The First Assignment

The First Assignment

By Billy Kramer

To my Parents.

Thank you for always pushing me to follow my dreams and to find what makes me happy.

Chapter 1

It wasn’t the smell of decay that woke Shawn up. Nor was it the constant rocking motion that caused him to hit his knee on the door. He had already been up when he noticed these small annoyances.

An eerie quiet encompassed his body. Could someone be awoken by silence? Usually, when he slept, he tossed and turned. He’d tried three different mattresses in the past year alone. But last night, Shawn didn’t even remember falling asleep. What he did remember was the size of his bed. He shouldn’t be hitting his knee on anything. He sat straight up, knowing he wasn’t in his bed.

He was right. The comfort of his grandmother’s scratchy quilt was nowhere near him, and Shawn slept with it no matter how hot it was. Squinting, he surveyed his surroundings as his eyes adjusted. Across from him was a black leather bench that mirrored the seat underneath him. If he held his hands out, he could feel the stained wood walls. The whole enclosed compartment was tiny: about five feet by five feet.

The only other thing in the compartment seemed to be a door to his left. He could just make out the handle, which must have been what he bruised his knee on. Where was he?

Shawn wasn’t supposed to be here; he was sure of it. He needed to think. Earlier, a sudden lurch in the compartment had almost caused Shawn to fall out of his seat. Whatever he was in, it was moving.

What the… he whispered. He struggled to recall the last thing he did. He’d been to the movies. Had sat through a God-awful turkey meatball dinner with his parents. But each time he got closer to what happened the day before, a wall came down in his mind.

Hair on the back of his neck came alive with the sudden flow of air.

Ah, you’re awake, are ya? The voice came from behind.

Shawn jumped to the other side of the compartment, throwing himself against the wood. From this side, he could make out a tiny square hole where his head had been.

What are you, mute, kid? Or can you move your tongue to make words? The voice crackled.

As Shawn had no idea where he was or how he got there, he wasn’t exactly keen on talking to some random voice coming through a hole in the wall.

Name is Roddick. You got a name, kid?

At least Shawn now had a name to tell the police when they apprehended his kidnapper. Well, Shawn wasn’t in the mood for talking. He needed to get out of the damn box. He reached for the door and tried the handle. It moved about halfway before the lock engaged, stopping any further attempts. Great. Not only did he not know where he was, but he was trapped.

They always try the door, eh Gracie? Never can just sit back and relax now, can they.

Shawn was going to hurl. A normal start to his day was apparently out of the question. At least Shawn learned that Roddick wasn’t acting alone. His silent partner must take joy out of hearing Shawn squirm, because she remained tightlipped.

Who the hell are you people?! He yelled, unsure of where the bout of confidence came from. Hell, he might as well attempt to weasel information out of them. Where am I?

Damn, mate. Don’t need to shout. And I told you, the name is Roddick. He chuckled. As to where you are, that might be a little harder to explain, but don’t worry we’re almost to the gate.

Confusion seemed to be the theme for today. What are you talking about? Why am I locked in here? What freaking gate? People say their minds move a hundred miles per hour in intense situations, but Shawn’s brain felt like a turtle moving across a sewer of sludge. There was so much new random information being thrown at him that he wasn’t sure what to grab onto.

Ignoring his questions, Roddick continued, Ah, don’t worry, kid. I see it now. You see it, Gracie?

Why couldn’t Shawn have just woken up passed out on a sidewalk or something? That would make more sense than whatever this was. Maybe you want to help fill in a couple of gaps for me, uh, Gracie?

"Ahhhhahaah, Gracie, he thinks you are going to talk to him. He giggled. You certainly got a lot of questions, don’t you, kid? What is your name by the way? Can’t just call you ‘kid’ the whole time."

Shawn. My name is Shawn. Figuring he was already trapped here; a name wouldn’t do any damage. He felt a weird sense of calmness as he said it. Was that crazy? He was trapped, but at least his name was something he was confident about. Now that we’re on a first-name basis, Roddick, mind explaining why I’m not currently in my own bed? Frustration leaked out of his voice.

The compartment jolted, and Shawn had to brace himself on the seat to avoid falling off. Looking up at the wall across from him, he saw that the hole in the wall had closed. Great. The guy wouldn’t shut up, and as soon as Shawn opened his mouth, the conversation stopped.

With a sudden click, the wooden door to his right opened, and there stood a man who Shawn could only assume to be Roddick. Well, Mister Turner, we seem to have arrived.

