The Game

Whispers

The light flickered and Moses Avery nearly fell off the ladder he was perched on. The cameras were a bitch to install and this was his last one. He'd put off the basement until the very last minute. There was something about the place that gave him the creeps. Even with it lit up like Time Square on New Year's Eve, the darkness still managed to overtake the space. It wasn't just shadows either. He'd been dealing with that the last two weeks as he wired this year's arena with cameras and microphones. The darkness down here closed in on a person, made them think of slowly being choked to death by some unseen force.

"Mitch," he whispered into his Bluetooth. He shook his head. Why was he whispering? "Mitch," he said again, his voice louder this time. "Last one is up. Do a camera check to make sure they're all good to go."

"Going live now," came the gruff reply.

Moses watched with satisfaction as little red lights began blinking on throughout the basement. He took pride in his work, same as the rest of the crew. He'd signed on last year, the money too good to pass up. Two more years, three at the most and he could retire to some remote island and spend his days doing his two most favorite things—drinking and whoring.

"All cameras are a go," Mitch's gravelly voice interrupted Moses's thoughts. "Powering down now. Do you have your flashlight with you?"

"Yeah, why?" he asked.

"Boss wants the lights powered off when I leave and I'm leaving now."

The lights shut off and Moses let out a string of curse words that had Mitch chuckling, the bastard. "Use the exit door in the back hall by the kitchens and lock up when you leave."

Moses carefully climbed down the ladder and felt around for his toolbox, his fingers rushed and hurried. He needed light. The blackness around him overwhelmed his senses. Dammit, where was the...there. His fingers latched onto the handle of the toolbox and he groped around inside for his flashlight. Not that the single beam did much to dispel the inky glow that bathed everything. Just hurry up, he told himself and packed away his tools.

He let out a little sigh of relief when he closed the latch and stood up, swinging his light the length of the dark basement. The place made his skin crawl. He turned and started to walk carefully toward the steps leading up to the main level of the old school. Their illustrious leader had chosen Hartman Academy for this year's Arena. The private school had been closed down in 1994 after a fire killed over a hundred students and most of the staff. The dark history of the school would only fuel the excitement for this year's game.

A clatter sounded at the end of the basement and Moses swung his flashlight in that direction. Nothing. Closing his eyes for a minute, he began to walk backward, his back against the wall, his light slowly travelling back and forth. He needed to get out of here.

"OWWW!" Moses cried out as something sharp jabbed him in the ankle. He dropped his toolbox and used the light to check his ankle. Long, bloody gashes met his eyes.

There was a shuffling all around him and he tried to find it, the beam of the flashlight only finding a deep, muffling darkness. Keep moving, keep moving, he chanted and abandoned his toolbox. His only intent to reach the stairway.

Whispers rushed at him, more shuffling and he ran. He saw the first step and leapt upon it. Just need to go up the stairs, he thought and started to climb.

He heard something hiss when he reached the top. Deep stabbing pains assaulted his ankles. Moses lost his balance and fell backward, bouncing down the steps. His flashlight fell from his hand and rolled away.

Moses lay there for a moment to catch his breath before he pushed himself up to his knees. His eyes scrambled to find the flashlight. He found it about two feet away. He reached for it, but something pulled it away from him.

The air left his lungs as he saw dozens of tiny little red lights begin to blink in the darkness. It wasn't his cameras. These lights were low to the ground, maybe a cat's height when they lay crouched, ready to pounce. More whispers and shuffling sounded as they moved closer to Moses.

Moses hadn't prayed in a long time, thinking God wouldn't listen after all the bad things he's done, but right now, he hoped God listened to him.

He cried out as pain lanced his back and he fell forward, his eyes level with the beam of the flashlight. A pair of blinking red lights stared back at him.

Not lights...eyes. Sharp teeth, pointed and stained a yellowish red, flashed at him.

He blinked and the little red eyes were closer.

"Please, God," he whispered.

A hiss answered him and Moses felt the thing's claws slice into his stomach.

He screamed and it set off the others. They rushed him, ripping and tearing. He cried, begged to die as he watched pieces of his flesh disappearing into cavernous mouths when they darted in front of the flashlight beam. There was no help. He screamed until the last bit of light fled from his eyes.

The flashlight clicked off.