The Labyrinth of Children

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Belle had been perched up in her treehouse every night for the past three weeks for this moment, for any single thing to catch her eye–and her moment had come. Anyone who would have seen the girl from afar would have thought nothing of her, as slight and bruised as she was, stepping away from the telescope she got for her 11th birthday. She clamored down the broken ladder of her treehouse and into the thick of the heat, the night breeze not enough to shake the humidity that clung to her skin as she began to run.

Her ill fitting boots trekked through the overgrown mangrove, her feet catching on roots and wading through the sludge of decaying leaves. She ran as quickly as she could, stumbling over herself until she reached the perimeter. Everyone at school had said that this cabin was haunted, but she had a different idea. It had to be her sister, Alyssa, with that weird fascination she'd for this cabin. About a year ago had been the first time she had found her sister in the dead of night staring out at it, through the very telescope in which she had seen the sign. It was strange, but Alyssa had always been a strange girl.

Alyssa had to have sent her that sign, that candle, but Belle realized as she approached that it was now gone. She breathed deeply, and could smell the sweet smell of rotted wood, of swamp water. The cabin stood rickety and old, so old it almost looked like part of the woods itself, like a heart. She crept up to the door on the hole-ridden porch, shifting her weight ever so slightly so as not to make a single sound. Alyssa did not want to be found, despite what their parents had told the police. She wanted a life far from the smell of beer and lingering bruised skin, but Belle wouldn’t be left behind. The plan had always been to leave together.

Upon hearing no sign of life, she knew her sister had to be inside. Alyssa was so clever, surely no one else was small and fast enough to blow out the candle and hide so seamlessly. Her small fingers reached up to grip the pewter knob, and she was able to turn it only slightly before it stopped. No, not stopped–the door had no way to open. It was like the glued-shut doors of Belle’s dollhouse, and as she inspected it she realized there were no hinges.

Fine, if Alyssa had gotten in, so could she. She leapt off the porch, and went over to the window. She could see the glint of the candle holder, but nothing else through the dark glass. She pried the window open, splinters digging beneath her fingernails as she pushed up until it finally opened, but the frame looked odd and displaced. Instead of matching the musty wooden exterior, it instead was a white plastic only slightly grayed by time. A new addition, but surely Alyssa hadn’t had access to any sort of carpenter . . . .

It was of no matter, as Belle crawled through. Better than having to shatter the glass anyways. She landed on the other side, hard enough to jostle her knees. The interior looked as expected, dark and decayed with a thick carpet of dust covering all the surfaces.

“Alyssa,” she whispered. “Alyssa?”

No response but a deep thud beneath the floorboards. Belle’s heart caught up to her throat, her body frozen until enough time had passed to ease her nerves. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she took in the strange amount of shattered glass on the floors, cracking beneath her feet as she explored. There were picture frames but none with a single photo in them, all just broken glass. The table was set with a stinking, rotted meat slopped onto plates, flies buzzing around. It would have been a perfect picture for a family, and yet it was desolate. Alyssa would never have touched that meat, she would have surely left some trace in the dust if she had been living in here–

A scream rang out, muffled. It came from the floorboards, beneath layers of dirt. Her blood ran cold in her veins, her body stiffened.

It could have been Alyssa. But if it was, she had not come here to escape.

She had been taken.

Belle’s instinct forced her to run, to take several loud steps towards the door, but she remembered it did not work as her fingers desperately grabbed the knob. No, no, she couldn’t leave Alyssa here alone. Three weeks, three weeks without anything to survive off of–she had to be hurt, and weak. She couldn’t survive alone, she had to be about to die if not already dead but—the scream. The scream. She had to be alive, but closer to dying every second Belle spent above the ground.

She ran back to the candle placed in the window frame, and her fingers bumped against matches. She lit the candle and swept the room with it, the flame flicking across the furniture, casting shadows on the floor she could now see was stained with red. She saw scrapes across the floor, hastily hidden by a carpet, and she threw it aside to reveal a hatch in the floor. Setting the candle down she pushed it open with a loud creak, to reveal a cellar.

