Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“AAAAIIIEEEE!!!” I screamed. 

        “Shut up!” the flagellator yelled, “I’m totally flagellating you right now!”

This sucked. I was totally getting tortured and stuff, and in the Chamber of Neverending Flagellation, no less!

I lolled and rolled, writhed and wriggled, contorting my body into strange shapes. And I wasn’t just doing it for the fun of it, mind you, I was seriously hurting!

With each lash, I was carried away by the pain, only coming back to my senses at the precise instant before the next flagellation. I have to hand it to him, his timing was tremendously well-paced. It seemed as if the flagellation would never end!

Needless to say, I had a lot of flagellation to look forward to at this point, and I wasn’t looking forward to it at all. 

I pulled against my restraints.

Each pull met a firm boundary, but as I jerked and twisted, the boundary began to give.

It eventually got to the point where I could slip a hand out, and during one of the flagellator's breaks, I was able to untie the other strap, and then my feet.

I made a break for it, and heard him yell behind me, 

       “What the hell, dude! I'm totally supposed to be flagellating you right now!”

I paid him no attention as I slipped out of the door.

The hallway was made of a rough, damp stone, and the air had a dank, musty atmosphere to it.

I ran.

First I turned left, and then I turned right. Then I turned left again, and then left two more times.

I saw a door in the distance, and snuck up to it.

There was a sign above it. 

Chamber of Neverending Flagellation

“Nuts,” I thought to myself. I turned back around. 

I won’t bore you with the details of how many twists and turns I took, but suffice it to say, there were many.

I must have turned left a dozen times, and turned right maybe thirteen or fourteen times.

Sometimes I went up stairs, and sometimes I went down them.

Most of the time I didn’t turn any corners, or go up or down any stairs, I just kept on the straight and level.

I didn’t see anyone else in the hallways with me.

At least, not until I did. 

I turned a corner and saw it in the distance.

        It was a small, green creature, hunched over and muttering to itself.

I couldn’t make out what it was saying, but it had a strange, nasally voice. 

I ducked back behind the corner.

       “Hey, I saw that!” I heard it yell, “I saw you just duck behind that corner!”

“Crap,” I thought. 

       “Come on, I know you’re back there!”

I reluctantly stepped out from behind the corner.

        It stood there with its arms crossed, tapping its foot impatiently.

I slowly walked up to it. 

        The creature’s face was strange and contorted, squinched into an impish expression.

        In a word, it appeared to be some kind of goblin. 

“What are you, some kind of goblin?” I asked.

       It stared at me.

       “Do you have any idea how insulting that is?”

“What?”

       “I’m a gremlin, guy.”

“Oh.”

       “Jesus,” it rolled its eyes, “and here I thought we were getting somewhere in this place.”

I stared at it.

       “What are you, some kind of freak?" it scoffed, "never seen a gremlin before?”

“I’m not a freak.” I planted my feet.

      "Whatever, guy." 

      It looked me up and down.

      "What are you doing out here?"

"I don't know," I looked around, "just trying to escape, I guess."

       It punched me in my thigh.

“Ow! What-”

        “Don't say that!” it hissed.

“What? Why?”

       It punched me again.

        "Keep your voice down!”

“Okay, sorry," I whispered, “Jesus, dude.”

       It punched me again. 

“Ow! What was that for?”

       “I don’t know,” it shrugged, “just felt like it, I guess.”

“Well, don’t,” I said firmly, “it hurts.” 

       It ignored this comment.

       “So, what’s your plan, guy?”

“My plan?”

       “Yeah. What are you doing out here?”

“Well, I suppose I’m trying to-”

       The creature gave me a sharp look.

“Oh- just walking around, I guess."

       It relaxed.

I looked around.

"Can I at least follow you around?” I asked the creature.

       It scoffed and began walking away. 

I followed.

       It pretended not to notice.

We walked in silence, and eventually came to another door.

It was a small and shoddy, only coming up to my waist and jammed into a cracked hole in the wall.

There was no sign above it.

       “Okay, here’s where I leave you,” it said, “have a good time.”

“Oh. What is this place?”

       “It’s my house.”

“Oh. More of a hole in the wall, really.”

       “And now he knows everything about houses! It’s a home, meatball. Get lost.” 

“Can I come in?”

I looked at him in earnest.

       “Who the– who do you think I am, guy?” it spluttered, “I’m not letting you into my house! Who knows where you’ve been!”

“The Chamber of Neverending Flagellation.”

       “Oh, yeah?” it rubbed its chin, "how’d you like it?”

“Not very much.”

       It nodded, deep in thought.

“So, can I come in?”

       It looked me up and down again.

      “Sorry, pal. No can do.”

“C'mon, I got nowhere else to go!”

       “Buddy, you got everywhere else to go! It’s a whole labyrinth out there!” it gestured to the hallway around it.

I looked around.

All I saw was a hallway.

       It began to close the door, but stopped.

       First it looked left, and then it looked right. Then it looked left again, and then left two more times.

       It seemed surprised to see me for a second, and then beckoned me closer and whispered,

       “And if you ever find an answer to that question of yours, let ol’ Grungleby know, won't ya?” 

       It flashed me a wink and slammed the door. 

I looked around.

I still only saw a hallway.

I kept walking in the direction I was walking earlier, and it was a while before I came upon another door.

It looked strangely familiar, and I peered at the sign above it.

