Jenny waits for the computer to come back on. As normal, the screen pops up with her and Samantha posing two peace signs in a selfie. She smiles at the thought of that warm day, at the idea that their bad experience was over and that they gained a scary story to tell their friends tomorrow at lunch. Enough of that s**t, she says to herself while crawling back into bed. Snuggling up with her stuffed teddy bear (She usually only resorted to such child like tendencies after a bad day) she pulls the comforter up past her shoulder and switches to a comfortable position.
Soft, ambient light quietly glows from her computer desk alerting her from her attempted slumber. She jerks out of bed and scoots back against the wall with a pillow in-between. Broadcast online was a square frame of her bedroom with her in bed, staring ahead. Comments spring up below with suggestions from what could be assumed were customers “voting”. Shakingly, she climbs out of bed, with her teddy still clutched between her whitening knuckles. Suggestions in red font continued to pop up, one said: VIRGIN EXTRACTION. Another said: BEDTIME STORY. Both had a number next to the title that was rapidly increasing, but one had even more ratings. It simply said: GRISLY. Grisly? She asks in a hushed whisper. The screen goes blank as if it was switching to another view, this time it was from a handheld camera. All she can are parallel boards lined against some familar material.
Taking a step back, she turns to run towards her door. Regretfully she looks back and sees the view has changed. The camera turns to the left past the boards and onto a clean carpet. In sight is a pair of bare feet next to a door. Her legs turn stiff and her heart swells with panic. Letting go of her teddy bear, she sees it come into view on the screen as it fluffs against the ground.
Ripping her door open she bolts down the hallway to her dad’s room, screaming for him to wake up. Crashing into the door, she throws it open to see the room empty, the bed is made neatly and seems to have been untouched by anyone. Slamming the door behind her she tries to call Samantha. A few rings in, the doorknob creaks with it spinning slowly. She grips her hand on it and pushes back locking it while dialing 911 in her free hand.
“911, what is your emergency?”
“Please help, someone broke into my house!”
“What is your address, ma’am?”
The doorknob rattles quicker this time, a light knock taps on the other side. “Little pig, little pig, let me in.” A gruff voice says.
“1265 Peach Street, please hurry!”
“Ma’am, police are on their way, stay on the line. Are you somewhere safe?”
“Little pig, little pig, let me in. Or I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow this door in.” The man says.
“Please hurry!” Jenny shouts while running to the closet. She shuts the door and frantically rummages through shoe boxes and odds and ends, the phone pressed between her cheek and shoulder.
“Police are on their way, just stay on the line. What’s your name ma’am?”
“My name is Jenny Perez, please I’m scared!” She wipes her tears as it clouds her vision from being able to find anything that could be used as a weapon. A loud THUMP is heard, along with the sound of splintered wood. “He’s here!” She yells.
The door swings open, a masked figure grips his rough paws on her sensitive face. A camera strapped to the shoulder blinked with a red light, he shoves a cloth over her mouth while dragging her backwards. Fighting to get loose, she loses strength and feels her eyes forcing shut. The sweet aroma of chloroform lingering into her nose. Her phone drops to the closet floor, the operator repeats her name as her legs are drug by.
“Ugh..” Jenny pries her eyes open, cold lingers in the room brushing her to the realization that she was in her bra and p*****s. Everything sways in heavy flows as her mind tries to fight the grogginess and come to reality. A dying light bulb attached to a chain dangling from above fights to shine light over her. She feels uncomfortable warmth, and pain across her right side. Pressing away from the concrete wall she’s leaning on, she tries to raise her right arm and bumps into another person. Samantha, she was leaning againt Jenny, in her underwear and cold as a stiff. Her curly hair was matted in a quarter sized glob of blood near the top of her head. “Samantha!” Jenny yells before trying to turn her direction.
She’s stopped as pain ripples upwards towards her shoulder and down to her waist. She looks down and sees her and Samantha’s flesh merged together in a maze of sloppy criss-crossed threads. “Ow!” Samantha yelps, waking up from her sitting position. She hazily turns her head and shouts, “Jenny! Where are we? Why are we, ow, s**t!” She stops focusing on one problem to concentrate on the other one at hand. “I don’t know, Sam, we have to cut this off! Do you see anything sharp?”
An echo bounces from an unknown location, observing their surroundings they see they’re in some sort of hallway with the grimy walls made of cinder blocks. Something scrapes among the floor, ricketing in-between bounces. Coming into the orange glow, a hideous face emerges. The face has ridiculous amounts of scars, possibly from facial reconstruction surgery. The right eye is sunk in and no longer passable as a socket, but more of a mound of skin connecting the red cheek to the eyebrow. Lips look like swollen sausages, a tounge rolls out exposing crooked, nicotine teeth. The upper body gaunt with no shirt, a pair of black slacks and suspenders going over his bony shoulders. In the right hand a pick axe dragging across the bumpy floor.
“Little pigs, little pigs. Such beauty, such fragile creatures.” He says. His right hand slides through his scraggly hair, a smile curving on his mouth. “I love the deep web. You see, we,” pointing at himself with a dirty finger “are the ones your parents worry about. We, are the ones you need to be careful of, the ones you avoid crossing at night. We, are the monsters under your bed, but on the internet, we are the stars!” He giggles at the end of his sentence and picks up the weapon.
Samantha doesn’t hesitate to try to jump up with Jenny following her move. Tears roll down Jenny’s face as she decides to act first and do what was quickest, she pulls away as the stitches pop out with speckles of flesh attached to the strands in wet dots. Samantha cries and screams, trying to do the same. She looks up to see the man running towards them, the pick axe raised above his head with both hands. Samantha tugs one last time pushing away with both hands, the coarse threads rip apart just as the axe comes between, missing them. Jenny pushes him to the wall and grabs Samantha as they run together, their sides bleeding with pin prick holes dotting their ribs. Down the hallway they go as the man picks himself up, wipes a hand across his nose and begins to chase them once more.
He was faster than he looked, and caught up quickly. The echoes of his boots pouncing get louder, Jenny turns to look back and loses her balance slipping on the floor. The axe cuts through her hair, missing her head and driving into wall. Samantha stops and turns around to pick her up, looking up to see the man straining to wedge his piece loose, she runs over and slams him backwards. Jenny climbs to her feet and grips onto the axe releasing it from its concrete chamber. She drives it downwards in heavy swing. It juts into his belly, blood spitting out of his mouth as he groans out in pain.
“Jenny, what are you doing!” Samantha yells.
“This isn’t a game, Sam. We’re in what we admired, and now we’re playing their game.” She pulls the axe out and looks down, “How do we get out of here!”
The man forces a laugh, “You’ll never survive the museum, this was just a test. I’ve been ready to die, are you?” Jenny glares at him and swings down once more, clawing into his lower jaw tearing a path straight through. The man clammors at it while choking on fluids, he gurgles and slowly stops moving. She pulls the axe out, and looks over. Crying now, Samantha says, “I’ve never seen a dead body in real life Jenn, you just killed him!”
“Sam, snap out of it. This is real life, there are no second chances if we let anyone have the upper hand. Look.” She points to red lights blinking in random spots of the hallway. “They’re watching, it’s just like the deaths we watched online. There’s no one that can help us, we have to fight. I’m scared too, but we’re not gonna live, unless WE fight.”
Samantha slides her arm across her wet eyes and nods her head. Continuing their path down the hallway, at the end sways a curtain with light beaming through torn holes and rips. Pulling it sideways, they hear a screeching microphone.
A voice crackles through old speakers bringing them to life. It said: DO NOT CLING TO HOPE, FOR THE MUSEUM HAS JUST BEEN UNVEILED