No, to call it a cellar was generous, she decided. It was a hole in the dampened earth, packed tightly like a tunnel. The sound of that scream ringing in her ears, she lowered herself down into the ground, the earth swallowing her like an esophagus. The air thickened, making gravity itself feel strengthened, pulling her down deeper. As it had appeared in the cabin, it was indeed a tunnel, one with several branching off sectors of similarly packed dirt. Lost, her sister had to have gotten lost down the tunnels and been unable to get out. Belle sighed, and readied herself. No ghosts, no monsters, just a sister to find. She ignored the putrid smell of the tunnels and the prick at her spine as she tightened the laces of her shoes, and carried on.

Her feet slapped against the dirt, which was interrupted often by puddles of what she assumed was eked swamp water. She trekked onwards, choosing the tunnels she took off sheer instinct. There were no footprints, no sign of life to be found.

Dead end after dead end, she finally traced her way back to the main tunnel, distinguished by its larger size. She collapsed onto the floor, breathing heavily as her small cheeks had grown pink with exertion. She had no idea how long she had been walking, how many times she had found the same routes. The pattern of the tunnels, once a clear picture in her mind’s eye, had warped and twisted like the roots of a tree. Tears of failure pricked her eyes, as she scraped the heel of her boot against the dirt. She sniffled, and it was then she saw a small indent. She got on all fours and inspected the base of the tunnel, and sure enough there was a small, thin line carved into the dirt wall only about an inch above the floor. She pushed her willowy finger into the small crease, it would have been nearly impossible to see from any taller height. It extended down the hallway, and so Belle stood and stuck the lip of her boot in the indent, and began to follow it. She twisted and turned with the line, following it for what felt like forever until she saw a small mass on the ground. She held her candle down to reveal a small shoe, only slightly bigger than her own. It was a boy’s boot, with red paint hastily splattered over the brown of the leather. She held it for a moment, evidence of another other than she and her sister down in these tunnels. Another child, who was surely looking for the boot. She couldn’t carry it with her, she had to be ready to carry her sister depending on how emaciated she had become, so she instead tucked it neatly against the side of the tunnel and continued down.

After a short while, she saw the tunnel start to open up, and she arrived at the edge of a room. The room was lit with lanterns, light spilling out and illuminating a bunch of tiny frames. She had found the others down here! She ran forwards, her candle blowing out in her haste, and she stepped into the room.

The smell hit first, the dizzying waves of formaldehyde. She shook her head, trying to clear her mind as she looked at the children.

They were of varying size and stature, but all around Belle’s age. Their bodies stood too rigid, too still. There was no breath in their bodies, and their clothes had been shoddily repainted. They were . . . dolls? Their skin was lifelike and smooth, and it seemed to have been sewed onto their frames. Their eyes were an eerie glass, and the lights flickered strangely across them.

She stifled a scream and stumbled back. Every little body had one hand–or in some cases, one unfinished limb–raised up to point towards a rickety wooden door, hinged into the very earth. They crowded around either side of this door, pointing Belle onwards with twisted, disjointed fingers. She felt heat rise in her throat, but pushed it down as she closed her eyes and struggled to gain her breath. She felt far too afraid of these creepy dolls to walk so closely to them, and they smelled horrible, would Alyssa even truly be down here? Was she even alive?

No, the scream. Alyssa had to be alive.

With every nerve firing against her, Belle stepped forwards through the crowd of dolls. She got so close she could feel their presence around her, as though they were living. She held her breath as her body threatened to gag, and quickly pushed open the door.

The first thing Belle noticed was the darkness, entirely more encompassing than it had been before. Her candle could barely light a few feet in front of her, but she could make out that the floor had changed to a chipped, filth-crusted white tile. The walls remained dirt, and she pressed her hand against the warm earth as she continued her way down. The silence was heavier now, her every breath a wind and every heartbeat thunder. Her steps rang out in echoes down the hall, which seemed to have no alternative paths until she walked out into a small clearing with which there were three doors.

