THE MAZE

Chapter Seven: Anna Dewey

I️ have one, and only one regret; I should not have brought Gavin to this. This is most definitely not a place for a seven-year old boy to be. In fact, after meeting our guide, I'm starting to think that this is not a place anyone should be.

Like all the others, I'm here solely for the prospect of winning that one million dollars. Oh, that money would help us so much! With my husband out of the picture, being a single mother is not easy.

Now, in Room One, I keep Gavin close to my side. With one hand he grips mine, and with the other he points excitedly at the four doors on the opposite side of the room.

"Which one do we go through Mom?" he asks repeatedly, tugging down hard on my arm.

"Now that's a good question, Gavin. Do you see any clues to help us choose what door to go through?" I ask, looking down at him.

He squints, looking around the room for a few moments before replying,

"Nope."

Great.

I divert my eyes and watch as the old man darts through Door 26, followed shortly after by the couple.

How do they know which door to go through?

I feel absolutely clueless.

Kneeling down next to Gavin, I ask,

"Which door do you want to go through?"

Gavin looks at the four doors, furrowing his brows as he eyes each one. Finally, he sticks his arm out and points to Door 20.

"That one," he states declaratively.

"Alright, let's go to that one," I say, giving him a smile and a small kiss on the forehead.

I stand up and we both walk over to Door 20. When we reach it, I let Gavin twist the knob. The door swings open to reveal utter blackness. I swallow hard.

"C'mon mommy, let's go!" Gavin exclaims, tugging me toward the darkness.

It's funny just how fearless you can be as a child. I miss those unfazed days.

I finally submit, letting Gavin pull me forward. We walk forward through the cool blackness until we finally arrive at what seems to be another door. Once again, I let Gavin open it. However, once it is fully open, I am dismayed to find that we are greeted by murky darkness identical to that of the hallway. Just as I am about to say we turn back, there is a loud clicking noise. I jump as a bright spotlight suddenly switches on, shining onto a stage in the front of the room.

The room.

I don't think I can even call it that.

We are standing in the back of an enormous theater. Rows and rows of plush, velvety seats arc forward until they meet the base of a colossal stage. The spotlight shines dead center on a very peculiar object. In fact, it is the only object on the stage.

Suspended by two hanging ropes is a large, iron pitchfork. I wish I could cover Gavin's eyes to shield him from this ghastly sight, but it is too late; he has already seen it and now is pointing and exclaiming,

"Mommy, what is that big fork thing?"

"Nothing, honey," I reply quickly.

Upon further observation, it appears to be that there are four identical-looking doors on the back wall of the stage.

"C'mon, let's go!" Gavin cries impatiently, pulling hard on my arm.

Reluctantly, I follow him down the center aisle, walking past the rows and rows of plush seats. Once we reach the front, we walk up the stairs and onto the big stage. I spin around, facing forward, but cannot see anything due to the fact that the spotlight is directly trained on us.

Turning back around, I now notice how massive the hanging pitchfork is.

"Gavin, hold Mommy's hand and whatever you do, do not go near that hanging thing, okay?" I ask.

"Okay," he replies quietly, gripping my hand.

"Let's pick which door we want to go through now. I'll let you pick again," I say, giving him a small smile.

He concentrates hard on the four doors, his eyes shifting back and forth continuously.

30. 36. 1. 38.

Well, Room One can be ruled out, obviously. But other than that, I am still absolutely clueless.

"What is that Mommy?" Gavin asks, breaking me out of my thoughts.

"Huh?"

I see that he is walking toward something on the floor, and just as I am about to look to see what it is, there is another loud clicking noise followed by the stage plunging into total darkness.

I gasp instinctively, a cold feeling rushing through my veins.

"Gavin, where are you?" I shout, my voice panicked and quivering.

"Right here," he whispers, sounding close but yet so far away at the same time.

"Where?" I ask, reaching my hands out and aimlessly clawing through the blackness.

"Right here," he says again, but this time he sounds even further away.

"Come back to Mommy, okay?" I say, trying to keep my voice as level as possible.

"But I found something," he says, his voice uncannily drifting towards me.

"Gavin, whatever it is, please do not pick it up."

"But I already did."

Chills run through my body.

"Please, just put it back down where you found it," I say.

"It's just a flashlight Mommy," Gavin replies.

Phew.

There is a small click and the flashlight turns on, its light illuminating his face as he holds it up to his chest.

But what causes all the blood in my veins to instantly turn to ice is that Gavin is standing almost directly beneath that dreadful hanging pitchfork.

Yes, my eyes may be playing tricks on me, but it seems to be that now the pitchfork is swaying back and forth ever so slightly.

"Gavin, come to me right now," I hiss, my heart thudding in my chest.

He walks over, and I can only start breathing again once he is out from underneath that thing.

"Now please give Mommy that flashlight," I ask, holding my hand out.

He obeys, handing it over. I swivel around and shine it out into the audience, moving its beam of light across the rows of empty seats. Once I move the beam across the entire width of the theater, I begin to slowly tilt it up.

"Do you hear that noise?" Gavin asks.

"What noise?" I ask, temporarily halting the beam's movement.

I strain my ears, trying to hear whatever he is talking about. And then I hear it. Although barely audible, there seems to be a low rustling sound coming from above. It almost sounds as if...

"Do you hear it now?" Gavin asks.

"Yes, I think so," I confirm, my voice sounding strange and foreign to me

I recommence tilting the flashlight's beam up and up until it finally reaches the ceiling.

That's all it takes to identify where the sound is coming from. And once I realize the sheer magnitude of the danger we are in, it is already too late.

It turns out that the rustling sound is coming from the rustling of the wings of hundreds and hundreds of bats, now which are flying down directly toward us at a menacing velocity.