Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 44459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
“Write your name on the bag,” he said, “and give it to me.”
After I did and handed it over, he peeked inside, likely to confirm my phone was there. Satisfied, he led me out of the room and down the hallway before pushing open a door to a room that had probably been the manager’s office once. Now it only contained an outdated and worn couch.
It was the most depressing room yet.
“Have a seat. Someone will be by shortly to escort you to the void.” The corners of his mouth turned up in a cryptic smile. “Good luck.”
It didn’t take me long to discover there wasn’t a clock in the room, and since I wasn’t wearing a watch and no longer had my phone, I had no idea how long I waited.
But it was a long fucking time.
I wondered if the process had been the same for the other guests, and if so—how had they felt about it? I hadn’t dropped four figures on the entry fee just to change into cheap, scratchy clothes and wait on a couch with broken springs . . . but everyone else had. Did any of them think the same thing I was thinking right now?
This room was a tool.
Its design was subtle and perfect. On the surface, it seemed sad and haphazard, as if the crew had used whatever leftover furniture they could find from the run-down hotel. But I knew that wasn’t true. This room was staged, and the walls were likely fake, built out like a movie set.
With nothing to do for the past twenty minutes—or however long I’d been in here—I’d noticed there were no outlets at all. Something any room, especially an office, would need. The boring bare walls and bland gray couch made the space literally timeless.
I jotted a few thoughts down in my notepad and then acknowledged the side effect of this room. My dread grew larger as more time passed, like a patient waiting for an expected painful procedure. It was lonely and intimidating.
And it had to be intentional.
Just as I began to question whether they’d genuinely forgotten about me, the door swung open, and a woman stuck her head in. “Sorry for the wait,” she said, although she didn’t sound the least bit sorry. “You ready?”
The couch groaned softly as I stood, and my heart quickened as I made my way to the door.
The woman was dressed in black and had a Void ID badge swinging from a lanyard around her neck. She walked at a fast clip, as if we were behind schedule, and I followed her down the hallway, which turned at a corner.
My footsteps slowed.
The atmosphere of this stretch of hallway was dramatically different than the one we’d just come from. The long fluorescent light overhead only seemed to have two working bulbs in it, and one of them flickered on and off. Words had been angrily graffitied on the walls and ceiling in black marker. Some were scrawled in huge letters and others were tiny, squeezed in to fill empty spaces.
At first, only two words leapt out at me, but as I looked closer, some of them made sentences.
The word is safety.
Mercy will make it stop.
It was a simple design, but unnerving and effective, especially when paired with the flickering light. The writing grew darker and more frantic as we approached a black door with the word Void on it countless times, painted in a sickly red.
The woman peered at me with an impatient look. “Go through the door and follow the chain.”
My heart banged in my chest. Since I’d accepted this assignment, I was committed to completing it, but this was the moment I realized there would be no turning back. It made me hesitate.
The woman shifted on her feet, hinting at her irritation. She didn’t have time for this, and honestly, neither did I.
I grabbed the handle, turned, and pushed the door open.
Chapter 3
Black plastic sheeting covered the walls and ceiling of the long narrow room. In fact, it was so long, I couldn’t see the other side of it, making it more of a tunnel than a room. The only source of light came from above: a tiny bare bulb suspended from a wire. It hovered over a single chair, framing it perfectly.
The rickety wooden chair was bloody, with a handprint visible on the back as if its occupant had climbed out of it recently. My gaze noted the drops of blood on the dirty concrete floor and followed them like bread crumbs to a pair of ankle shackles—which were the leather cuff style and also bloody.
I found this scene . . . disappointing.
Void was supposed to be the next level in horror, but this looked an awful lot like any other haunted house I’d seen. I took in a grateful breath. Maybe I’d set my expectations too high and this wouldn’t be as much of a challenge as I’d though it would be.