She went up to each door slowly. The first had nothing of note. She went to the second door, which seemed more worn down than the previous but still stood as fairly uninteresting. She went over to the third door, holding her candle close to the wood. There was nothing immediately interesting about this door, but instinct kept Belle staring at it. She realized that it was perfectly intact, the knob worn to an unusual shine from use. This had to be where Alyssa had gone. She twisted the knob slowly, and the door opened with a squeal. Wind rushed out the second she opened it, snuffing out her candle. She crept forward, leaving the door ajar and moving until her back pressed against the labyrinth’s wall. She fumbled for her matches and managed to light the candle, but to her dismay there were only two matches left. She shoved them into the pocket of her shorts, swallowing thickly as she dropped the used third match onto the floor. This mission had always been timed, but the remaining matches weighed like lead in her pocket. If she could find Alyssa, she would know what to do. She’d know how to get out, how to conserve enough light to find their way back through the labyrinth.

As she went to start moving once more, her shoe tapped something hard, yet with a squishy exterior. She gasped and stumbled back as she realized it was a little girl, one of the dolls. Perhaps it is that she was on her own, but she had no rank smell to her. She simply sat on the tile, her once white dress slathered in pink paint, with blue paint smeared across her bulging closed eyes. Her hair had been brushed out, and Belle found herself reaching for her, brushing the wisps of hair behind her ears. She felt the skin for a brief moment and jolted back at its incredibly lifelike texture. Before she could be lured in again by her curiosity, Belle stepped over the doll and continued down the hall.

She walked down the seemingly endless hallway with no further doll sightings, until she happened upon a note. She picked it up and saw it was a letter addressed to a name she couldn’t read due to the amount of dirt that had smeared over it. Only some words were legible.

“Can’t . . . .”

“. . . parents said . . . .”

And at the bottom, “meet soon.”

She walked a few more steps and saw a small opening similar to that of a dog door in the base of the sudden wall that blocked the path she had been on. She lifted the small door to continue, and more cryptic, stained letters tumbled out. There were dozens, some fresh and almost legible, others worn until they felt more fabric than paper. Belle grabbed one of the more legible ones, and readied herself. She crawled over the papers, squeezing between the pile of them and the top of the frame.

It was as she gingerly closed the door that she heard it, the deep echoing sounds of footsteps. Excitement at the thought of Alyssa invigorated Belle for a mere second, but that feeling collapsed into dread as she realized how heavy these steps were. It had to be an adult, someone large. Someone who could, without any shadow of a doubt, overpower her. She blew her candle out quickly, waving one hand to disperse the smoke as she adjusted once more to the encompassing darkness. This room had a slight light to it, pouring from beneath a door frame off to the left. The footsteps receded, and she began to shuffle forwards on her hands and knees in the masses of papers. She could feel the edges slice her knees and palms, but she ignored this easily as her ears pricked for any semblance of sound.

She made it to the door frame, and pressed her head against the sticked tile, peering beneath. She couldn’t make out much but more tiles, and a deep red wall. She waited for several more minutes to ensure there were no longer any footsteps, and then pressed the door open.

The light strung at her eyes, as this entire room was well lit with lanterns. She inhaled sharply and realized the entire room reeked of rust. Her stomach began churning as she blinked through tears, and glanced around.

The first thing she saw was the work station, directly across from the door. It was of a soft oak wood, and stained with layers and layers of red. On it was a mass of flesh like material, with a bundle of hair tumbling over the side. There was a mannequin-like inner layer upon which a torso and one arm had begun to be assembled, the material crudely stitched back together with a thick black yarn. Belle winced from the scene and her eyes fell upon a rusty white freezer, which had an open padlock upon it. She lifted it slightly and the smell from within made her close it sharply, then listen intently for any type of sound. Her eyes continued to drift around the room. She saw the stained hook from the ceiling, the assortment of tools–

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The footsteps were back.

Belle lurched back from the bench as the steps grew far too close, far too quickly. He was running–chasing? Could it be her sister who he pursued? She tried to go back into the letter room but the door was stuck shut, and as she heard his breath hit the metal door she let loose a small, shriveled cry as she jumped into the freezer.

The contents squashed beneath her boots, the smell suffocating.

She kept the freezer only a hair open, as she listened for him. He pressed the door open with a large squeal, and the footsteps entered. They were so close, Belle’s heart pounded against her ribcage as she did her best to silence her breath.

