Chapter 1 of 2: The Voices
Day 3
I don’t know how long it’s been, how long I’ve been here. How long I’ve aimlessly trekked through these decaying halls. The sun never seems to rise, a murky black night presenting itself through the barred up windows. I follow the carvings, just like the walls tell me to do; I have learned they are nothing but false calls from God, leading me to dead end after dead end. Signs reading “EXIT”. But as I turn the corner, a structurally sound wall stands tall before me. I rub my hooves against the chipping paint; the hollowness I pray to feel is not there, only solid stone.
I can still hear the pleading screams of voices through the corridors, but I am yet to meet another soul. The deeper I go the louder they become, incoherent moans turn to piercing shrieks for help. I want to lend my hoof, I really do, but I’m not even sure if they are real or not. Maybe it’s just my wavering mind toying with me, my body turning against me. Making me seem… crazy.
I know I’m not crazy, I know I’m not. A pony would know if he has lost track of sanity, right?
Well that’s what I believe; therefore I am still stable, for now.
Day 5
My food storage is running low, only parcels remain from rotting, worm infested apples. The moldy slices of burnt bread. I’m tempted to eat it, feast on this dying meal. A fading stallion deserves perfect delicacies. In here, if anypony is to touch spoiled food, they might as well be praying.
Even though I feel alone down here, I know I’m not. I can see them, others, just like me. They live in the walls, carving me symbols and signs to lead me through this never-ending journey. This is normal, yes? Or is it only the beginning of the end?
Day 8
I’m beginning to feel a pattern. These walls, changing, morphing all around me. Halls that I ventured through the day before no longer exist, and doorways leading to janitor closets now open to massive shower rooms. Don’t you see, the building, its playing with me. After a blink of an eye I am no longer where I once stood. It’s leading me in circles. But I must try to counter this. A map. If I can muster up the strength to endure the torture of confusion just a little while longer, I can find patterns in the building rearrangements. It will take time, but I think it’s possible.
Day 10
The voices have returned, now at what feels like full force. Yet I am still to find where they are emanating from. I do believe they’re in the walls. Bloodshot eyes staring down on me through the rotting ramparts. But today, something very surreal happened. They seem to be taking form of physical entities. I can see them, dark shadows skulking behind closed doors, creeping around hallway corners. I want to make contact, but upon moving towards them, they simply run. I’m worried that they’re scared of me.
Day 12
Food is gone, water is gone. It’s all gone. I have been forced to eat the only residents of this dreadful place. Rats. They taste bitter and grotesque, but after a while, you grow fond of the unique flavor. I wonder if I’m doing these miniature monsters a favor. Why are they here anyway? Why would they want to be here? Do they endure the same form of madness as I? But when staring down into their beady little eyes, unknowing of the fate that is to come, I can’t help but giggle. I am saving them.
Day 16
A new being has entered my domain, and I’m growing ecstatic. Somepony else might actually be here! The screaming voices are accompanied by… footsteps. Bellowing footsteps, banging against the floor on the levels above me. Another pony? Or just the voices taking up a more physical form?
Day 18
My map is nearly complete, simply adding the final details. After days of never ending walks through these twisted halls I have finally found a true pattern.
1,5,7,666
These numbers indicate the morphing of the building. I have split the building into four quarters, each quarter morphing differently. Quarter one tends to change once a day, leaving it very easy to navigate through. If it is a bathroom, hallway, or bedroom that changes, I am unsure. It seems to be random. Quarter two morphs five times a day, focusing primarily on smaller rooms. It seems to transform closets into long corridors. The corridors tend to branch off to quarter three of the building. How that is possible I do not know, for quarter two and three are on opposite sides of the structure, but I’ve decided to bypass the laws of physics while in this place.
Back on topic. Quarter three morphs seven times, strangely enough, focusing on only one primary room. It looks to be a patient’s room. I open the door, leading to a bathroom; I open the door again, now leading to a hallway, and so on so forth. After seven tries at this, I am always lead to the same patient’s room.
Quarter number four… I will never wonder again. Every corner, every isle, changes constantly. No pattern, no timing, no nothing. Everything here is too deformed to navigate, and I still am trying to fathom the fact that I escaped that place alive. I cannot say how many times the maze was reforming in that area of the building, so I label the number 666. It seems to fit with that ungodly place.
Day 20
I feel as though I am slowly loosing grip on the real world, my mind fading till I can’t remember what life was like before I came here. I believe I had children, a loving wife, warm home, and all the friends I could ever ask for. I just don’t know what I did to deserve this.
Day 25
I have found the source of the footsteps, but I was only greeted by my worst nightmare. My predictions were correct, the voices, they have taken on something… stronger. I can see them now, not just shadows in the distance, or carvings in the walls, but actual, physical beings. They are much different then you and I, though. They wear dirtied hospital gowns, their limbs cracking under broken bones. They’re faces… I can’t see them. The skin on their cheeks have been sown tightly across their features, stretching till breaking point. I can’t make out a mouth, nose, ears, eyes, nothing, only flesh. Yet, they talk to me, tell me the doctor did this to them. He did it to cure them from the shame they endured in the physical world.
I ask what they mean, and who is this doctor that they speak of. They tell me that I will meet him in time, and that after the “operation”, I will be allowed to leave.
I still don’t know what they mean, but I grow ever more anxious about this operation they constantly scream about. But what unnerves me the most is… they tell me I am one of them now.
To be continued….
