Episode Thirteen, page 25
Jake: He sounds close. I’m going to try to find him. I never thought I’d be so happy to hear a gunshot.
Kevin Linscott’s Journal
I wish I could show you where I am right now, because it’s mind-bending. But Claire stole my camera, part of the aggravating mess she made. I really hope somebody finds her so I can throw her back down the goddamn stairs.
Since I can’t show you, I’ll describe what I’m seeing in writing while I wait for the thing to go away before I turn back. As long as I stay away from the mirrors, it leaves me alone. Either it’s real, or I’m losing my marbles.
Either way, this isn’t good. In fact, this is a crap sandwich.
I’m sitting in a mirrored maze. While walking through it, your image multiplies in all directions, smaller and smaller reflections that run off into infinity. On top of my other woes, it gave me a royal headache. It was creepy and disorienting as hell to see endless versions of me gaping back from a black void.
I ran into this stupid maze pretty soon after leaving the stairs. My first thought was only an idiot would try to navigate such a place, but I’d only just gotten started, so I gave it the college try so I could say I did. Using a black marker, I tagged the glass at each corner with a number in a circle and dropped chemlights in between, playing it smart and safe.
I made it up to nine when I spotted the thing in the mirror.
I don’t know how to describe it. Most of it was wispy, like gray smoke, flickering in and out of perception. I had an impression of horns and teeth. Long stringy hair. I didn’t notice much because all I could really see was its glowing eyes at the middle of that smoky whirlwind.
Little pools of red fire. Not red like real fire but a burning, bright, angry red. The eyes were “filled with hate,” I’m tempted to say, but it was worse than that. They looked at me as if yanking me apart atom by atom was just something the thing had to do because it had been created for this one purpose.
Just for me.
For a moment, I could only stare at it, wondering if it was real or a trick of the tiny amount of light I’m carrying around with me. Pareidolia run amok and playing tricks on my eyes, showing me my own worst fears.
Then it growled.
You probably think that I’m tough. You have to be to work Philly’s rougher beats as a police officer. You’d have to be to come down here into this black hole. When I looked in the mirror at all the copies of a big former cop in a golf shirt, utility vest, and FTB ballcap, I saw a guy I would not mess with for all the money.
I am not ashamed to say, though, I ran yelling my head off after seeing that thing and hearing its snarl. I didn’t just run, I ran blindly, deeper into the maze, while the thing popped up over and over in the glass everywhere I looked.
Each time, it appeared closer to my reflection. I knew that if it reached one of the me’s in the mirror, it’d pop into existence right next to the real me and get to tearing.
My training took over. My nine-millimeter appeared in my hand, safety off and already shooting. The gunshot sounded impossibly loud in my ears, which even now are still ringing. The mirror exploded. I wheeled and blew the next into pieces.
Now I sit in this hallway filled with broken glass, wondering when it will be safe to try to go back. Wondering if I’ve gotten myself lost, the one thing you don’t want to be in a maze with a horned, hairy monster after you.
I thought Claire with her obsession had made every horror movie mistake. Now it’s my turn, and despite all my street smarts and training, I made the one that really matters. Never go running off into unfamiliar territory without marking your way back.
But hey, I’m alive. Still in one piece. What the movies don’t show, can’t show, is how genuinely terrified a man can become at the prospect of being ripped to shreds by something that doesn’t know mercy. All I could think about—if I’d been thinking at all, which, no, I hadn’t been—was running like hell.
Because I know what the thing is. I knew it from the start.
The Philly demon finally caught up to me.
All these years, while I hunted ghosts, the thing hunted me. It watched and learned. Then it waited patiently for me to arrive at this house.
If it doesn’t go away, the only way I’m getting out of here is through it.
FADE TO BLACK
PROD: Ep. 13, “Paranormal Research Foundation, Part 3”
Raw Video Footage
Tuesday, 10:10 a.m.