It didn’t take long for Shawn’s eyes to adjust to the dark world outside the door. It was as if someone had thrown a switch in his brain; in a matter of seconds, Shawn had a clear picture of the man in front of him.

The man stood across from him, looking like he’d come from an 1800s wedding. His blood-red tie seemed like it would stain his pearl dress shirt underneath. He even wore a jet-black vest to go along with his tailcoat, which wouldn’t be complete without a top hat. The only thing he was missing to complete the tuxedo was a monocle.

Before you hit me with more of the many bubbling questions boiling inside of your brain, why don’t we wait for Mac? The man offered his hand. Based on the way he talked, Shawn had assumed Roddick to be older, possibly even in his 80s, but the man who stood in front of him was in his early 40s at best.

Brushing off the gesture, Shawn stepped out on his own; he wasn’t going to accept help from the man who’d trapped him in a box.

Shawn smelled the leaves before he noticed the trees surrounding him. Even in the dark, Shawn could make out the branches clotted with pumpkin-orange leaves. The forest seemed to take root everywhere he looked, with maple trees suddenly obscuring views in any direction he turned. Only one area was clear of the forest’s clutches. Below Shawn’s feet was a cobblestone path leading from the direction they traveled to the gate.

Turning back around, Shawn came face to face with a long snout. Before he knew it, Shawn felt the cobblestone make an imprint on his butt. Shaking his head, he almost wanted to laugh at the ridiculous scene he found himself in. In front of him stood an ash-gray-coated stallion. Two horses were pulling the carriage that he’d emerged from. An actual freaking carriage. Shawn worried that he’d stepped into another dimension. Either that or this guy had an itching to dress up.

Both horses held their heads straight, their blinders helping them resist any movement. Not that they needed them. When he was startled and yelling, they didn’t even bat an eye. Shawn hated horses ever since he’d fallen off one during a family vacation. He’d cried about his sore ankle for ten minutes before his mother convinced him to get back on.

Ah, I see you’ve met Gracie! Roddick came over and patted her on the snout and winked at Shawn. She and Timothy keep me in good company, ya know.

Shawn just stared at him. The wink threw Shawn off. What kind of kidnapper was he? Mr. Roddick—

Nope. Just Roddick. ‘Mr.’ was my pops. He always taught me to show respect though.

Right… Okay, Roddick, can you now tell me where I am?

Not my job, Mr. Shawn, he said with a bow, making sure to take his top hat off so it didn’t fall.

Did someone slip him drugs last night? Shawn went up to the gate and gripped the rusted bars until his blood flow was almost cut off. Two stone ostriches sat perched on fire-scorched brick posts that framed the gate. On top of the entrance sat an iron-moon-shaped circle of swirls. The interweaving design stretched from post to post. Almost like a child had painstakingly traced swirls in different directions, only deciding at the end to sign their initials—evident by the gold WA saddled in the middle of the gate topper.

Leaning his head against the bars, he let his skin absorb the cool from the black metal as he tried to think clearly. Twenty-four hours ago, something had happened which caused him to wake up with basically no recollection of anything. Amnesia? Dream? Kidnapping? Any of these options could be the solution.

Turning around, he let his hand settle against the rough patch of brickwork. Hey, Roddick?

Yes, Mr. Turner? Roddick said without turning from his horses.

Why don’t I remember how I got here? Be blunt. That’s what his dad always said. One shouldn’t beat around the bush. It was worth a shot to keep pestering the man. Shawn thought about running, but he wasn’t intimidated by Roddick. Plus, he had no idea where he’d go.

Roddick continued stroking the silver mane of Gracie, or possibly Timothy—Shawn wasn’t sure. Ah, Mr. Turner, before we get into that, let me ask you a question.

Are you joking?

Humor me. A large neigh erupted from Gracie with each pet from her master. Hmm, well a young’un of your age should have a heartbeat of what?

Sixty to a hundred for resting, Shawn thought, digging up the information he’d buried from health class. He shook his head, trying to shake off the grogginess. What’s the point of asking that? You need to tell me what’s going on.

And what is yours currently? Roddick asked, as he continued to oblige the horse.

This time Shawn didn’t need the grip of the gate to stop the blood flow in his body, because not only did Shawn not know where he was; he had no heartbeat.

Chapter 2

Footsteps echoed up the path, each one bouncing off Shawn and ricocheting around him. He stood in front of the gate, planted with anxiety. He wondered why he couldn’t find his heartbeat. He checked his wrists and then his neck. He’d had problems finding it before, but even with a hand over his heart, he got the same thing: nothing.