I saw the words, “Chamber,” “of,” and “Flagellation," and thought,

"Oh, criminy."

I peered closer.

"Chamber of Unending Flagellation," the sign read.

“Hm,” I thought to myself, “strange.”

       “Strange, isn’t it?” I heard a voice behind me say.

I whipped around.

I was astonished.

       There was no one there.

I looked to my left, and then left again-

       “Down here.”

I looked down.

To my continued astonishment, there was also no one there. 

       “Sorry, I meant up.”

I looked up.

        There was a small bug clinging to the ceiling. 

I felt nothing.

Astonished at my lack of astonishment, I had to take a moment to think about what my priorities were, and what I should be properly astonished by moving forward. 

I looked back up. It was still there.

       “Hey, dude,” it said casually, “what’s up?” 

“Oh, not much. Just walking around, I guess.”

       “Yeah, I can see that. Trying to get your flagellation on, am I right?”

“Oh, no, I just did, actually. Get flagellated, I mean..."

       “Oh, yeah?"

"...didn’t much care for it, really, it hurts, you see, and it didn’t seem to be ending any time soon…”

       "...cool, man, cool...”

        It looked around disinterestedly.

As much as a bug can look disinterested, of course.

       “So, uh, I hear someone’s looking for a way out of this place..."

       It looked me up and down suspiciously.

       "...you wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Uh- no, uh, no- I don’t know anything about that. I’m just walking around.”

       It sized me up, and seemed to realize that no matter what size I was I was a lot bigger than it.

       This seemed to satisfy it. 

       “Good, good. Just checking. It is a Torture Labyrinth, after all…”

 “Yeah, so I’ve heard.”

       “...and that means no one can ever leave, and everyone is getting tortured, like, all the time…”

       It trailed off and looked at me suspiciously.

       “...speaking of…”

“What’s strange?”

       It stopped.

       “What?”

“Earlier, you said, ‘Strange, isn’t it?’ I was just wondering what you meant by that.”

       “Oh, I just like to say that when I’m waiting for someone to notice me.”

“Oh. I thought you were talking about the sign.”

       It looked at the sign.

Chamber of Unending Flagellation

       “Why is that strange? It’s a torture chamber…”

“Oh, I-”

       “...in a Torture Labyrinth.”

“I just meant it's strange that there’s a Chamber of Unending Flagellation…”

       “Uh huh..."

“...and a Chamber of Neverending Flagellation. I just thought they’d have more ideas for chambers, that’s all.”

      “Oh, well, look at the torture expert over here!” it said haughtily.

“Now, hang on…”

       “Too good for eternal flagellation, is he?”

“...I didn’t say that…”

       “And I bet you’re looking for a way out, too! It’s always the same, isn’t it? People like you, coming in and expecting a pleasant little torture, a little flagellation and they’ll be home by supper! And then they lose their willies, and spend the rest of their lives trying to escape without ever appreciating the hard work that goes into this! I mean, really…””

I began to back away slowly.

        It didn’t seem to notice, and just kept gesticulating wildly.

As much as a bug can gesticulate, of course.

       “…or this one guy a couple of years ago, always complaining about this and that! ‘Oh, I want to see my family! I don’t want to be flagellated for eternity!’ I mean, really, if there's ever going to be any progress…”

I walked away, its voice slowly fading into the background of agonized screaming. 

Soon, the weariness and monotony overtook me.

I sat down, stared at the stone in front of me, and thought to myself,

“Schist.”

This totally sucked.

I couldn’t figure out how to get out, and it seemed I couldn’t even think about it!

Naturally, it was all I thought about. 

It was a while before I heard something over the agonized screaming.

I cocked my ear and listened.

        There were footsteps.

        Coming towards me.

I panicked, and ducked behind a corner. 

       “Hey, I saw that!" I heard a voice yell, "I saw you duck behind that corner!”

Right next to me was the the first dead end I'd ever seen in the Torture Labyrinth.

“Dang it," I thought.

       “Come on, I know there’s a dead end back there! You got nowhere to go!”

I reluctantly stepped out.

       It was another small, green humanoid figure, with big ears and a scrunched up face.

“Grungleby?” I asked.

       It stared at me.

       “Do you have any idea how insulting that is?”

“Sorry, I thought you were–”

       “Yeah, I know what you thought. I’m not. I’m a goblin."

"Oh."

        "Yeah."

"Well, nice to meet you, I suppose," I tried to walk past it.

       "Wait!"

I waited.

      "Where do you think you're going?"

I looked around.

"Just around, I guess."

       It considered this.

       "You're not trying to escape, are you?"

"Me?"

       "Yeah, you."

I looked around.

"No, I don't think so. Just walking around."

      It seemed to size me up.

       Then it looked over my shoulder, and behind its own.

       “You, uh, you want it?” it whispered to me.

"Want what?"

        He jerked his head to the hallways around us.

I nodded.

       He pulled out an old, worn, piece of paper.

       It was covered in layers of drawings and writings that melged over each other to create an enmelgement of ink that was all but indecipherable.

“What is it?” I asked.

       “It’s a palimpsest.”

“A what?”

       “A palimpsest.”

“What’s that?”

       “I don’t know, but it sounds cool, doesn’t it?.”

“Oh.”

       “Listen, just take this, and follow this line right here.” 

