The Contest of a Lifetime

"The Contest of a Lifetime," the paper says. "A chance to win the thing you want most in the world. Compete against two other contestants for one thing, anything at all," It sounds promising, but the prize will probably be some self-help book or something.

I call the number in the ad and am surprised to reach a real person, not a robot. The woman on the phone sounds young. She asks my name and age," Jordan, 23." She asks why I want to participate in the contest," I'm bored," I lie.

"Come to 926 Maple Street on this Friday night. Be there at seven o'clock sharp and please leave your phone in your car. Being late is a cause for elimination," and with that she hangs up the phone.

---

Four days later, and I'm driving to 926 Maple Street. My car is junky and full of McDonald's garbage. It's ten years old and practically stuck together with duct tape, in some places, literally. The clock on my dashboard, partially hidden by four used rose scented air fresheners, shows a blue number, 6:37, on a black background. I need to hurry.

Arriving at the house at 6:49, I step out of the car. While walking up the long twisting driveway, I remember what the woman on the phone had said, "Please leave your phone in your car," her voice echoes in my head.

I quickly jog back to my car, past the blooming rose bush that runs along the driveway, unlock the door, and throw my phone in the glove box. The watch on my wrist beeps for my 7:00 alarm. Normally I'd be leaving for my jog right now. Running up the driveway, I see the heavy wooden door slam shut. I'm late.

Eliminated.

"A chance to win the thing you want most in the world," the newspaper had promised. The same newspaper that sits on the bus seat next to me.

I stand up at my stop and begin to walk the six blocks to 926 Maple Street. My phone goes off on my pocket. Mom again. She worries whenever I leave the house.

---

I walk onto the wrap around deck at 926 Maple Street. The house doesn't fit in with its surroundings. Maple Street is a poor street, with an orphanage on one corner and two liquor stores on the next block over. This house is huge, with a long winding driveway surrounded by cherry trees and rose bushes.

The door is open. I pause at the doorway, look around and step in. The air around me is cooler than it was outside. Being a muggy August night, it makes sense. A butler steps into the doorway in front of me. Black suit and all. He even has the towel over his arm. "This way ma'am," he says, turning on his shined black shoe and stepping into the hallway behind him.

The hall we walk through is dark and beautiful, with black carpet and gold trim, ornate portraits adorn the walls. A vase full of red roses sits on a black table in the hallway. Intricate molding decorates a burgundy ceiling.

He stops in front of a room at the end of the hall. He reaches out and wraps his hand around a complex gilded doorknob. The door opens into a baby blue waiting room, silver Victorian furniture lines the walls. "Two other men will arrive soon. When they arrive, please remain silent. You may not speak until you enter the contest room. Do you understand?" I nod as he walks out into the hallway.

The waiting room is bright, but somehow unsettling. Maybe it's the fact that I'm in someone's house with no idea of the contest that I'll soon be participating in, or maybe it's that the shadows in this room are just a little bit too dark. Either way, the hair on my neck is standing straight up and my arms are covered in goosebumps.

Footsteps stamp down the hall and another man stands in the doorway. He has piercing blue eyes and short dark hair. His shirt is grey and classic, old, and well taken care of. His eyes catch mine as the butler tells us that we'll start the contest now, that the other man isn't coming. I stand and we walk up the hall towards another door. The butler opens the door with a grand sweep of his arm and we walk in.

The walls in this room are white, brighter than any other room here, and have no decorations or paintings. A plush white carpet feels squishy under my brown, leather flats. Something in the room smells like cleaner, like bleach and vinegar. A clock on the wall, simple and small enough that I didn't notice it before, ticks loudly. 7:02.

The butler closes the door and we step towards a round wooden table, surrounded with three chairs. On the table is two things: a Ouija Board, and a rose scented candle.

The man and I quickly come to an agreement that we are supposed to play with the board, and we do for about five minutes. When, suddenly Mama Liked the Roses by Elvis Presley loudly plays from my brown leather tote bag, the butler bursts in, grabs my bag from the floor next to me and pulls me, from the table out of the room. I should've told mom not to call me.

Eliminated.

I look around the room, into the hallway through the still open door. What happens now? Did I just win? The butler pops his head into the door and smiles, "Would you wait here for a moment please?" I know that I don't have a choice, so I smile and nod. The butler shuts the door with a small thud.

I wait at the seat I have been at. The clock on the wall says 7:14. Only fourteen minutes since this started. I must have won, I'm the last contestant left.

I hear footsteps approaching the room, loud, but careful and precise. A woman opens the door quickly and shuts it behind her. She is tall and too thin, blood vessels in her cheeks and forehead are popped. Her hair was obviously done up elegantly at one point, but she has neglected it, with it sitting in a ball on top of her head, thin red hairs flowing down her neck and shoulders.

"You have won our contest. Congratulations," her mouth moves but out comes five or six different voices: men, women, and possibly even a child. What is wrong with her?

The butler walks behind me and ties my hands and feet to my chair. His arms are covered by his suit, but he is obviously stronger than me. Struggling does nothing, and I am tied down within a minute. "We are the Seven Sins and you are our new vessel. As you can see, our current body isn't holding well, is it?"It smirks at me

My eyes are wide. 7:19. The woman walks up to me, leans her head over mine and with my last moment of control over my body, I spit in her eyes. "Oh sweetie you shouldn't have done that. I can make your life hell. We will use your body and you will not be able to do anything about it. You can yell all you want, yell and scream and kick out, but in an hour, it won't do any good. We'll have control. Any questions?"

"Who are you?" I ask, giving up on fighting.

"Some call me Rose," and with that, they are in me. Seven voices and my own. It's hard to keep track of who is who. The woman, Rose, collapses to the ground.

---

Seven voices fighting for control at all times can give you a headache. I learned who they all are quickly, within a week. Sometimes I talk to them. One at a time, or I try to talk one at a time at least. A while back, I asked what they were trying to do. "We're sending the human race to Hell," they said.