Roddick the footsteps said.

Roddick finally stepped away from petting his horses to engage with the newcomer. Ah, Mr. Mac! I have a delivery for you.

Shawn slouched out of the haze that engulfed him and sat against a tree. He didn’t owe these people anything. He wasn’t some package.

There are supposed to be two today. Mac glanced at Shawn.

Digging his fingernails into the roots of the tree, Shawn met Mac’s gaze.

Now now, Mr. Mac. The other wasn’t on my list. Ain’t that right, Gracie? Only one today?

Mac sighed and rubbed his head. Lily bringing the other one then?

Like I said, not on my list. Not my job, Good Sir. He chuckled again and went back to petting his stallions.

Mac stared at Roddick, who tipped his hat in response. You know, it wouldn’t kill you to update your wardrobe, Rod.

A pair of leather boots appeared in front of Shawn’s nose. Mac wore a long black sleeve pullover and a regular pair of blue jeans. One sleeve bore the roman numeral six, while the sleeve had a WA over the shoulder.

Let’s get going, Shawn.

Shawn was tempted to bash Mac’s bald head in with the rock laying on the ground nearby, but then he saw what was in Mac’s hand. A long-curved blade extended from his arm, as if it were part of him. A scythe. The man was carrying a freaking scythe! Shawn released the rock from his fingertips.

Noticing Shawn eye the weapon, Mac’s eyebrows raised. Orientation will explain most of the questions. The man turned on his heel and walked back towards the gate. Shawn assumed that he was supposed to follow.

See ya around, Mr. Shawn! Roddick called out to him as the horses trotted back.

Orientation? What were they going to do? Give him a PowerPoint presentation about why he was kidnapped? Shawn stood and followed Mac because, again, he had no choice. As he passed one of the stone ostriches, he had this feeling that being left in the dark carriage might not have been the worst thing in the world.

Walking down the cobblestone path revealed a rabbit-white brick building that seemed to spread two football fields across. At the center of the building was a six-story-high tower, with large arched windows. Shawn knew he should be taking in more of his surroundings, but the tower seemed to draw his attention like a candle on an ugly birthday cake. He could just make out the shape of a figure peering down from the top window. After a couple seconds, the image disappeared from sight.

Mac slowed down to a dull pace, which Shawn matched. Lights flickered in some of the windows, confirming that there were others here, but he couldn’t gauge how many. The building seemed massive; it looked to hold perhaps around 2000 people. And this was only the front.

They made their way toward the center tower. An extravagant double-wide door welcomed them. Two knockers hung from the door. Both were a pair of marbled eyes that seemed to judge Shawn as he walked up.

Are you going to let me know what I’m walking into? Shawn asked.

A sigh was all he got in return. Mac knocked once on the cedar doors, completely ignoring the eye knockers. A man in a checkered blue tweed suit answered as if he’d been waiting all night for Shawn’s arrival. But he gave a surprising glance down in Shawn’s direction that suggested this wasn’t necessarily the case.

Mac spoke before the man could finish formulating whatever words were still inside of his mouth. Can you please take Mr. Turner up to the clubhouse, Franklin?

Uh, of course! Where is Mr. Musters? Franklin replied.

Delivery was a little late, but I’m going back out now to wait for his drop-off. Mac gestured to Shawn. Now, can you take care of this one first? He said this as if Shawn was just something to check off a list for the night.

Of course, of course, said Franklin, smiling.

He seemed a little too energetic for Shawn at this time of night. Or morning? Shawn wasn’t sure.

Now this way, Mr. Turner. A path led Shawn to a door across the entryway. Inside the dome-shaped room, there wasn’t much: three other doors, one on the east side of the foyer and one on the west. Franklin led Shawn to the third door. WA made another appearance on the wall closest to Shawn. But instead of gold, these large letters were painted in stark white paint.

If Shawn hadn’t been completely terrified, he would have admired the room more. Walls that rounded into the ceiling were painted his favorite navy blue. A chair rail circled the room, with white wood paneling traced below it. Each wall had an out cove built into it that displayed a marble bust. Four busts sat for display, each with a face Shawn didn’t recognize. In the middle of the room stood a single black marble table that held a glass vase of sunflowers. He was tempted to break the vase open and use the glass to fight his way out, but he put his hand back to his non-beating heart.

Shawn stood still on the checkered tile. No offense, Franklin, but why in the world should I follow you?

