The Playing Fields First Draft

Chapter Ten

     Claire found herself in an unusual place.

     It was a capsized boat in the middle of the forest. There was a gaping hole in the boat's hull that made it resemble a metal cave. Granted, there wasn't anything natural about where Claire was, but at least the Field had a kind of natural consistency to it, the grass would be cut by the fae to reach a certain look for it.

     The Forest?

     They decided to drop a capsized boat into the middle of it.

     And the dowsing rod was telling her that the component was there. Or at least it did before it abruptly stopped working.

     Great, I suppose the fae imposed a blackout on dowsing rods if they're anywhere close to the components.

     It made sense to Claire in a sick way. The fae were trying to make this entertaining for their audience, and there was an anti-climactic feeling when it came to a psychic finding the components with a dowsing rod.

     Then again, Claire thought that psychics had their powers blocked.

     Unless they want only one psychic in a game. Claire realized, the fae were aware of her innate psychic powers, but decided to let her keep them anyway. After all, what was more entertaining than to see a rookie psychic blunder around the Fields? 

     I need to keep moving. Claire thought.

     The tug of the rod sent Claire toward the boat; it was a bit more forceful than it was before finding the capsized boat. Somehow this all seems familiar. Claire shook her head as she walked toward the boat. There was something familiar about the boat though, something that Claire couldn't quite shake.

     Then Claire remembered the story of the Ernest Shackleton, a merchant boat belonging to one of the explorer's descendants. It made its maiden voyage in Lake Michigan for trade among the Great Lakes states, and Canada, which the Shackleton did for the five years leading up to its disappearance in 1979. Witnesses reported seeing a dense fog cover the vessel, and it vanished without leaving any traces of its existence.

     The crew must've been used for the Playing Fields. Claire frowned as she saw the rusted hull, and the barely visible Ernest Shackleton name confirmed what Claire was thinking.

     As Claire approached the opening, the tugs became stronger.

     And the smell of death lingered inside the capsized boat.

     The putrid smell of rotting meat mixed with the diesel fumes nearly caused Claire to vomit. The young woman struggled to enter the boat, but after a few minutes inside the boat, she had to run back outside for fresh air, or Claire was certain she'd bring up her weight in vomit.

     They really have to make this impossible, didn't they? Claire thought, frustrated.

     An idea sprang into Claire's head. There had to be something nearby she could use as an improvised gas mask. Or there could be a gas mask hiding nearby. Claire wondered if the fae were responsible for the continual popularity of survival horror video games. For Claire, this game resembled those like Halloween Night she'd spend hours playing, usually it was outwitting some unkillable monster while using her wits.

     The difference between Halloween Night and the Playing Fields, the game had clearly defined rules and a tutorial that let players know what they needed to know. True, the Playing Fields had a note that let the abductees know what their objectives were, and a vague notion of what was in each of the areas. There were warnings about creatures in each one, but while Claire had barely glimpsed in the Field, and only just encountered in the Forest.