III. Panic

The light pouring in from the window illuminated the small room. Unlike my initial expectations, this was neither a storage closet in a museum nor an abandoned residence... but the home of a monster? Just acknowledging the fact convinced me that I had gone crazy. This had to be a dream, one big, elaborate nightmare. How could something like him, that... that thing—whatever he was—exist? I had never once believed in monsters and demons or anything supernatural. I still couldn't persuade myself that what I had seen was real.

Nothing made sense! How could it be that a castle inhabited by a monster and located in the middle of a forest existed? Furthermore, how was it possible that I had strayed so far off from the normal path and entered a forest without realizing it? My sense of direction was bad to be sure, but to this extent? I had made sure to stay on the dirt path, but somehow it had simply disappeared as soon as I had realized that I was in the heart of a strange forest. Moreover, the person who had stalked me in the forest—who had it been? And why had the person followed me? Could it be that the person had been the monster? There were so many questions, so many answers I needed to know. But would I ever get them?

As the daylight grew brighter and the dark shadows pulled away, I noticed a dark red splotch on my hand. The blood of that monster had stained my hand after I had stuck the pen into his body. Though mostly dried, it stank faintly of copper. It was enough to make me want to vomit.

I sank to the floor, my back against the wall, and a thin film of dust lifted from the floor and burst into little clouds, tickling my skin. My tired eyes watered and burned. At that moment, as I looked at my surroundings and saw myself trapped within four old stone walls, as I breathed in with a shaky sigh the dank and unclean air, I realized just exactly what I had lost in one day. My friends, my family, my future. My freedom... It was all gone. The misery began to set in upon the realization that I would probably never live to see a day outside of these walls again. I would spend the remainder of my life here and breathe my final dying breath here.

I hugged my knees, forehead pressed against them. I squeezed my eyes shut. Damn it damn it damn it! Was there nothing that could be done? Nothing at all? There had to be something I could do. I couldn't give up so easily, so soon. Giving up wasn't something I had been taught at the hospital. A real doctor never gave up on her patient, at least not until after trying all feasible options. If all the doctors in the world gave up so easily, the world would be a much darker place. Full of hopelessness and death. Did I really have what it took to save the lives of others if I couldn't even bother to save myself? I had to try.

Wiping the black makeup and tears from my face with my sleeves, I took a deep breath and rose. The only door in the room was shut. I guessed that it was locked. I approached it, mindful of the noise I made every time the ancient floorboards groaned under my weight. When I finally mustered the courage to place my hands on the door handle and pull, I couldn't help the small wave of disappointment from washing over me.

I had guessed right. It was locked. No amount of force could get it to budge. I also didn't want to pull too hard or hit the door for fear of attracting unwanted attention.

There was no discernible keyhole. I studied the side of the door. I couldn't see any typical lock securing it in place, not like any modern one I had seen anyway. It was stupid of me to have expected modern technology in a castle that could be well over several centuries old. After all, the monster himself had said that a person had come after him one hundred years ago or so. If I had to hazard a guess, based on my observations of the overall architectural design and its dilapidated state, the castle was maybe one to three hundred years old. I just hoped the old wood beneath me wouldn't give way and have me falling through the floor...

On second thought, the idea of that happening didn't sound too bad. Maybe if that happened, I could crawl beneath the castle and dig my way to freedom. But obviously, I couldn't risk trying to destroy the floor with my bare hands. It was old, but it was sturdy enough to support my body, as the monster had tossed me from one end of the room to the other. It didn't seem likely that I could rip the floor apart. And if the monster came back and discovered what I was doing, he would kill me on the spot. I didn't take him for a fool. He was too suspicious, too cautious to believe any story I had prepared in that situation.

The window was a good several heads above me. Entering had been relatively easy, as I had had the help of a shed outside to step on and reach the ledge. Exiting back out of it was much more difficult. There was nothing in the room that could lift me up. No chair, table or desk. Absolutely nothing. I tried grasping the ledge, standing on the ends of my toes, but it was far out of my reach. Jumping did not help. After several attempts, I gave up.

I sat down, exhausted and defeated. Even just moving my head was disorienting. The only thing I could do was sit and think and shut my eyes, so at least the image of cold, gray rock and blood was out of my sight. At least I could pretend that I was somewhere far, far away, that everything happening to me wasn't real.