Without bothering to turn around, Franklin continued toward the door across the way. That’s because, Mr. Turner, as you’re well aware, you have no memory of the last few nights.

This kind of response didn’t make Shawn want to follow the man.

And I have all the answers, Franklin added as he disappeared into the doorway.

Not exactly an inviting invitation, but choices were limited. Could he run out into the woods?

Franklin popped his head out from around the doorframe. Also, all the doors are locked in here.

Just to satisfy the little sanity he still had left, Shawn tried the front door. To no avail. With no options, he followed the strange man through the doorway. It led into a stairwell.

Come on, Mr. Turner. We haven’t got all night. Franklin’s voiced reverberated in the round chamber Shawn now found himself in.

I take it you can’t tell me what’s going on either? Shawn said.

Well, you’re at Wayward Academy. And you’re a lucky one, much better than Free Eagle or Sandling.

Shawn soaked in this information, even though it meant absolutely nothing to him. At least the WA’s plastered all over the walls finally made sense, but what sort of Academy has horse drawn carriages? Or kidnaps their students?

Uh, sure… Does this mean WA is why my last couple days are missing? Shawn grabbed the stone railing. The steps to the stairs kept spiraling endlessly upward.

Franklin sped up his speech. It was like he was at the climax of a movie and couldn’t wait to see what came next. Well, originally, back in the early days, memories were left intact. But then the shortage happened, and the council voted to go another way. The trauma was just too much for some individuals. Which seems strange at first, but it does make the transition much, much easier.

These people had taken away his memories to protect him from trauma? Shawn had Wayward Academy narrowed down to an insane asylum or a dream. His money was on the former. "Transition? What am I transitioning to? What trauma?"

I don’t think I need to explain the answer to the last question for you. Hmmm, do I, Mr. Turner? Franklin responded as they passed another level. As to the question of transition, that will be explained during orientation. But don’t worry: you’re in very good hands.

"Just to be clear, the Academy didn’t cause me to wake up here?"

Oh no, that would be impossible. Franklin stopped at the top of the stairs in front of a green wooden door. Let’s get you settled in the clubhouse… before you pass out.

Nothing made sense, which seemed to be a common theme around here. The guy must have eyes in the back of his head because Shawn’s steps were becoming heavier as he made each landing. The marble staircase was now spiraling like a kaleidoscope.

There are eighty-seven steps, including the top landing areas in the six stories, Franklin said, as if reading his mind.

Well, I hope that door means we’re at the last one, Shawn grunted. He wasn’t out of shape—just purely exhausted. He swore he was more athletic than his raspy breath indicated.

Now, if you would please be quiet when you enter the room so as to not disturb the others, that would be wonderful.

So, he wasn’t the only one then. Were they planning on filling up the place up with confused seventeen-year-olds that had recollection issues? As Shawn stepped foot on the landing and through the door, his legs screamed out in joy.

The clubhouse seemed more like a military hospital wing; the room was scattered with rolling beds, accompanied by nightstands. Shawn could make out two figures underneath sheets. One seemed to be balled up completely underneath, while the other had long brown hair flowing across her pillow.

There’s some water on the table. Someone will be back to fetch you all in the morning for orientation.

Shawn wanted to let Franklin leave, but he also needed more information. He shuffled his way to a bed near the window. What is this place?

Wayward Academy. I think we’ve gone over that.

Shawn let the water refresh his throat. His eyes started drooping. No, I mean why am I here?

Gripping the inside of his jacket, Franklin steadied himself. I thought you figured that out by now.

Mr. Turner.

Wait. This man had been calling him Mr. Turner? Shawn had never told him his last name.

You’re here because you’re dead.

Chapter 3

Sitting on the edge of the bed, his body crumpled into the sheets before he had a chance to satisfy his thirst-quenched mouth. Luckily, Shawn hadn’t felt like talking to anyone else in the looney bin anyway.

After being told he was dead—which Shawn found hard to believe, since his legs still held him up—he passed out for a couple hours. Just the thought of no heartbeat had his mind racing, yet he fell asleep easily. The outside world was still dark when he awoke, and there wasn’t a clock hanging around anywhere. Another two beds had been filled while he’d been out, which meant he’d slept through two separate times when the door had opened.

For over two hours, he tried picking the lock with a long skinny nail that he’d dug up from the floorboards. He was determined to rush out that door the minute it opened. He’d take his chances in the woods. Eventually, he gave up and decided to wait for more information in the morning. Only the morning just brought more questions.

