The Red Room

The Red Room

I can't remember how I got here. I can't remember who brought me to this room filled with harsh white light and concrete, decaying walls. All I could remember was hitting my head. That would explain why my vision bounced with every heartbeat. I gazed at the small room that enclosed me, adjusting the straps of my bra as I got to my feet. Red, silken cloth flowed around my hips like blood. Where did I get this? Where were my clothes? Quiet, shy Fern did not wear loud-colored clothes; she wore clothes two sizes too big that helped her hide in a crowd.

The room was only about the size of a small bedroom, and no door. There was only a hole lined with metal on one wall. I walked over to it, wincing as the pebbles on the floor bit into my bare feet. The vent was maybe just big enough for someone of my petite size to squeeze through. I looked up at the high ceiling, looming away in the dark, and then back down at the lights hanging in the corners. There was something tied to one of them.

I went over and found that it was a small plastic bag containing a phone. It had what appeared to be a weather-proof case. I pulled the device out of the bag and turned it on. A banner flashed across the screen, alerting me to one missed call and a voicemail that went with it. Cautious of what it might contain, I hit the play button with my thumb and held the phone up to my ear.

"Hello, if you are hearing this, then you've agreed to take part in something you should have thought twice about."

Oh God. Oh no. It was coming back to me now. Images of a late night bar and a stranger offering to buy me a drink of absinthe, the neon lights blinding me as I accepted to take part in his prank, and the bartender shaking his head... they were all comingling in my memory like the slimy pieces of food left in the catch at the bottom of the sink once all the water had drained out. There were flashes of images of him slipping something in my fifth drink. A drug of some kind? What was it the bartender had called me? Old enough to know better, but young enough to risk it anyways. Yeah, that was it.

"That's right," the man's voice on the phone continued. It was deep, and scratchy, which brought back more memories of the bar.

I had only gone because my brother had urged me to get out more. I guess that's what I get for complaining about being lonely, but I had taken his advice. Picking out a fancy dress had been one of the hardest things I had had to do in a while, and it was so new...I looked down at the bright fabric again.

Despite being able to remember the man's voice, I couldn't quite remember what he looked like. He had been kind and had spoken to me about a number of things; my job as a website designer, my year abroad in France, and my grandmother and how she took care of me more than my parents. But then it was all fuzzy. What had I agreed too, anyway? Maybe I had agreed to it because part of me longed to get out and do something, even though I had never had the motivation to do so.

But now that I was thinking about it, I couldn't remember him ever talking about himself. Not once did he mention anything about his childhood or his work. I couldn't even remember if he mentioned his own name. He had just been some tall stranger with dark hair in his eyes and a goofy grin with dimples.

God, drunk me is such an idiot.

"Have you ever heard of a red room?" He paused, as if we were having a real conversation. "It's a place found on the deep web where people can view interactive torture. It's a place where torture and murder are streamed online."

What? I glanced around the room. If there were any cameras, I couldn't see them. I felt a panic clutch at my chest like an iron vice.

"Now, there is only a short window of time for me to stream this, so I would suggest you hurry and try to find a way out. Viewers like a good show. If you don't play my little game," he paused again, like he was acting or something like that. "There are other, easier ways to impress my viewers."