       He pointed to a small, scrawled line that wound its way around the paper. 

       “We’re here right now.” 

       He pointed to a part of the line near the edge. 

       “You want to be here.”

       He pointed to the end of a line, near one of the corners.

       “Good luck, kid. You’ll need it.”

He handed me the paper and sauntered away, whistling a jovial tune.

I considered trying to find Grungleby, but decided against it.

I was too excited.

I began racewalking.

I followed the turns on the paper, passing by doors with various signs and noises.

One said, “All-Purpose Torture Chamber,” another said, “Chamber of Eternal Torture,” and even another said, “Chamber of Eternal Torture (Flagellations in Back).” 

The noises were just screams. 

At last I came to where the line on the paper ended.

I looked up, and in the stone wall in front of me was a door. 

There were no screams coming from behind it.

I only saw a faint light coming from below, and smelled a hint of tobacco. 

There was a sign above it.

I peered closer.

Chamber of Ending-Far-in-the-Future Flagellations

“Shit,” I said.

I kept walking. 

Chapter Text

I decided to keep walking in the direction I was walking earlier, and it was a while before I came upon another door.

It looked strangely familiar, and I peered at the sign above it.

I saw the words, “Chamber,” “of,” and “Flagellation," and thought to myself,

"Oh, criminy."

I peered closer.

"Chamber of Unending Flagellation," the sign read.

“Hm,” I thought to myself, “strange.

“Strange, isn’t it?” I heard a voice behind me say.

I whipped around.

I was astonished.

There was no one there.

“Down here.”

I looked down.

To my continued astonishment, there was also no one there.

“Sorry, I meant up.”

I looked up.

There was a small bug clinging to the ceiling.

I felt nothing.

Astonished at my lack of astonishment, I had to take a moment to think about what my priorities were, and what I should be properly astonished by moving forward.

I looked back up.

“Hey, dude,” it said casually, “what’s up?”

“Oh, not much. Just walking around, I guess.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Trying to get your flagellation on, am I right?”

“Oh, no, I just did, actually. Get flagellated, I mean..."

“Oh, yeah?"

"...didn’t much care for it, really, it hurts, you see, and it didn’t seem to be ending any time soon…”

"...cool, man, cool...”

It looked around disinterestedly.

“So, uh, I hear someone’s looking for a way out of this place..."

It eyed me suspiciously.

"...you wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“No- uh, no- I don’t know anything about that. I’m just walking around.”

It sized me up.

Then it seemed to realize that no matter what size I was, I was a lot bigger than it was.

“Good, good. Just checking. It is a Torture Labyrinth, after all…”

“Yeah, so I’ve heard.”

“...and that means no one can ever leave, and everyone is getting tortured, like, all the time…”

It trailed off and eyed me again.

“...speaking of-”

“What’s strange?”

It stopped.

“What?”

“Earlier, you said, ‘Strange, isn’t it?’ I was just wondering what you meant by that.”

“Oh, I just like to say that when I’m waiting for someone to notice me.”

“Oh. I thought you were talking about the sign.”

It looked at the sign.

Chamber of Unending Flagellation

“Why is that strange? It’s a torture chamber…”

“Oh, I-”

“...in a Torture Labyrinth.”

“I just meant it's strange that there’s a Chamber of Unending Flagellation…”

“Uh huh..."

“...and a Chamber of Neverending Flagellation. I just thought they’d have more ideas for chambers, that’s all.”

“Oh, well, look at the torture expert over here!” it said haughtily.

“Now, hang on…”

“Too good for eternal flagellation, is he?”

“...I didn’t say that…”

“And I bet you’re looking for a way out, too! It’s always the same, isn’t it? People like you, coming in and expecting a pleasant little torture, a little flagellation and they’ll be home by supper! And then they lose their willies, and spend the rest of their lives trying to escape without ever appreciating the hard work…””

I began to back away slowly.

It didn’t seem to notice, and just kept gesticulating wildly.

“…or this one guy a couple of years ago, always complaining about this and that! ‘Oh, I want to see my family! I don’t want to be flagellated for eternity!’ I mean, really…”

I walked away, its voice slowly fading into the background of agonized screaming.

I must have spent days walking around the labyrinth, turning this corner and that.

Eventually, the weariness and monotony overtook me.

I slumped against a wall, stared at the stone in front of me, and thought to myself,

“Schist.”

This totally sucked.

I couldn’t figure out how to get out, and it seemed I couldn’t even think about it!

Naturally, it was all I thought about.

It was a while before I heard something over the agonized screaming.

I cocked my ear and listened.

There were footsteps.

Coming towards me.

I panicked, and ducked behind a corner.

“Hey, I saw that!" I heard a voice yell, "I saw you duck behind that corner!”

Right next to me was the the first dead end I'd seen in the Torture Labyrinth.

“Dang it," I thought.

“Come on, I know there’s a dead end back there! You got nowhere to go!”

I reluctantly stepped out.

It was another small, green humanoid figure, with big ears and a scrunched up face.

“Grungleby?” I asked.

It stared at me.

“Do you have any idea how insulting that is?”

“Sorry, I thought you were–”

“Yeah, I know what you thought. I’m not. I’m a goblin."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Well, nice to meet you, I suppose."

I tried to keep walking.

"Wait!"

I waited.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Just around, I guess."

He considered this.

"You're not trying to escape, are you?"

