roll. It had started subtly, but now there was a definite bulge in the shoe pile over to her left. As she watched, the bulge began to move and the shoes to roll aside. She could feel a rumble beneath her splayed form as she began crawling away, not caring how much mildew she sucked up into her lungs if only she could stay away from that thing! She kicked away from the unseen menace, her eye temporarily glancing over a shoe that had a definite bite mark taken out of it. Six was sure her heart stopped in that moment.

Fortunately, shoes weren't the only paraphernalia down in this hole. Six spotted a briefcase floating on top of the sea of leather and scrambled towards it, hoisting herself on top and clinging there as whatever-it-was bumped against it with a hollow-sounding 'thunk'.

I can see the end of the room, Six thought, desperately trying to work up some motivation to move. I just have to reach the end and then I'm safe. Please, oh please, don't let the monster find me. Don't let it find me!

Six picked out her course as she hesitantly stood. She could still feel the creature sifting about beneath her, shifting the case she was on, its deep rumble causing the case to vibrate and tickle the soles of her feet. She tried to ignore it and pretend that everything was alright, nothing was after her, as she took a running leap in the direction of the next case. She fell to her knees again as she landed, almost buried up to her neck in the shoes. Panic began to take over as the sonorous rumble sounded and she kicked out toward the briefcase as hard and fast as she could. As soon as she stood safely on the briefcase's side, she took off for the next one, not allowing the monster any time to catch up.

I wish I could see the thing, Six thought, panting. As horrible as it would be to see what was trying to eat me… I think it's worse that I don't know what it is.

The final suitcase stood tantalizingly close. Six's hand reached out to brush it. For one horrible moment she felt the creature brush against her leg – scaly and cold – and then, as she lifted herself up, could feel hot breath on her foot and the scratch of something sharp and wet, like a jagged tooth. Even though she was not much hurt and not even bleeding, Six let out a yelp, leaping from the suitcase to the ledge that stood by the door. She ran inside the darkened room and examined her foot, keeping a careful eye on the pit of shoes as if worried that the monster would rise up and come after her.

Actually, come to think of it, she didn't feel all that scared anymore. Just angry. Out of all the things that had happened so far, an unnamed, faceless monster who lurked out of sight had been the one to draw first blood? True, she wasn't actually bleeding, but there was a sizable scratch along the side of her foot. Six stalked back to the pit of shoes, limping more than was technically necessary, but at the moment she was determined to be a drama queen. She glared down into the pit, trying to decide what would convey her emotions the best. She settled on spitting down in the monster's general direction and giving a savage nod of farewell. Scratch her foot indeed.

…

Six's anger fueled her for the next few hours, dodging the Janitor's clutches time and time again and racing to get away. She hardly felt fear anymore, even when trapped in a moving elevator with the Janitor's probing hands scouring the corners for a taste of her movement. Even when moving through a mass of dolls the size of herself, forced to push them aside to stay on the carpet, avoiding any hint of noise. Even when their lifeless eyes stared back at her, she pressed on with only a twinge of fear.

Even when she landed in a room full of clocks with the Janitor present only a few feet away and all the clocks went off at the same time. She only used this as a distraction for her benefit, the noise shielding her as she opened the door and made her escape.

Even when she had to search around for a crank to raise a hanging piano – yes, a hanging piano! – she felt no fear. Even when she was trapped alone in the room with only the crank and she had to turn on the nearby television set to get the Janitor to come in and investigate the noise. When she was back in the ventilation and the Janitor's long arms reached in slits between the pipes, she only felt the merest prick of fear, but not much. She had almost become desensitized to all the horrors around her, and now her mind was collected, calm, and cool.

But finally, despite her lack of fear and newly found cool thinking, Six finally found herself cornered in a room with only a tiny closed hatch up above, the only door blocked by the Janitor, whose groping hands reached around a metal cage – the only thing propping the door open.

"Come to me, little dear," the Janitor hissed, clawing towards Six's position. She jumped away, climbing to a safer location. "Come over here and do not fear."

I'm already not afraid, Six thought stubbornly. Did he really think he could tell her what to do and how to feel? Really?

"Obey, obey. You hear my voice," the Janitor continued, one hand giving a swipe. "Come to me. You have no choice."

That cage looks pretty weak, Six thought, watching its sides buckle outwards. Maybe if I wait long enough it'll collapse!

But then again, she thought as the Janitor's groping hand skimmed over the top of her hood and she scrambled away as the Janitor gave a triumphant hiss and a close snatch, maybe I should give it some help.

Six carefully studied the Janitor's hands. When they moved away from the cage, she jumped forward and grabbed one of the two metal supports attaching the top and bottom corners. She could feel the Janitor's rank breath washing over her feet. The metal dug into her hands as she clenched it, but she pulled as hard as she could. Something snapped and Six tumbled backwards. The Janitor gave a screech: "Little one, what have you done?" and Six could see his brown molars as his mouth opened wide.

She dodged out of reach as his hands groped toward the cage, surveying the damage. They touched where the missing support should be and his arms withdrew a little. Then they renewed their search and Six could hear the Janitor whisper as if to himself, "Careful, careful now, I think. Clear of mind and strong resolve. My lady asked a job of me, so win and let her all my faults absolve."

He's nervous now, Six judged, watching as his hands kept closer to the cage than usual. One more support ought to do it! But how? He's guarding that support too closely!

Six decided that some risk must be involved at this point and jumped on the stack of boxes she had been standing on, making sure her feet pounded the top with a hollow noise. The Janitor hissed between his rotting teeth and both hands reached out toward her position. Six jumped over them, stumbled, and landed right beside the second support. Without delay, she began to pull.

The Janitor gave out another cry, this one of fear, and his arms came back. I can't stop pulling, Six thought in a panic. This is the only chance I might get!

Too late to turn back. The Janitor's arms closed around her waist, his fingers digging sharply into her ribs. She could hear his cackle of triumph from the other side of the door, but Six was still holding onto the support. As the Janitor's hand tugged to pull her away, she gave one final, desperate yank.

The effect was immediate. The door sliced downward, shearing off both of the Janitor's arms at the stumps. The hands holding Six convulsed, slacking their grip and she kicked away, freeing herself. Outside the now closed door, the Janitor shrieked in agony, pounding his head against the door and causing the room to ring with the echoes of his hammering and his screeches.

"Little rogue," he screamed between howls, "little beast! You'll be punished at the feast!"

Six curled up and covered her ears with her hands, squeezing her eyes shut until the echoes faded. When she dared to open them again, all was still. The Janitor's dismembered arms lay before her, quiet and unmoving. Six tilted her head upward and noticed that the closed hatch up above wasn't closed anymore. The Janitor's pounding must have opened it, Six thought to herself. Either that or it can only open when the other door is closed.

Carefully skirting the arms on the floor, Six made her way to the hatch. Her heart was still pounding and her hands shook as they pulled out her lighter, stooping to crawl into the open duct.

Is the Janitor dead now? Six wondered. Did I kill him? Or will he live forever without any arms?

She felt a sick sensation in her stomach. Even though the Janitor had been anything but nice to her, Six was only a little girl and chopping off a person's arms – however despicable the person might be – left a bad taste in her mouth. She felt less than triumphant.

Well, it was either him or me, Six reasoned. He started the job, but I finished it. He won't bother me ever again. And if he does… well, what's he going to do? Slam his head against me?

The thought of the Janitor using his face as a hammer trying to squish her brought a small smile to her lips and Six felt a little bit better as she moved on.

Anyway, she thought. I'm alive, and that's what matters. And I'll stay alive. That matters, too.