And I waited.

I had drifted in and out of fitful sleep. I was restless. And uncomfortable. There was the hard, unforgiving floor I had to sit on, and the hard, unforgiving wall I had to sit against. My neck and back were incredibly stiff. My stomach began to ache from hunger and from a full bladder.

I had never before appreciated the simple pleasures of sleeping in a soft, warm bed. Or of getting up and going to the bathroom without a second thought. Or of opening a pantry and eating whatever I wanted, whenever I felt like it. Thinking about what I would have to go on living without for the next however many days, months or years deepened my misery. How long could I last in these conditions? I certainly had not lived like a princess, but I had grown so accustomed to the basic necessities that made living so convenient. I had taken them all for granted. And now that they were gone, their absence pained me in a way I never thought I could feel. There had to be millions of other human beings in the world who were homeless and hungry and uncomfortable. But what choice did they have? They couldn't complain. So how could I?

But then again, said a cynical voice in my head, how many people have ever encountered a monster that threatened to kill them?

I frowned, pushing the thought out and calming myself down before fresh tears could brim. Judging by the amount of light that still illuminated the room, I had only been asleep for a few hours. Granted, it hadn't been bright to begin with, since the forest that surrounded the castle blocked off a lot of sunlight, but nothing noticeable had changed. Nothing to indicate a significant passage of time.

My purse, which had been ravaged by branches, dirt, and general misuse, lay forgotten in one corner of the room. The vestiges of the pen remained in a bloodied heap not far. The monster had confiscated the fan I had found. I didn't understand what was so important about it. It was just an old fan. But for some reason, he had taken it from me after calling me a thief. Whatever. It didn't concern me now. My goal was to find something useful.

My phone. Where was my phone?

Ignoring the dull ache in my limbs, I got up and moved towards my purse. I searched its contents and found my phone. I pressed every button and in every combination possible, but the screen remained blank. The battery had been dead for hours. Of course it wouldn't turn on. Why had I even bothered? I tossed it away in anger. Typical. Nothing was going right.

Out of the corner of my eye, scraps of white fluttered out of my bag and settled delicately on the floor. I reached over for one. Ah. It was an old receipt. Out of all the items I could have stored in my bag, like snacks or pepper spray, I had chosen useless garbage. And the most useful item I had had with me, my phone, was dead. The stakes were not in my favor today. All hope was lost.

But then again, I thought as I eyed the pieces of broken pen, maybe it wasn't.

I sifted through the heap of broken plastic fragments. I couldn't find the tip of the pen—maybe it was still stuck in the monster's shoulder, I thought with a smirk—but I did manage to find a short tube of ink that had survived, still encased in the body of the pen. I pulled it out of the fractured case. It was thin and no longer than two or three centimeters, but there was still some ink trapped inside. One end of it had been crushed and sealed shut, but the other end had a small hole through which ink could escape. I grabbed a receipt and turned it over to its blank side.

It took me a moment to get it to work. I figured out after several attempts just the perfect amount of pressure to apply in order for the ink to come out. But without the pen tip to control the ink flow, it came out in messy smudges. Blue-black fingerprints covered parts of the paper as I struggled to write out a message. Crap. It wasn't looking very good. Writing a long message for help wasn't going to cut it. If only I could get it to—

Loud, heavy footsteps and creaking wood sounded from somewhere in the castle. I startled and nearly dropped the tube. The blood drained from my body.

They were approaching the door.

No no no no no! He was coming! Why now? Why now of all times?

The ink kept dripping onto the page, completely covering what little I had managed to write. My hands shook. My fingers, wet with ink, blood and perspiration, could barely hold the tube in place. Meanwhile, the sound of his footsteps grew louder. I tried again, frantically.

The tube slipped out of my fingers and fell through a crack between the floorboards.

Fuck! He was almost here!

Hurriedly, I smeared a wet finger across the paper. I only had enough time to write "SOS", crumble the receipt into a ball, throw it out the window as far as I could, and sit back down before the heavy door swung open with a long and low grown. I hugged my knees, bringing them to my chest, and rested my head on them. I shut my eyes and pretended to be asleep. Lax muscles. Even, deep breaths. In... out...