So, how’d you die? A boy asked, plopping into the bed next to Shawn’s. Maybe not the strangest way to open a conversation, but it had to be up there. Shawn held a hand up to his chest, trying to find even the faintest of pulses. This boy, Shawn guessed, was in the same life after death boat.

Shawn couldn’t help but laugh. Great question, man. The boy seemed to take this answer in stride by giving Shawn a half-smile.

Fucking cupcakes, man! I can’t remember anything either. One day I was hitting aces over the net and then bam! I woke up in this room. He jumped off the bed as he said it. Name’s Quintin, but people call me Q. The boy stuck out his hand.

Shawn threw his body over the side of his bed, fully awake from this Quintin. Name’s Shawn, and people also call me Shawn? He said as he met Q’s hand.

Q’s eyes widened. "Wait, you’re the Shawn??"

Shawn had no idea what that even meant. It wasn’t like he was the only person to ever be named Shawn. The most recognition he ever received was when he won an essay contest in third grade. Uh, no clue what you’re talking about.

"Oh yes, it all makes sense. You are him!" Closing his eyes, Q bowed to Shawn.

Shawn was leaning more toward this place being a hospital for the clinically insane with each passing moment. 

He did it to me too, said a voice to his left.

Shawn turned to find the same flowing brown hair he saw the night before.

So, I’m not royalty then? He remarked sarcastically.

The girl was sitting cross-legged on top of her tossed sheets. Well, maybe… Probably not, although the old thinker isn’t the most reliable at the moment.

Phew. I was worried I’d have to fire some servants.

Both Q and the freckle-faced girl stared at Shawn in silence. If the window had been open, Shawn would’ve been tempted to escape the awkwardness through it.

Q suddenly burst out laughing. "Bloody brilliant. I like you, mate, and I’m… dead serious."

The girl rolled her eyes at either the bad pun, Shawn, Q, or the combination of any of the three. She seemed unimpressed by both boys, which he couldn’t really blame her for.

Do either of you have any idea where we are? And if someone says, ‘Wayward Academy’, I might flip. Shawn said.

Q started pacing the room. Nah, mate. No clue. Tried kicking the door down when I woke up in here. Didn’t wake you blokes up, surprisingly. I mean, I got some damn good whacks in. Thought either that or her snoring would wake you up.

"I do not snore. She glared at Q, who disagreed again, although this time under his breath. And before you ask, yes, our memories also seem to be missing a couple of pieces as well. If I’d been awake when you arrived, I could’ve told you how much of a waste of time attempting to kick down that door was."

How long were you here before us then? Shawn asked.

She paused. Maybe a couple hours. I’m not sure honestly. When I arrived, I was the only one here, and I passed out quickly. I’m Maple by the way.

Would say it was nice to meet ya, but honestly, I would rather be anywhere else than here. Maple seemed to be staring at him, but Shawn followed Q as he continued pacing the room. Back and forth he went, as if he were trying to wear out the floorboards to escape.

Who are the other two? Shawn asked, hoping that the ball of sheets across the room might respond. Or that the guy passed out near the door might be of some help.

Whoever that is, she said, motioning to the ball bunched up underneath the sheets, hasn’t moved since he came in right before you. As for that one, she said, turning toward the body by the door, he came in last night a little after you.

You were awake? Shawn shook his head. That guy, Mac, brought me in and told me there were supposed to be two deliveries. I’m guessing he must have been the second delivery then.

Yes, I was awake. Who’s Mac? I’ve only interacted with the guy in the tweed suit. Franklin, I think? Quintin, do you know who Mac is?

Q didn’t respond right away. It wasn’t until he snapped out of the pacing trance that he realized he’d been asked a question. Franklin? Yeah, strange cat that one. I mean, who tells kids they’re dead? And before you ask, yes, I pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t. Tests were inconclusive at best.

Just as Shawn thought the first two times: loony bin.

You can’t die in a dream. The bundle of sheets spoke quietly, his voice muffled as it was filtered through the fabric.

See, that’s where you’re wrong, Sir Pile of Laundry. I’ll have you know that I have died in a dream before! Came back as a ghost though, and instead of doing cool stuff, I just looked at old letters. Weird.

Q was an oddball, but Shawn decided he was mostly harmless.

A portion of the sheet slipped down to the boy’s neck, framing it so it appeared that his head was floating. Parts of his mop of black hair stuck straight up, as if someone had glued them that way while he was deep in slumber. I hope for your sake you’re right then.