Countless Jakes holding video cameras at hip level stare back at their own camera lens, alternating normal and reverse images in an endless, receding line.
An infinity of blond beards, muscled and tattooed arms, and FTB ballcaps. An infinity of black T-shirts tucked into an infinity of jeans, the shirts printed with “Updog Awareness Foundation.”
A humorous invitation to ask, “What’s updog?”
The Jakes shake their heads in unison.
Jake: A hall of mirrors. (utter sarcasm) This just gets better and better.
A gunshot booms somewhere in the maze. The camera pivots toward the sound only to face its own lens again at the next mirrored corner. Jake stumbles a little on his sprain, hopping on his good foot.
Jake: Kevin? (shouts) Yo, Kev!
Radio: You got it coming, kid.
Jake: Kev?
Radio: You got it coming.
Jake: It can’t be—this isn’t funny, bro. Where are you?
Another gunshot thuds through the air, farther away this time.
Radio: Do you know what time it is, Jacob?
Jake pulls the radio from his belt and holds it up for inspection.
Jake: Dad?
Radio: It’s payback time.
Jake: Jesus.
Radio: Think how tall I’ll be.
Jake: Can we not do this?
Radio: When I’m standing on your teeth.
Jake drops the radio and stomps it repeatedly until it shatters into pieces.
Jake: You know where I’m gonna stand, mother—? Jesus. I’m arguing with a dead man. It’s not real. It’s not real. It can’t be real.
Voice: Come on over here, Jacob.
The camera pivots to face the far end of the mirrored corridor. Despite the Steadicam, the view trembles. Jake’s body is shaking uncontrollably.
Just under his heavy breaths, we can hear the heavy stomp of boots, which stop just beyond the bend.
Voice: I want to show you something.
Jake sags, as if resigned.
Jake: You’re never going to leave me alone, are you.
Voice: I ain’t gonna hit you. It’s good. You’ll like it.
A utility knife with a three-inch blade flickers in the frame before disappearing.
Jake: Be right there, Dad.
Jake Wolfson’s Journal
My past has come back to haunt me. Just in case: GOODBYE.
Dad keeps beckoning me forward, only to disappear each time. Like a dutiful son, I follow his voice deeper and deeper into the maze.
As always, the waiting is the worst part. I keep following because I just want to get it over with. The sucker punch.
I don’t think I’m leaving this place.
There’s nobody outside of here I want to say goodbye to, nobody who would really care to hear it. Nobody who will really miss me, which is good in one way as nobody will get hurt, but it’s also a crappy thing to realize. Seriously crappy.
That just leaves Claire, Matt, Jessica, and Kevin. Maybe they’ll miss me.
I hope they can all get out of here, even if I can’t.
I really wish I’d done more. I wish I loved somebody. I just never could. Even after I escaped Dad, he still won. Still sucker punched me anytime I wanted to take a chance on having more. It’s my own damn fault. I let him beat me even after I left him in the dust, even after they put him in the ground.
Just like those Flick assholes said.
Reading that brutal takedown of a personality I’d kept locked up safe and sound all these years, I thought, okay, maybe I’ll try to open up more. Show Flick and the other Flick who’s the real boss of me. Reach out to the people on this show and make myself more available. Try to get to know them better.
This time, I was a part of the story. We were all in it together, I thought.
When Claire disappeared, I thought: This is my chance to step up.
Now look where that got me. The biggest sucker punch of all.
If anybody ever reads this, whoever you are, please consider me a friend. Wish me luck. Good luck to you too. And if you can, get the hell out of here right now.
He’s calling again.
I have to go now. GOODBYE.
Matt Kirklin’s Journal
The last time I tried Claire on the walkie-talkie, I heard a faint female voice hissing in the ether. I actually started sobbing.
I’m here, Claire… Come in, please… It’s Matt, I’m here…
But it wasn’t my wife.
Do you want to play with me, Matt?
