By: Carol Fang

The States that we called “united” are now a country of devastation and fear. Political unrest and conflicts has thrown the country out of line and has been taken over by Sweden. The government of Sweden has miraculously captured the U.S. in its grasp and is still holding it firmly. Their leader has decided to build their popular furniture store, IKEA, across the area. One specifically, was for what he, the leader, called “entertainment.”

Every year holds a new victim: The contestant enters at night and leaves at dawn. None have been seen or found in the last 165 years, thus the claim that they are dead of the supernatural beings, or whatever the leader calls them.

This year, a runner, is the victim for “entertainment”.

…

Glassy automatic doors slide open as the runner steps in.

Why was I here in the first place? How did the mighty America fall into a dictator’s palm? These questions aren’t important at this point. Honestly, I need to get this down by dawn break.

Sssssss. Sssssss.

I think I hear a hissing noise. It’s really difficult to keep calm. It’s damp, dark and cold…how hard could it be? How hard could-
Shut up!

…

I need to focus. After all, I might be chased by the supernatural-but I’m also super-fast! “–But those things might be faster—” I murmur to myself. I can’t put that thought away. like bitter monsters, this spine-chilling thought will never go away.

Then I hear the hissing sound another time again.

Sssssss. Sssssss.

I’m scared. I look around in a furniture aisle and all I see are fancy bathrooms and overpriced king beds. The sound gets louder, and I hide under a bed. Will I get caught?

The bed smells like pine, even though I’m below. The framework is impressive, and the wood looks like ebony. The aroma seems like a rich perfumed woman rolled in it. Other than the soothing scent, all around me is darkness. Only gray, dark blue shades, and black outline or color everything. Here’s one thing I also realized. I’m not alone.

Footsteps. A hallucination? A vision? A nightmare that I might—no,—will never wake up from? Yes. The latter makes the most sense, and that’s probably why my body is tense, and my eyes feels so numb. There. I see a tall, dark, gaunt lanky figure that looks like a bunch of wired scribbles from head to toe.
I peek to get a better view. I creep back under my safety bed that’s probably not safe anymore, and one of the furthest beds to an exit. Nope and never again am I looking. I hear a thud, and I’m too curious to see what it was.

I regret not hesitating; decay drenched the soft aroma and scarlet red stains (it was still dark) spoiled the floor. Her eyes were glazed, and her limbs fell apart right beside her. Half of her head was missing, and a leg and arms were already eaten.

How hard could it be?

Over and over again I say, ‘How hard can it be?’ My oblivious ambition choked by breath. Where has my pride gone? The supernatural leaves. I make sure the coast is clear and I crawl out. Where did all those maggots come from? They weren’t here a while ago. A finger is below my feet. I only wince and cringe, and yet I am screaming inside.

…

I closed and locked the door behind me. In a janitor’s closet, the brooms and mops morphed into living shadows. Lights are always dim in a dream, and so this is a dream. No, it can’t be, or else how do I think I’m going to turn out like her? There are no windows in this blue bulk warehouse, so the only way to get out is through where I came from. I just have to get out by dawn, without the monster sighting me or chasing me. And the exit’s location to me is unknown.

In cases like these, you can only think. Slow and steady wins the race. If I walk like an old man, would I really escape? I need patience that I don’t have. I need courage to move. But I’m terrified. Traumatized. My body stills and my breath shallows. I put my back against a wall and slide down, hand over my mouth. My hand becomes warmer. My face drips with sweat. My legs burn like hell fire.

Just a little longer. Just a little longer until the east lifts a morning sun and sets the moon.

Sssssss. Sssssss.

It’s that hissing noise again. A rich feeling sweeps over. Flowers and fragrance is the emotion I feel at the moment. It reminds me of that wealthy perfumed- bed lady. Maybe she came back? But why here when the scribble monster was just behind these doors? It’s too late. The scent lures me out-and a stab through my stomach relieves my fear and anxiety.

It’s over. I won’t see her filling smile. And I won’t live to see another dawn.

No memories were replayed. It was just a dark feeling that touched me and washed over my body. Just darkness. It was sucking my life out of me. By “it”, it was the supernatural. The leaders claims right. This is the 166th death… I don’t mean to disappoint anyone.

I look down and see a crimson hole that could never be filled. My vision blurs, my head feels heavy. Drowsy-yes, that’s the word. The scribble monster awaits its midnight snack. Me!

Heaven is just beyond my reach.

That was the 166th victim of escaping, who failed. No one knows what lies in that IKEA. But the leader.