A knock at the door interrupted them. The door cracked open. Light from the window glinted off the metal that appeared at the doorway. Mac sauntered in, grasping his scythe.

Hey, man, no need to kill us. We’re apparently already dead. Q folded his hands on his lap and repeatedly blinked his eyes, trying to mask the deviance that Shawn was sure hid beneath.

Mac, Shawn mouthed to the others.

Clothes are underneath your bed. Please dress and be ready in three minutes. He turned and walked out without another word.

Maple had already pulled on a light sweatshirt similar to the one Mac was wearing. The only difference was hers was light gray and on her left sleeve was the roman numeral one. Are you guys going to move or just ogle at me?

Both Shawn and Q scrambled to put on their jeans and sweatshirts. Even the other boy removed himself from his hideaway underneath the sheets to get dressed. Guess this is the uniform, eh?

Think so, Q replied. Should we wake sleeping beauty over there? Q glanced at the last remaining kid in the room.

Maple was already walking towards the door before Shawn had his pants pulled on. Not our problem, she said. I want information, and I’m not waiting around for him.

Q appeared at his side and leaned over. "Aww. She said, ‘Our problem. She likes us. She really does."

Mac was waiting on the steps outside the door, scythe in hand. All four sets of eyes were drawn toward the blade and then back to Mac. He shrugged, finally showing some emotion. Never know how someone will react. Follow me.

What about the other guy? Shawn asked. They were all in this together, right?

Yeah, probably best not to leave him all alone, Q piped in.

Maple rolled her eyes at this and followed Mac down the spiral staircase.

Mac called back over his shoulder, he will join you later… Like I said, you never know how someone will react.

Shawn found the marble staircase a lot easier going down than up, and it wasn’t just because of gravity. He felt more energetic than he had last night. But even with this newfound energy, he still had to half-jog to keep up with Maple and Mac.

Shawn had just caught up to her when his tongue acted on its own accord. My name is Shawn by the way. Although he did need to stop referring to her as the girl in his head, he wasn’t Captain Smooth.

Maple threw a sideways glance at him. I know.

Huh?

You introduced yourself earlier. With that, she ended the conversation and sped up her walk.

Shawn was not the definition of smooth.

Don’t worry, man. We’ll figure that one out. Q threw him a wink as he said it, which made Shawn wonder if Q had figured anything out.

Mac led the group to the bottom of the stairwell, back to the tiled entryway. Both side doors were now propped open, revealing long hallways in which a few people were scattered about. Besides that, nothing had changed inside the dome. Shawn was tempted to bolt but figured information was key. As they crossed the front door threshold, Shawn stopped at the door knockers, placing one of the marble eyes in his hand. Someone had taken an incredible amount of time to detail the eye.

Wow, Q muttered, pulling Shawn’s attention away from the knocker.

Shawn had only known Q for what felt like ten minutes, so he was waiting for some type of sarcastic remark or joke, yet none came. Then Shawn noticed the roof above the trees. Yes, roof. A couple hundred feet up was a rock ceiling that stretched out in all directions in front of the Academy. Turning around to look at the building, Shawn could see the end of the cavern that they seemed to be in behind him, but as for how far it stretched, it could’ve been miles.

What… was all that Shawn could get out. Even the girl had nothing to say as she stopped to look at the ceiling and the strange light that emanated from it. Dotted across all areas of the cavern were tiny lights that the night before, Shawn had assumed were stars. Today, it was as if the dial had been turned up to full brightness. The strangest thing about the glowing roof wasn’t even how big it was. It was how the light imitated sunlight but without any of his skin soaking up the warmth.

Mac seemed to have known this was going to happen, as he’d stopped up ahead, waiting for them to snap out of the glowing roof daze. Unsure of how long he’d been consumed with the ceiling, Shawn finally snapped out of it realizing he still had the knocker clutched in his hand.

Shawn dropped the eye and it banged against the door. Everyone turned.

Sorry, Shawn apologized.

They continued on in their confused haze that grew worse every minute. Shawn took one last glance back at the knocker. He waited for something to happen because while he was gawking at the ceiling, he could have sworn he felt it move in his hand, as if it had blinked.

Mac led them past the face of the building onto a washed stone path that felt like it should be leading to a garden. Passing row after row of windows, they finally turned the corner. The path ended at a ridiculously large pit.

Shawn heard the people before he saw them. Built below ground level was a large stadium with an octangular stage in its center. Rows of people surrounded the stage at different levels. It made