Exactly how I remember Tammy’s voice.
Let’s play something.
Normally, I’d like that. I’d like it very much.
Finding Claire is all I care about right now, however. Sorry, spirits. You set up this whole labyrinth to force me to think about what’s really important to me, and guess what, it’s the living, not you. It’s Claire.
I found the perfect spot, Matt!
I don’t mind Tammy sticking around, though. I charged down here on pure anger and determination only to wind up far, far from where I started and with nothing to show for it. I’m starting to shake with helpless frustration, one second away from losing it. One second away from shutting down and giving up.
I twirl the wedding band around my ring finger again and again, trying to squeeze more hope from what it symbolizes for me.
I bet you can’t find me.
Only two chemlights left, enough to search a little farther. I have enough battery power to keep searching after that, but it won’t last forever, and I have a long, long way to go to get back, if the way back is still there.
By now, the others should have started their return. I pray they’re okay.
As for me, I hope I have the energy to go on. Trail mix and water are keeping me going, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about mental energy. With each step I take deeper into the maze, I feel this crushing sense of despair and dread. I’m not utterly lost yet, but I might as well be.
You’re not even trying, Matt!
Obviously, I’m stressed out about being here and worried sick about Claire, but on a hunch, I took out the EMF meter and did a reading.
I don’t know if I like you anymore.
Sure enough, it’s maxed out. My guess is the actual level is very, very high right now.
The presence of the spirits or something else here is acting as an electromagnetic field pump. Maybe it’s part of that annoying background hum that only grows louder the farther I go. Some types of EMF can produce fear in people. They make you uneasy and feel like you’re being watched. In extreme cases, you wind up paranoid, crying your eyes out, and absolutely terrified.
EMF can even make you hallucinate ghosts.
You were a lot more fun before you grew up!
That I can agree with. Back then, the spirit world was fun and friendly, something I’d spend a lifetime wanting to know better. They weren’t entities that lured people underground only to set them loose in a maze, like rats.
“You’re not the real Tammy anyway,” I said. “You’re just another trick.”
I should get back on my feet, but I don’t know where to look. I’m starting to worry that Claire might be gone forever, consumed by this horrible place. I twirl the wedding band around my finger, but this time it only feels like dead metal.
The tears have finally come, and they won’t stop—
Wait.
Thank God.
Tammy just said… I know where Claire is.
She says that she’ll take me to my wife. She says she feels sorry for me sitting here crying all by myself. She says she’s going to help me.
I already know what you’re going to say, so don’t say it.
What choice do I have?
FADE TO BLACK
PROD: Ep. 13, “Paranormal Research Foundation, Part 3”
Raw Video Footage
Tuesday, 10:36 a.m.
Still shooting at hip level, the camera lurches with Jake’s limping gait past infinities of himself reflected in mirrored glass. He does not care anymore about capturing footage, only using the camera as a flashlight.
Jake: If you aren’t gonna show yourself, I’m leaving. You win. I’m going home.
The voice of his father does not answer. Jake stops to lean on his knees, sucking air into his lungs.
Jake: The fighting sucked, but I could handle it. What I hated was the waiting. The endless… You know what?
The maze is silent.
Jake: I know you aren’t my dad. Pretending you are is just mean. We came here to play, and we thought you were good with that. But you’re cruel.
No answer.
Jake: I don’t get why you sat here all these years waiting to be a dick. If the idea is to scare me, you win. I’m scared shitless. Good for you. Now let me go home.
Silence.
Jake: Thank—
Voice: I couldn’t handle getting older.
Jake: What?
Voice: Getting older, son. You reminded me of every mistake I ever made. I wanted to be you. A clean slate. If I couldn’t, I wanted you to end up like me.
Jake (wearily): It’s all good, Dad.
Voice: I’m trying to explain—
Jake: I forgive you, okay? You win. Just let me leave.