I waited for him to speak. The room had been silent before, disturbed only by the faint rustle of leaves shivering from the wind, and by the rhythmic cry of the cicadas outside of the window. It had been quiet. But now, it was unbearable. The thud of heartbeat sounded so loud in comparison to the utter quiet that it seemed to echo in my ears. And I wondered, briefly, if could hear it too.

"I know you are awake."

My heart beat faster. But I refused to look up. I couldn't. If I did, I wouldn't be able to hide the anxiety from my face. What if he could tell that I had done something behind his back, just by one look? I stayed still.

"I could care less," said the voice, unaffected and aloof as usual, "if you continue with this foolish charade."

I remained silent and frozen in fear.

"But," came the voice, "might I remind you that any dishonest action is ill-advised, and I will surely make you regret it."

My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. What did he mean? Did he know what I had just done? Did he know about the note? But how could he? I had thrown the note out before he had entered the room. The tube of ink had fallen beneath the floorboards. There was no way he could have known. Unless... unless he had read my mind? Like he had done before? In which case, it meant that he knew all along the minute I started thinking about writing it... Which meant... oh no.

The sound of creaking floorboards grew louder and louder. I could feel the wood shift ever so slightly beneath me as he approached me. I waited with bated breath. And then he stopped beside me.

I expected to hear the sharp, fine sound of a blade being drawn slowly from its scabbard.

But instead, I heard what sounded like... wood being ripped apart?

I looked up to find the monster fixing the broken window shutters—the window shutters I had broken in order to enter. He had brought with him several thin planks of wood and some nails. With his bare hands, he tore apart the damaged parts of the shutters that hung loose. Then, with those same dark hands, without using a hammer or any tool, he pressed the nails into place. Pressed them, like he was pressing nails into a sponge.

He moved the shutters, testing them. When he was satisfied, he closed the shutters, gathered the discarded wood pieces, and exited the room through the single door. I hadn't realized, throughout the entire time he was here, that he had left the door open. Did it not occur to him that I could have made a run for it? Or was he really not concerned that I would get that far? In any case, I wondered why I hadn't noticed, why I hadn't been more vigilant. That might have been my only chance, and I had lost it.

I cursed myself for my idiocy. Why I had been transfixed with him repairing a stupid window was beyond me. Perhaps it was because... it had seemed so normal. So beneath him. Why didn't he just make me do it? After all, I had been the one to damage it in the first place. As confused as I was, I wasn't about to voice my questions. I didn't want to sound paranoid and give him any reason to become suspicious. After all, I had thrown the message outside that very window he had been working on. Fortunately, it seemed like he hadn't seen it. And I wanted to keep it that way.

He returned a moment later. I automatically averted my eyes to the dirty floor. Just being in his presence killed all of my resolve to rebel. It sucked me dry until I was nothing more than an empty, quivering shell. It was altogether amazing and terrifying how one single creature could drain all of the energy in a room, without having to say or do anything. How that creature could quickly turn a proud, headstrong girl into a pitiful, spineless idiot.

Somewhere, deep inside of me, I was certain I would not survive long. Either my health would fail me and my mind would collapse upon itself, or I'd die at the hands of the monster standing just a few meters away. I concentrated on his feet, unwilling to look up and find his red and black eyes staring at me like before.

Something clattered noisily onto the floor, and when it rolled towards me I saw that it was a wooden pail that had seen better days. Beside the monster's feet was a shallow dish. One sandal-clad foot kicked it in my general direction. The dish teetered on its side, spun around a few cycles, and stopped in front of me. Unfortunately, most of its content, a running white mass, had spilled onto the floor.

And just as abruptly as he had come, he left, wordlessly swinging the door shut behind him. I listened closely for the sound of jingling keys or a lock being turned, but instead I heard something heavy slamming against the door. I ran to it, pushing and pulling the door with all my strength, but it remained firmly in place. The wood was old and weathered but still strong enough to withstand my small fists pounding on its surface. It was no use.

Defeated, I returned to my spot on the floor. I stared at the pail and dish, wondering over and over why he had given these things to me. And then, suddenly, I understood. The dish was my meal, for me to consume. The pail was for me to fill after emptying the contents of my stomach.