"Me?"

"Yeah, you."

"No, I don't think so. Just walking around."

He sized me up.

Then he looked over my shoulder, and behind his own.

“You, uh, you want it?” he whispered to me.

"Want what?"

He jerked his head to the hallways around us.

I nodded.

He pulled out an old, worn, piece of paper.

It was covered in layers of drawings and writings that melged over each other to create an enmelgement of ink that was all but indecipherable.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s a palimpsest.”

“A what?”

“A palimpsest.”

“What’s a palimpsest?”

“This.”

“Oh.”

“Listen, just take this, and follow this line right here.”

He pointed to a small, scrawled line that wound its way around the paper.

“We’re here right now.”

He pointed to a part of the line near the edge.

“You want to be here.”

He pointed to the end of a line, near one of the corners.

“Good luck, kid. You’ll need it.”

He handed me the paper and sauntered away, whistling a jovial tune.

I considered trying to find Grungleby, but decided against it. I was too excited.

I began racewalking.

I followed the turns on the paper, passing by doors with various signs and noises.

One said, “All-Purpose Torture Chamber,” another said, “Chamber of Eternal Torture,” and even another said, “Chamber of Eternal Torture (Flagellations in Back).”

The noises were just screams.

At last I came to where the line on the paper ended.

I looked up, and in the stone wall in front of me was a door.

There were no screams coming from behind it.

I only saw a faint light coming from below, and smelled a hint of tobacco.

There was a sign above it.

I peered closer.

Chamber of Ending-Far-in-the-Future Flagellations

“Shit,” I said.

I kept walking.

Chapter Text

“AAAAIIIEEEE!!!” I screamed.

This sucked. I was totally lost and stuff, and in the Torture Labyrinth, no less!

Needless to say, I had a lot of walking around to look forward to at this point, and I wasn’t looking forward to it at all. 

I heard a voice in the distance.

        “What was that?”

I kept quiet.

        “Who’s there?”

I ducked behind a corner.

        “Hey, I saw that!”

“Damn it,” I thought. 

        “I saw you just duck behind that corner! I know-”

“Yeah, yeah.”

I stepped out.

        It was another small, green, humanoid creature. It was staring at me.

I stared back and said nothing.

        “Do you have any idea how insulting that is?”

“What? I didn’t say-”

        “No, no, I get it! Everyone hides when they see Greebles coming, isn’t that right? No one ever wants to-”

“Your name is Greebles?”

        “Yeah," it sniffed.

I looked closer at it.

It looked a lot like Grungleby, the gremlin I had met earlier.

I ventured a guess.

“Are you a gremlin?”

        It looked at me.

        “Do you have any idea how insulting that is?”

“I’ve got some idea.”

        This seemed to satisfy it.

“How insulting is it?”

        “Not very. I am.”

“Ah.”

        “Well anyway, what was that?”

“What was what?”

        “That scream. Was that you?”

“Oh, right. Yes, I suppose it was.”

        “Why are you screaming in here?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged, “just felt like it, I guess.”

        “Well, don’t,” it said firmly, “some of us are trying to do our jobs.”

“Oh. I see.”

        It harrumphed victoriously.

“What is your job, anyhow?”

        It looked at me like I just asked it what the purpose of a Torture Labyrinth was. 

        “I’m a gremlin, guy!” it wiggled around a little, “can’t you see me?” 

“Yeah, I get that. But, like, what do you do around here?”

        “Oh, some heebing, some jeebing. Mostly just gremling around.”

“Gremling?”

        “Yeah,” it sniffed again.

“What’s that?”

        It looked at me like I had just asked what its job was. 

        “I’m a gremlin, guy! What else am I’asposa do?”

        It wiggled around some more. 

“I don’t know. You could help me find a way out of here, I guess.”

        It punched me in my thigh.

“Ow! What was that for?”

        “Don’t talk about that kind of stuff!”

“Why not?”

        “We just can’t, okay!” it looked around, “so just shut up about it, will you?”

“Okay, okay. Jesus, dude.”

        It punched me again.

“Ow!” I rubbed my thigh, “that hurts!”

        “Don’t take His name in vain!”

I stopped.

“How do you know about Jesus?” I asked.

        “Unbelievable,” it said as it began to walk away.

“Wait, wait!”

        It waited. 

“Can you at least point me in the right direction?”

        “Oh,” it looked surprised, “sure, I can do that, no problem.” 

        It pointed to my left. 

“I just came from down there.”

        It seemed to think for a second, and then said,

        “Sorry, I get mixed up sometimes. For you it’d be down there.”

        It pointed to my right. 

“Thanks.”

        “Don’t mention it.”

I continued to walk in the direction it pointed me. 

As I walked through the must and dust, I began to wish I was back in the Chamber of Neverending Flagellation.

Even eternal torture sounded better than walking through miles of dampness and dankness, filled with cobwebs, spiderwebs, and the screams of the tortured.

But as I listened to the screams, I soon abandoned that line of thinking and contented myself with the comparatively leisurely stroll I was taking. 

I then noticed a door ahead of me.

There was a noise that was coming from it, but it wasn’t just tortured screaming.

It was a voice, and it sounded agitated.

As I got closer, I began to make out what it was saying.

        “...and don’t even get me started on that one guy, leaving string everywhere like he owns the place! I mean, really! There are gremlins that have to clean that up, you know…” 

I crept closer, and was astonished to realize that I recognized the voice.