Voice: Let me finish, son. I’m trying to explain why I’m gonna wear your face.
Jake: PLEASE, JUST LET ME LEAVE.
Voice: I’ll be alive and young again, wearing your pretty—
A gunshot booms close by.
Jake: Just stop. Please. Just stop.
Voice: It ain’t like you’re using it for anything worthwhile. You know what they say, youth is wasted on the—
A man’s voice screams in the maze.
Jake: Kevin?
The scream turns into howls of terror.
Voice: I wouldn’t go help him if I were you.
Jake: Kevin! Hang on!
The camera swims up and down as Jake limps down the corridor.
Jake: Yo, Kev! Where are you?
Loping around the corner, he hesitates. The mirrors here are funhouse mirrors, showing himself as fat, skinny, short, tall.
Jake looks back at himself with a grotesquely large head.
Jake: Fuck this place—
Kevin howls again. Another gunshot, even louder this time, followed by stomping feet. He is close. Just around the bend, in fact.
Jake: I’m coming, Kev!
He turns the corner and rears at an incredible scene, one of the most analyzed in all the Foundation House footage. Kevin stands at the end of a corridor surrounded by funhouse mirrors, two of which are shattered to expose plain stonework. His back to the camera, he shouts and waves his gun.
In the mirror he faces, an apparition swirls like intricate gusts of gray smoke against a window. Jake is recording the scene at 30 frames per second, which over the next four seconds is 120 frames. In each frame, the apparition completely changes.
A claw appears, reaching. Curved horns. Swishing tail. Hairy animal form. Long-toothed snarl. Clouds of gray smoke.
Rolling as continuous video, these images form a swirling, disjointed, nightmare vision broken only once to show, for a single frame only, a tall, skinny man wearing a hoodie that shrouds his face in shadow.
The only element that remains consistent in every frame is a pair of eyes, glowing red like coals.
Kevin is crying. The apparition snarls, a deafening staccato that sounds like the coughing muffler of a souped-up sports car.
The mirror explodes in a spray of glass as Kevin shoots it.
Jake (barely audible over the noise): Kevin, it’s me, I’m coming!
He lurches forward, closing the distance rapidly. He reaches out to grip Kevin’s shoulder. Kevin wheels on him with a high-pitched scream. The gun fires with a blinding flash.
The camera falls with a burst of electronic noise and then nothing.
Jessica Valenza’s Journal
NOT FAIR.
I went back all the way to the beginning, only it wasn’t there.
When I reached the last door, I ran at it laughing.
Beyond it, though, the tunnel just kept going.
Right back to this door marked NO PIGS.
Somehow, I’d gotten turned around.
On the way back, the hippie messages, scrawled on opposite sides of the tunnel, seemed to mock me:
YOU’RE EITHER ON THE BUS OR OFF THE BUS!
!SUB EHT FFO RO SUB EHT NO REHTIE ER’UOY
Soon, I reached the door marked NO PIGS.
NOT FAIR.
NOT FAIR, NOT FAIR, NOT FAIR.
RIAF TON.
I don’t know how long I’ve been walking. My watch stopped when I passed through the last door. It’s like time itself stopped. Nothing moves here except me. Nothing makes sound. It’s like I’m walking through a picture. A dead simulation.
When I get to the beginning, I start over. When I reach the end, I’m back at the beginning. Changing directions doesn’t help. It’s always the same. The wall curves to the left. Then it curves to the right.
Like a hamster on a wheel, huffing and puffing, thinking she’s getting somewhere. I’m going out of my fucking mind.
For a while, I cursed every bad decision I made, from taking the contract for this dumb show right up to refusing to stay with the others. At some point, I started monologuing. I don’t need a camera after all to perform. I no longer feel watched or followed, but I’m hoping the spirits are there if only for the sense of company. In horror movies, the ghost tortures the girl until the girl has some epiphany or unlocks some mystery, and finally the spirit can rest.
