Backwards Into Hell

Part Three: Everybody Dies

Jake's Diary

Sunday 31st October

I left Lottie at the dining room table and went to the supplies shed. I needed something for the end game, my final plan, and that was the place to find it.

When I headed back inside, passing the remains of the abandoned boat—that period felt like years ago—Lottie was already gone so I snuck to my room.

The end was so close I could almost smell it in the sulphur-like air of The Lodge. I perched at my desk and ran over the plan for the final time. It was simple: I had what I needed, and with only four of us in The Lodge, there were far fewer people to keep track of.

Outside the window, it was another rainy day. This time, the weather was angrier, wilder and windy. Like it knew. Just a few hours and Rachel would be back.

Life would go back to normal if I wanted. There was no chance I could be a lawyer anymore—the monotony of courtroom life would be too much to bear—so I'd find something else to do. Something far more fun.

As I pondered, The Old Man came back. I'd been expecting him—it seemed fitting to have one final talk with the bastard—but when he finally appeared, I he was barely recognisable.

'What happened to you?'

He chuckled, playing with the cufflinks of his fancy new suit. Not a wrinkle sat on his face, and he stood tall with the terrifying energy of youth.

'Let's just say I got rid of a problem back in the real world.'

My stomach twisted. What did that mean?

'You can't send me back now.' I backed away, shaking my head. 'I'm so close.'

'Of course not. Besides, you'll be finished soon, won't you?'

'Just a few more hours.' I felt myself beginning to beg. 'I just need to—'

'No. Not a few more hours,' he mimicked. 'You do it now.'

'But it's not time, I'm not—'

'You have an hour. Good luck.'

With that, The Old Man (if I can even call him old anymore) disappeared. This time, however, he slipped out of the door, making use of his youthful legs, and by the time I glanced down the hall, he was gone.

I almost sat back at my desk before realising there wasn't time.

An hour. An hour to kill three people.

Fine.

I grabbed the gasoline I had stolen from the supply shed, and, barely caring if anyone saw, dragged it downstairs. I reached the kitchen, arms burning with the weight, and dumped the canister by the door. Then I turned on each of the four gas stoves and left them leaking.

Next, I grabbed a screwdriver from underneath the sink and shoved it into my pocket before taking the lid off the gasoline. It was a giant container made of thin orange plastic, and I went all around The Lodge with it—the kitchen, the stairs, and the halls—skipping with excitement.

As I passed David's room, Caleb wailed and David shushed him. It made me pause.

I couldn't mess up now.

So, in the name of time, I didn't bother smothering the further floors in gasoline, and left the canister at the top of the stairs before jumping soundlessly back to the kitchen.

Once that was done, I waited by the dining room door for a few moments, letting the gas build further and, finally, lit a match.

It worked.

The kitchen erupted into gorgeous red flames. They licked the cabinets and the door frames, but most of the room was just gone. The back wall had blown away and the stove sat blackened below where the window had been and smouldered as the fire began to spread. First, flames jumped and flowed to the dining room, hungrily destroying the wooden walls of The Lodge, before edging into the lobby.

It was only then I realised where I'd put my hand. It had been resting on a burning piece of wooden doorway. Painless. Warm to the touch, sure, but painless.

I'd been right.

The explosion hadn't touched me.

Next, I needed to open every door with the key from the dockyard to help the flames spread faster. As I moved to the lobby, I remembered the fire extinguisher hidden against a kitchen wall with a smirk.

I hardly needed to worry about that now.

Lottie and David couldn't get into the kitchen without burning alive, and with the main door locked and windows boarded up, they couldn't get out either. Unless, of course, they were willing to take a suicidal leap from the second floor.

That was when David, timely as ever, came stomping downstairs. His eyes were wide and white and Caleb was nowhere to be seen. I'd been waiting for this moment for so long, but we didn't speak. No words were needed.

David froze on the bottom step and stared. I only confirmed what he'd been thinking.

It's him.

I grinned.

It was always him.

He stumbled back upstairs, feet slipping, probably running to tell Lottie. I just stood there.

No rush.

Smoke had filled the entire lobby by then. It billowed from the kitchen and floated upstairs and I breathed in deeply, enjoying the rich, eggy smell.

Then, with my work almost done, I marched up the stairs.