Then, she heard it. The crumple of paper–she had dropped the letter! She heard a vaguely male sound, the gurgling of a voice, as the footsteps came closer. And closer. Until they were just over to the left of the freezer. She heard him shove open the door, throw the letter in, and slam it shut. Then, the heavy steps went back over to the work station, and she heard the sound of tools. The oxygen in the freezer was starting to run out, the small crack she had left herself was not enough.

She opened it slightly more, but he had blown out most of the light without her realizing. It was much darker now–this would work in her favor. She tensed every muscle in her small body and threw her candle holder against the wall opposite the metal door. As it clattered she jumped out, and raced straight for her exit. She heard him bellow out in anger as she shoved against the cold metal for all she was worth, lighting a single match from her pocket as she saw a similar tunnel system as the first layer of the labyrinth.

Belle ran, his footsteps pummeling behind her.

They got closer, and closer, as she strained to get enough breath. Her lungs burned, her eyes full of tears but adrenaline coursing through her legs.

She ran with no intention, praying she wouldn’t end up at a dead end. She twisted down the tunnels, as she could hear his labored breath fall every so slightly more behind her.

But then her large boot caught on something, and she tumbled down. The caked dirt scraped against her palms as she fell, and all grew silent as he began to search the area for her, no longer having the sound of her steps to guide him.

“Belle?” she heard a whisper–Alyssa!

Belle’s voice was a mere croak. “Lyss?”

She felt the soft, small hands of another girl warm on her own, and she was pulled to her knees as she crawled under an extremely small, child-sized tunnel tucked into the walls. It wasn’t long before there was a slight light, and Belle could see her sister’s form take shape.

Alyssa was far skinnier, but she bore a huge smile of pride. “You found me,” she whispered, and brought Belle in for a hug.

“They think you’re dead,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “Mom and Dad, they think you’ve died. I knew you’d be here, but when–”

She held a reassuring hand up, and Belle couldn’t help but notice how clean Alyssa was compared to herself. How had she survived for so long down here, alone? “I’m so glad you’ve come to me, Belle. I missed you dearly down here, it’s so lonely.”

“How–” she began to ask, but Alyssa shook her head.

“In due time. Now come,” she gestured behind her. “You look starved.”

Behind Alyssa was a shiny but scuffed up pewter table, and two large ornate chairs at either end. The table was stuffed with squashed bits of cakes and pastries, but Belle could hardly care about the condition. She wiped her hands on her shirt and grabbed fistfuls of sticky, sugary sweets, swallowing them in clumps.

Alyssa giggled, pulling out one of the chairs and sitting in it gracefully. “Easy, sister. We were raised better than this.”

Belle looked at her from over the mass of sweets, then slowly went and sat in the other chair. “Why are you here? We have to get going, there’s a man down here! We have to go right now before he figures out–”

“He won’t find us here,” she said. “Just catch your breath, and eat. Then, you and I can talk over a plan, once you’ve calmed down, alright?”

Belle nodded, her head suddenly growing heavy. “I’m so tired.”

“I will watch over you,” Alyssa said, as Belle’s eyes drew shut. “Rest.”

Belle awoke in a chair, her wrists and feet bound by pink ribbon. She started to lurch forward, fear and panic coursing through her. The ribbon began to slice into her skin as she squirmed. She screamed, the sound raking up her throat like knives.

Alyssa walked in, calm enough to make Belle stop screaming, though her body still wracked with sobs.

“Alyssa, please,” she begged. “Please, help me. We can escape–”

“I do not want to escape, Belle. You were my final challenge, the last one I would need to lure,” she said, and crouched down so she could look up into Belle’s eyes. She used a hand, delicately gloved in white lace, to wipe away Belle’s tears.

“But we promised we’d–”

“She’s ready,” Alyssa called over her shoulder as she stood, and turned back to Belle as the hulking figure stepped into the room, beneath the flickering lights of the candles, a patchwork of pus-leaking skin over mangled shards of bone. Belle began to scream again at this thing more man than monster, as his footsteps thudded closer yet again. Belle squeezed her eyes shut as tears poured out, and she strained harder than ever against her bonds. She heard the whirring sound of a bone drill start up, the smell of formaldehyde–

“Stop crying, sister,” Alyssa said, her voice a croon. “We’ll be able to be together now, Belle. And nothing shall separate us.”