6,034

SC: I'm not sure if this is sensitive or not but the MC hears their bones break.

“6,033, failed,” the fairy observes.

“Ugh!” I slam the door with my fist again. The old, smoothed wood is hard against my scabbed knuckles.

A tinkling laugh echoes around me. The **** sprite is sitting on a high beam under the ceiling, mocking me. Again.

“How many times do I have to tell you? There is no escape from this place. Please, for your own sanity, stop trying,” she sings.

“We both know I can’t,” I say for the millionth time. Slouching back against the door, I rub my temples. Mental weariness assaults me. How long has it been? Minutes? Hours? Years? Too long for comfort, that’s for certain. Trying to escape is necessary, indisputable, but is reaching the exit possible? No– it has to be. The door has to be the escape if not– I've tried all the others.

The sprite’s sardonic laughter begins again, driving me to another retort.

“I know there’s an escape. If there is a way in, then there has to be a way out. That’s how doors work.”

The faerie flies into view, shaking her head, pity written all over her sharp little face. “This isn’t a normal house, human. I have told you before, what the house catches is forever caught– and eternally forgotten.”

Balling my fists in frustration, I stand up. I will find a way out no matter what a stupid, winged–

“We both know I can hear you. If your intent is to make me angry, hoping that I will throw you out, you should know that won’t work, human.” She utters “human” in a pitying voice, as if I am some poor, dumb beast. I try to glower at her, but the constantly flashing green and yellow lights that surround her make it difficult.

I decide she isn’t worth the energy and begin to pace around the small fifties-themed kitchen. The soft ticking of the kit-cat clock is a jackhammer in my ears, its eyes following me as I pace. A shiver goes down my spine. There is something about this place that unnerves me. From the pink pastel metal cabinets to the formica table with its striped blue and white seats. Nothing here feels right or real. A quiet jingle plays over the plastic transistor radio, the words jumbled and unintelligible. I have to get out of here.

Making up my mind, I walk over to the tall wooden door; the entrance to insanity.

“I’m trying again,” I say, stretching my limbs and shaking my head, in an attempt to psych myself up. The white and black checkered floors stretch before my eyes, daring me to try again.

The fae flies over to me, landing on my shoulder. “That is the problem with your kind, you never know when to give up. Do you?” She sighs and pulls a small aviator hat out of the air, fitting it snugly on her miniscule head. I open up my breast pocket and she daintily tucks herself inside. “Shall we get on with this again, foolish human?” she drawls, adjusting tiny goggles over her wicked eyes.

Be grateful I don’t squish you.

“I am choosing to ignore that.”

I stride toward the wooden door clenching and unclenching my fists. Just through the void to the golden door. Just to the door, and you will be free. All the memories, people, and places I have forgotten in this abominable place will be mine again. If only I reach that **** door.

Slowly, I ease open the wooden gateway and the infinite darkness pulls me into its depths once more.

Falling and spinning, I descend from darkness into the colorful void, landing face-first on a cracked leather sofa. I struggle to stand on the sinking cushions for a few seconds, slowly finding my sea legs. My eyes, or rather, my brain, still finds it hard to comprehend the absurdity of what I’m witnessing. The door that I have just came out of sits suspended in midair, thirteen feet above me. All around are various pieces of floating furniture, gently moving in a downward spiral towards a bright light at the bottom of an abyss.

From ancient looking pieces of marble and wood, to futuristic metal and fur sofas, it is a site to behold. The furniture must be enchanted to float in a downward spiral forever, as there seems to be no beginning or end.

A digital clock drifts over to me, its screen reading 15:55. I have already wasted five seconds of the sixteen minutes I get to reach the golden door.

Glancing around beneath the sofa, I look for a suitable piece of furniture to jump onto. The closest thing is a sturdy-looking vanity a few feet beneath me. It looks very solid. This is going to hurt like ****. Lowering myself down the abnormally long leg of the sofa, I drop onto the vanity. My chin hits the mirror and I hiss, scrambling to get a grip.

“Do not forget I am in your pocket, imbecile!” snaps the fairy somewhere between the mirror and my flannel pocket.

“Of your own volition.” I grunt, deciding to rest for a few seconds.

I catch my breath and scramble atop the vanity, searching for the next piece of furniture. A modern black loveseat catches my eye a few feet to my right and I leap off the vanity, just managing to grab on to the armrest with both hands and pulling myself up onto the weird furry piece.

“Who in their right mind would create this obscene thing?” the faerie twits.

On and on I go, gradually descending deeper into the void. Between rearranging my skeleton on hard furniture and the sprite’s comments on my stupidity, it is a long go. The abyss seems to stretch endlessly as the shining golden door beckons from the bottom. Just a little farther, I tell myself, you are almost free. Free from this accursed house in this accursed world, free from whatever time loop you're trapped in.

At long last, I am two tables from the golden door. With two minutes left on a nearby grandfather clock, I realize this is the farthest I have ever made it. I look down at the fairy with a smirk, “I told you I would make it!”

She looks up at me, her face unreadable. “Don’t count your chickens…”

I sigh. What a downer.

In my excitement, I launch myself toward the first table, realizing at the last second it is flimsier than it had initially looked. The table folds upon impact and I fall through it hitting my head on the edge of a cast-iron stove three feet below. Before consciousness leaves me, I hear a horrific crack as my skull shatters.

I wake up gasping by the wooden door. The fifties kitchen sits undisturbed as when I left it. Burying my face in my hands, I scream, “****, ****, ****.” I sit up and stare at the door. How many times has it been? How many deaths, each just as painful as the last? Why am I here? What have I done to deserve this? Misery and despair grip me and I lie down again, staring at the ceiling. I don’t even know who I am anymore.

The sprite, perched atop the doorknob, sighs. My eyes fix on her as she files her nails without a care in the world. She pauses to blow on them and then blesses me with a look.

“What part of forever caught and eternally forgotten do you not understand?” she demands, cross. “Do you think I enjoy watching you die over and over again? There is no escape from this place, ever. So please, for both of our sakes stop trying.” With that, she pulls a clipboard and pen out of the air, speaking as she jots down a number. “Try number 6,034, failed.”