        “...a systemic issue, when you think about it! I mean, who’s running this place? It’s grossly mismanaged, I say..."

I looked at the door, and the sign above it. 

Chamber of Unending Flagellation

“Oh, hell,” I thought.

        “...I mean, what’s a bug supposed to do when the systemic structures of power are structured in such a way as to give power to the system! I ask you that, huh?”

        It looked at me as if expecting a response. 

“Oh- uh, I’m not quite sure. Can you repeat the question?”

        “Certainly,” it cleared its throat, “And I bet you’re looking for a way out, too! It’s always the same-”

“Oh, sorry, I meant the part about systemic structures of power.”

        “-oh. Right,” it looked indignant, “well, I was just saying how the systemic structures of power are structured in such a way as to give power to the system!”

I nodded.

        “I mean, it’s systematic, really, when you think about it!”

“Hm,” I thought about it, “I can see that, I suppose.”

        It looked smug.

As much as a bug can look smug, of course.

“But don’t you suppose that’s what the system wants you to think?”

        It thought about this.

“And isn’t it the very same system that says there’s no way out of here?”

        It pondered that.

        Slowly, realization crept over its face.

        “I don’t follow,” it said. 

“What I’m saying is…”

        “Uh huh...”

“...the system that’s given power…”

        “...mm-hmm...”

“...by the structures that systematically empower it…”

        It nodded.

“...is the same system that says there’s no way out of here!”

        It took this in.

       "Hm," it said.

“So if you want to disempower the structural systems…”

       “Naturally.”

“...that give power to the system’s structures...”

        “I’m following.”

“...systematically...”

        It nodded.

“...then you should tell me how to get out of here!”

        Its eyes widened.

        “It’s always the same, isn’t it!” it began to shout. 

“Well, hold on…”

        “People like you, coming in and expecting a pleasant little torture, a little waterboarding and they’ll be home by supper! And then they lose their willies…”

I began to back away slowly.

        “...I mean, really! There was this other guy a couple hours ago, oh my God, he was the worst! Thought he was too good for eternal flagellation, he did...”

The bug’s tirade faded behind me as I walked away. 

        “...an expert on torture, too! I mean, if there's ever going to be any progress…”

I kept on walking, plodding through the maze of tunnels and corridors.

Sometimes I would be absolutely certain that I had been in a particular place before, only to find out that it was just a similar looking hallway.

Other times, I turned out to be correct in that initial assumption, and had simply gotten turned around.

This happened more often than I’d like to admit, and so I won't admit it. It didn’t happen at all. 

It was maybe a couple hours before I came across a small, shoddy, and strangely familiar door in the wall. 

I knocked.

I heard some mumbling, some stumbling, and some grumbling coming from inside.

A small peephole opened in the door, and a green eye looked out and widened. 

After some bumbling and a little fumbling, the door was opened by a small green creature.

        “Well,” it said heartily, “if it isn’t the freakazoid! 

“Hi, Grungleby.”

        It stopped and looked at me.

        “Do you have any idea how insulting that is?”

“Yeah.”

        It laughed.

I smiled.

        “So, how’ve you been?” it asked warmly.

“Oh, you know,” I gestured to the hallway, “can’t complain.”

        “You know, you really can’t.”

“Can I come in?”

      It rubbed its chin.

        “Where’ve you been?”

“Where do you think?”

        “The Torture Labyrinth?”

“Yeah.”

        It nodded.

        “Yeah, you can come in.”

        It turned around and left the door open. 

If I had to stoop to stand up in the hallway, I had to crawl to enter the hole.

It was dark inside, but as I got up, I was surprised to realize that I could now stand up straight. 

I can’t properly express how good this felt. It was as if my back had been bent in an uncomfortable position for a very long time, and I was finally able to straighten it out. 

“Oh, that feels good,” I said to myself.

        “Hm?” Grungleby stopped and looked back at me, “what’s that?”

“Nothing, sorry. It just feels good to stand up.”

        “Sorry,” it said as it turned and walked through another door, “this is just the foyer.”

The door opened into a smaller room with an even shorter ceiling.

Inside the room was one table, one chair, and a small, solitary cupboard.

        Grungleby sat in the chair, and then quickly stood up.

        “Sorry, do you want anything to drink? I think I have some wine.”

I thought for a moment, and then said,

“Sure.”

        It went over to the cupboard and opened it.

Inside was a small, dirty glass, and a bottle filled with a strange, dark liquid.

        It took these out, poured the liquid into the glass, and set it on the table. 

I crawled over to the table, sat on the floor, and took a sip. 

It tasted like sewage water.

“This tastes like sewage water,” I said.

        “Yeah,” Grungleby said as it sat back down in the chair, “it is.”

“What? Why did you tell me it was wine?”

        “I don’t know,” it shrugged, “just felt like it, I guess.”

I pondered this.

        “So, what brings you by?”

I put the glass down.

“I’m going to escape the labyrinth."

        “What labyrinth?”

“The Torture Labyrinth.”

        “Oh, okay. Just making sure.”

I looked at it strangely.

        It sat placidly. 

        “What?” it said.

“Aren’t you gonna, like, freak out or something?”

        Grungleby said nothing. It looked around, as if to take in the moment. 