My face burned in humiliation. An incredible urge to fling the dish across the room tempted me for a second. But, after gripping the rim of it and thinking it over again, the urge passed and my anger dissipated. Maybe I didn't want to eat now, but maybe this was all that I'd be getting for the whole day. Maybe for several days. It was unwise to let emotions cloud my judgment, judgment that could help me survive, if even just a little bit longer.

What little of the white substance that remained in the dish appeared fairly uncontaminated by dust or dirt. Was it congee, gruel, or just boiled rice water? It lacked a strong odor, so it couldn't be spoiled milk or anything too foul. There were only so many types of food that were white and sludgy. It had to be one of my guesses. I desperately hoped it was one of my guesses. I set it aside, deciding that I would eat only when I could no longer bear the pangs of hunger, when I truly needed it.

As for the pail... As much as I hated to admit it, I really did need to relieve myself. The pressure building in my lower stomach had been uncomfortable. Now, it was borderline excruciating. Nausea racked my body. My head hurt. I didn't know how much longer I could wait. The thought of hovering above a pail shamed me so deeply, it was painful.

Fresh tears threatened to spill from my eyes. I bit my lip to keep from screaming. I hated that the only thing I could do was cry. I hated being so weak. I hated acknowledging my weakness because it made the fear all the more real and inescapable. But I couldn't cry anymore. What would crying achieve? Steeling myself once again, I wiped my face and surveyed the room.

The monster was a careful one. He had probably fixed the window to make it harder for me to look, or escape, through. And I guess it made sense that he hadn't bothered to ask me to do it—after all, I was too short to reach the ledge. But, seeing how he had left the pen fragments and receipts untouched, he was not nearly as careful as I had first assumed him to be.

Most of the ink tube pieces had been punctured by the shattered plastic casing. As soon as I picked a few up and pressed them onto paper, ink oozed out in little pools and covered my fingers. There was hardly a spot left on my hands that was not stained now. Holding in a frustrated sigh, I tried again. On one end of a piece was a strip of plastic that jutted out at a nice angle. With my fingernails, I pushed the end of it and fashioned a haphazard pen tip. It wasn't easy to write with it, but it was much better than scrawling fat, messy letters with my fingers and wasting a whole receipt. I had already used one. I only had four left.

PLEASE HELP, I wrote.
HARUNO SAKURA.
17 YRS OLD STUDENT FROM SHINRIN HIGH.
HELD HOSTAGE IN CASTLE.

And then I paused.

What else could I possibly write? "Help. Monster trying to kill me"? Who would believe me? Even if someone passed by and happened upon the paper balls, what person would stop and pick them up? Little pieces of paper looked like littered trash. No one would pick them up and open them, expecting to find a message inside. But assuming that if a person did open them, what was the chance that he or she would take it seriously? Any logical person who saw the message would assume it was a lame prank. Heck, if I were the person who read the message, I wouldn't take it seriously either.

No. I couldn't mention the monster.

After some thought, I wrote a final line.

DANGEROUS MAN INSIDE.

Then, after the ink had dried, I crumpled the receipt into a ball and threw it out the window. The ball sailed through the spaces between the shutters. I sat down, my head in my hands.

And I tried, with every fiber of my body, to contain the fear from spreading through me, but it felt like a million appendages extending to grab hold of me and to push me below the surface of the ocean. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't break free. I was drowning in it.

And the more I struggled against it, the more it consumed me. It filled my lungs and set them on fire. And it destroyed the hope that someone, someday, would come and save me.

Author's Note:

June 9, 2015

Some of you may have noticed that I've been gone for an extended absence. Also, I've deleted almost all of the chapters, but for a good reason! I really didn't like the direction this story had been going - it's veered off the path I had imagined in my head a long time ago. I'm sorry if my decision upsets anyone. I'm determined to update the new chapters according to my original plot in a timely fashion, so hopefully my lovely readers will be willing to dive into a new story, but with the same main characters, and with the same general plot! :) That's more than anything I could ask for. Thank you all for your support over the years. It's meant a lot to me. Your words of encouragement (and blunt demands that I update quickly :P) have kept me going.

To understand the new plot, I suggest reading the first and second chapters which I've edited.

And, to show that I'm serious, I wrote this very chapter the weekend before final exams. If this doesn't prove my sincerity, I don't know what will... Now, please excuse me as I go study for exams.

PS: Please leave a review! Let me know how you like it, or if you don't like it. We're almost at 300 reviews!

-cion