interference

I jammed this little short snippet of a possible story out randomly last year. My husband and I were discussing some of our favorite TV shows and movies and this little story popped into my head. It’s inspired a bit by my all time favorite show and one of my favorite horror movies. I haven’t decided if I’ll expand on it or not, just another little bit of fun that I have banging around in my head.

My head is pounding. It feels like I’ve been hit in the head with a wrench. The pain forces me to open my eyes only slightly, squinting as if I’ve just woken up from a bender. But I haven’t drunk in 12 years. I roll over onto my back and realize that I’m lying on a metal floor. Lights flicker on and off around me, and I can hear the periodic sound of compressed air being released.

As my vision starts to clear, I see rows of lights above me—some working, some flickering. To my right is a round table with chairs around it. The walls are lined with control panels filled with buttons, knobs, lights, switches, and screens. To my left is a corridor that seems to stretch on forever, disappearing into darkness.

I roll over onto my side and brace myself to get up. My head throbs several times as I stand, and I almost lose my balance, catching myself on the side of the corridor's entrance. The wall is cold and metallic—colder than I would expect. It feels as if I’m touching ice, and I can almost sense my skin pulling a bit when I let go.

I’m wearing my work clothes: carpenter pants, a T-shirt with a button-up flannel, and my work boots. I’m covered in dust and dirt, and my hands are caked with it, as if I’ve been digging myself out of the ground. For the life of me, I can't remember where I was before I got here. Could I have been at work? If so, why wouldn’t the crew have taken me to a hospital after an accident?

I walk toward the table and see star charts scattered about, along with plenty of wax pencils. I pick one up, trying to see if I recognize anything, but alas, I’m an architect, not an astronomer.

This room has no windows, and there’s nothing else indicating where I am. However, I do see what looks like an intercom system on one of the side consoles on the wall.

I push the call button and attempt to speak, but my throat is raw and dry. Instead, I cough into the mic, creating a piercing echo in the speakers. I quickly take my finger off the call button and try to clear my throat. Looking around, I don’t see any water or food, so I swallow hard a few times, trying to soothe my dry throat. It feels like I haven’t had water in days.

Finally, I can muster some sound and push the call button again.

“Hello? Is there anybody here? My name is Samuel Blake. Hello?”

I let go of the call button and listen, but the only sound I hear is the pounding in my head. I reach up to check for a cut or a knot on my head, but there’s nothing there.

I try again.

“Hello? Is there anybody who can tell me where I am? My name is Samuel Blake. Please, hello?”

Once more, silence. I scan the room to see if there are any labels on the switches and controls on the walls. Some are unmarked, while others have symbols that look like tally marks or some type of sign.

And then I hear it—someone speaking over the speakers. It’s faint at first, and I can’t distinguish the words or who it might be; it’s so soft.

I rush over to the intercom.

“Hello! Hello, please speak up. Where are you? Where am I?”

I let go of the button and wait. Then I hear her.

“Hello?”

“Hello! Who is this? Where am I?”

“My name is Amy... Where am I? Who are you?”

“My name is Sam. I don’t know where you or I are. Can you describe your location?”

“Ummm... I don’t know. It looks like I might be in a clinic? The lights keep flickering, and it’s hard to focus. My head is killing me.”

Her voice sounds scratchy, just like mine.

“My head hurts too. Do you see a way out of your location, Amy? Can you get to where I am? I’m in what looks like a meeting room or control room.”

There’s a long pause. I begin to speak again when the speakers crackle to life.

“Hello?”

This isn’t Amy. It’s a man’s voice, and he doesn’t sound hoarse like we do.

“Hello?! Who is this? Can you help us? Where are we?”

The response seems to take a lifetime, but then he comes back on and says,

“You shouldn’t be on the intercom. That’s how they find you.”

And then the lights go out, and I hear something monstrous cry out into the dark.