Then, as if a pin dropped, it jumped out of its chair and started screaming, running around the small room, jumping off of the walls, and smashing its head into the table.

        After it finished crying on the ground, and praying to any god that would listen, it calmly got up and sat back in its chair. 

        “How was that?” it asked.

“How was what?”

        “I just freaked out, like all over the place. Didn’t you see it?”

“Oh, yeah, I saw that. What was that?”

        “What was what?”

“Why’d you freak out all over the place?”

        “I don’t know,” it shrugged, “it seemed like you wanted me to freak out.”

“No, I was just wondering why everyone seems to freak out around here.”

        “Why does everyone freak out around here?”

“I don’t know, that’s what I’m asking you!”

        “Why do I freak out?” it laughed incredulously, “I’m a gremlin, guy!”

“No, I mean why does everyone freak out whenever I mention escaping-”

        It punched me in my thigh.

        “Keep your voice down!”

“Ow! Sorry.”

I rubbed my thigh.

        It looked at me.

        “Jesus, you really are a freak, kid.”

“Yeah. Mom always said so.”

        “Oh. Sorry.”

“That’s alright.”

        “Listen, guy…”

I listened.

        “...I’m gonna let you in on a little secret.”

I leaned closer.

        “The reason why no one will talk about escaping…”

“Uh huh...”

        “...is because there’s no way out.”

I took this in.

“Hm,” I said.

        “Yeah,” it said gravely.

“But what about this?”

        “What about what?”

I pulled out the palimpsest.

        “What is that?”

“It’s a palimpsest.”

        “What’s a palimpsest?”

“This.”

        “Oh.”

I pointed to one of the lines.

“I think we’re here.”

        “Really? Why?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged, “I just feel like it, I guess.”

        “Ah.”

I pointed to the end of one of the lines.

“And I think the exit is here.”

        “Really? Why?”

“He told me it was.”

        “Who’s he?”

“The goblin who gave me this.”

        Grungleby stopped.

        “A goblin?” it looked at me seriously.

“Yeah.”

        “You’re sure it was a goblin? Not a gremlin?”

“I mean, I’m pretty sure. He told me he was…”

        “Mm.”

“...and unless gremlins are prone to lying and mischief…”

        Grungleby thought about this and rubbed its chin.

        “Gremlins never lie...”

“Really?”

        “No. I just lied.”

“Ah.”

        “You see what I’m saying?”

I thought about it.

Slowly, realization dawned on me.

“No,” I said. 

        “What I’m saying is…”

“Uh huh...”

        “...just because this guy told you he was a goblin…”

“...mm-hmm...”

        “...doesn’t mean he actually is one.”

I nodded.

        “And just because he told you this,” it tapped forcefully on the paper, “is how to get out…”

“Yes. Well, actually-”

        “Doesn’t mean it- what?”

“Well, he never actually said it was the way out. He was very cryptic about the whole thing, you see…”

        “Uh huh...”

“...and now that I think about it, I went where he told me to…”

        “...mm-hmm...”

“...and it wasn’t an exit. It was just another torture chamber.”

        “Ah, well, there you go," it began to take my glass, "just another gremlin, gremling around…” 

“The Chamber of Ending-Far-in-the-Future Flagellations, it was…”

        “…no surprises-”

        Grungleby stopped.

        “What?” 

“Hm?”

        “What chamber did you say it was?”

“The Chamber of Ending-Far-in-the-Future Flagellations.”

        Grungleby swallowed.

        “You’re sure?”

“Yeah.”

        “Not neverending flagellation?”

“No.”

        “And not unending flagellation?”

I shook my head. 

        Grungleby pondered this.

        “How about eternal flagellation?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

        “You don’t think so? Or you know so?”

“Er- I know so. I got a pretty good look at it.”

        Grungleby took this in.

        “Hm,” it said. 

“What?”

        “I never thought I’d see the day…” it said wistfully.

“What day?”

        It looked at me.

        “Today.”

“Ah.”

        It nodded sagely.

“Why?”

        “Don’t worry about it. We need to go.”

“Oh. Go where?”

        Grungleby jammed his finger on the paper where I had pointed.

        “There.”

“Ah.”

       Grungleby cleared my glass, and then led us into the foyer.

        It opened the front door and stuck its head out.

        First it looked left, and then it looked right. Then it looked left again, and then left two more times.

        It shook its head and pressed its fingers to its temples, and then turned back to me.

        “Can I see it?”

“See what?”

        “The palimpsent.”

“The what?”

        “The paper.”

“Oh.”

I handed it to Grungleby.

        It pointed to the paper.

        “You said we’re here?”

I looked where it was pointing.

“Yes.”

        “You’re sure?”

“No.”

        Grungleby sighed.

        “Well, it’s the best we’ve got, I suppose."

We began walking.

Although Grungleby was holding the palimpsest, it seemed to instinctively know its way through the maze of corridors.

Only a couple times did it have to double-check with the lines on the paper, and that was only when-

I saw a distant shape duck behind a corner.

“Hey!” I yelled, “I saw that!”

        Nothing happened.

“I saw you just duck behind that corner!”

        “Yeah, we know you’re back there!” Grungleby yelled, “Come out!”

A small, humanoid figure slowly slunk out from behind the corner.

        “Oh, God,” Grungleby muttered.

“What?”

        “I hate this guy.”

“What? Why?”

        “He just brings the vibe down, you know? Just really bums me out.”

“Oh.”

        The figure slowly trudged its way towards us.

        It looked like Grungleby and Greebles, but it was smaller and paler.

        As it got closer, it weakly raised its hands in my general direction.

        “Nyegh,” it croaked out, “I’m gonna getcha…”

“Hey, man,” Grungleby said curtly, “listen, we’d love to stay and chat, but we’ve really gotta get going…”

        The creature stopped and looked at Grungleby.

        “Do you realize how insulting that is?”

“No, I don’t, and I don’t care to. Listen…”

        “Are you serious right now, Grungles?”

“Don’t call me that.”

        “First guy to try to escape in seven years, and I can’t even be a gremlin towards him?”

“Ok, Keith?” Grungleby pinched his brow, “Listen…”

        “What?”

“...first of all, you’re not a gremlin. You’re never gonna be a gremlin. So get that through your head.”

        Keith scoffed.

“Second of all, we’ve got places to be, okay? This guy found a palipset…”

I waved.

        Keith looked at me.

        “A what?”

“A palipsent.”

        “What’s that?”

“Don’t worry about what it is, Keith, it doesn’t concern you. So if you’ll excuse us…”

        “Are you just gonna let it boss you around like that?” it asked me.

“Oh- uh…”

        “Well, don’t drag them into this,” Grungleby said to Keith, “they don’t know what’s going on…”

“What?” 

        “Listen, Grungles-”

“I said, ‘Don’t call me that.’”

        “-Grungleby, sorry. Listen, Grungles-”

Grungleby lunged. The two creatures became a snarling blur of fangs, claws, and general appendages, biting each other in multiple places at once.

Then, just as quickly as it started, it stopped. The two were separated and walking in opposite directions. 

“Keith.” Grungleby said bitterly.

        “Grungleby.”

We walked away.

        “See what I mean?” Grungleby asked.

I looked back.

“Yeah, no, I did not like that dude, like, at all.”

        “Oh, he’s actually the worst. Ripped my- oh. Hm.”

“What?”

        Grungleby was looking at the palimpsest.

        “We’re here.”

Chapter Text

The door to the Chamber of Ending-Far-in-the-Future-Flagellations looked as I remembered it.

It was a modest, unassuming wooden door, quite like every other door I’d seen in the Torture Labyrinth. 

The only thing unusual about it was the distinct lack of agonized screaming coming from behind it.

Well, that and the soft light seeping from under the door (as opposed to harsh light) and the smell of tobacco (as opposed to the stench of fire, brimstone, and occasional sulphur).

Come to think of it, it was quite unlike any other door I’d seen in the labyrinth. 

I knocked.

        “Enter!” a voice cried from inside.

I tried the doorknob.

        It was locked.

“It's locked,” I said.

        There was some pittering, the lock clicked, and some pattering.

I tried the doorknob again.

        It opened. 

In the center of the room was a massive wooden desk, with an ancient lamp warmly lighting the room.

The walls were painted a deep red and ornately trimmed; on one wall was a painting of a wizened green creature, and on the other was a door.

In front of us was a richly decorated rug, and two plush armchairs that faced the desk. 

Sitting behind the desk, with his hands steepled in front of him, was the goblin who gave me the palimpsest.

        He seemed to be breathing heavily.

        “Hello,” he said.

“Hi,” I said.

Grungleby grunted.

        “Welcome.”

“Thanks.”

Grungleby said nothing.

        “Please, have a seat.”

We sat down.

        The goblin sat expectantly. 

I looked around the room.

“Nice room,” I said. 

        “Thanks.”

“Who’s the little green guy?” I pointed to the painting. 

Grungleby stiffened.

        “That,” said the goblin curtly, “is my great-great-grandfather. He built this place.”

“Oh. Was he a gremlin?”

Grungleby’s eyes widened. 

        “Do you…”

“Uh huh.”

        “...have any idea…”

“Mm-hmm.”

        “...how insulting that is?”

I thought about it.

Slowly, realization dawned on me.

“No,” I said. 

        “Hmm,” the goblin narrowed his eyes and looked at me. 

“Well,” I said, “how do I go about getting out of this Torture Labyrinth, anyhow?”

        “That,” he said as he shuffled some papers on his desk, “my friend…”

 I caught a glimpse of one of the papers.

The title read, “System for the Structural Empowerment of Systemic Structures of Power.” 

        “...is an extremely loaded question.”

“What is?”

        “The question you just asked.”

“Oh. The one about escaping the Torture Labyrinth?”

        “Yes.”

I took this in.

“Hm,” I said. 

        “I suppose-” the goblin began.

“How did you do that?” Grungleby interrupted.

        “Do what?”

“Unlock the door. Do you have some sort of secret door-unlocking device?”

        The goblin looked at Grungleby.

        “Yes,” he said.

“Can I see it?”

        “No.”

“Oh.”

“Where’s all the flagellation?” I wondered aloud.

        “The what?”

“Flagellation.”

        “Oh,” the goblin chuckled, “it’s a clever little trick, really. You see, no one would ever willingly enter a Chamber of Ending-Far-in-the-Future Flagellations, making it the perfect spot-”

“I don’t think I’d willingly enter any chamber of flagellation, to tell you the truth,” I said.

        “Ah, but you did, didn’t you?”

“Well, I certainly ended up in one…”

“Eternal flagellation sounds a lot worse than finite flagellation,” Grungleby said.

        “Ah, but does it? You see-

“Yeah.”

        “-you see, everyone knows eternal flagellation isn’t really possible! It has to stop at some point, either you die or escape somehow, but either way you’re not getting the full sentence!"

"Hm," Grungleby thought about that.

        "...now on the other hand, if you know you’ve got a finite amount of flagellation, you’re infinitely more likely to suffer through the entire punishment!”

“I can see that, I suppose,” Grungleby said.

“Why did he build it?” I asked.

        “Why, for flagellating people, of course!”

“Oh, the Torture Labyrinth, I mean. What’s the purpose of it?”

        The goblin looked at me as if I just asked him the definition of the word “gremling.”

        “I don’t know,” he said slowly, “he just felt like it, I guess.”

I pondered this. 

“But where is it?” Grungleby asked.

        “Where is what?”

“The flagellation!”

        “Oh,” the goblin chuckled, “this chamber was built far in the past.”

“Oh.” 

There was a short silence.

“What’s behind that door?” I pointed at the door in the wall.

        The goblin looked eagerly at the door.

        “That…”

        It paused for dramatic effect.

        “...is the Exit to the Torture Labyrinth!”

“Really?” 

        “Yes.”

“Can I leave?”

        “No.”

“Nuts.”

        The goblin chuckled richly.

“Well, why’d you give him the palipsenst, then?” Grungleby asked.

        “The what?”

“The palipsinth.”

        “The palimpsest?”

“Yeah, that.”

        The goblin looked at me mischievously.

        “Well,” he said slowly, “you think you’ve just been wandering around the Torture Labyrinth…”

Grungleby and I looked at each other and nodded.

        “...when in fact, this has been your torture the entire time!”

        He chuckled richly again, savoring the moment.

“What is?” I asked.

        “The crushing disappointment of not being able to leave, of course!”

I looked at the door.

“Seems like I can leave right now, doesn’t it?”

        “Well, no, actually,” he said firmly, “you can’t.” 

“Why not?” I asked.

        The goblin looked at me with contempt.

        “Because this…” he began, enunciating each word, 

“Uh huh...”

        “...is a Torture…”

“...mm-hmm...”

        “...Labyrinth.”

I looked at Grungleby.

“Real expert on Torture Labyrinths, this guy is.”

“Suppose he knows everything about escaping, too,” Grungleby agreed.

        The goblin sighed. 

“Well, that’s that, then,” I said, “I suppose we’ll be getting out of your hair.”

Grungleby looked at me.

        “Oh-” the goblin looked up, surprised, “yes, well, there’s nothing much you can do, I suppose…”

“Greebles is gonna love this, isn’t he?” I asked Grungleby.

“Uh- oh, yes, he’ll get a real kick out of it. Secret exits and all that…”

        “Er- sorry-”

“Hm?” 

        “What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

        “Who’s going to love this?”

“Greebles,” I said, “he’s a gremlin.”

        The goblin took this in.

        “Hm,” he said. 

“I can tell him, can’t I?” I asked the goblin.

        The goblin pondered this. 

“I mean, unless it happens to disrupt any structural systems of systemic empowerment, that is…”

        The goblin shuffled the papers around his desk again.

        A worried look came over his face.

“Oh, yes,” Grungleby said, “I imagine everyone is going to try to escape once they find out there’s an exit…”

        The goblin swallowed.

        “Well, let’s not be hasty…” it began.

“Right,” I slapped my knees and began to stand up, “I’ll be seeing you around, I suppose,” I said to the goblin. 

“Yes, it’s been lovely,” Grungleby stood up as well, “thanks for having us, Gary, I’ll see you Thursday.”

We started to walk back to the door we came in through.

        “Wait!”

We waited.

        Gary muttered something about how he should have gone into the Murder Labyrinth business like his brother, and then said,

        “Don’t go out that door.”

I looked at the door.

“Why not?”

        “Well,” Gary steepled his hands again, “it’s a labyrinth, yes?”

“A Torture Labyrinth, I’ve heard.”

        “And labyrinths are generally known to have magically shifting corridors, correct?”

I looked at Grungleby.

Grungleby nodded.

        “So if that’s the door you came in through…”

“Uh huh...”

        “...and that’s the door,” he pointed to the other door, “that was the exit…”

“...mm-hmm...”

        “...then it's not inconceivable that the doors have now switched!”

Grungleby and I took this in.

“Hm,” we said. 

        “And since I want to keep you from leaving…”

“Naturally.”

        “…then you should now go through that door!”

        He pointed back at the other door. 

“I can see that, I suppose…” I said.

        “Well, there you go.”

“...but what’s to stop us from opening both?”

        “It’s one or the other.”

“Well, suppose I choose one and Grungleby chooses the other?”

        Gary looked at Grungleby seriously.

        “I won’t let you,” he said in a low voice. 

Grungleby swallowed.

“Why not?” I asked.

        He stood up slowly and leaned on his fists.

        “I don’t know,” he said, gritting his teeth with every word, “I just don’t feel like it, I guess.”

I took this in.

“Hm,” I said.

I looked at Grungleby. 

        Grungleby nodded.

We walked out of the door. 

The second door, that is. 

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe it!” I exclaimed, “we made it out of the Torture Labyrinth!”

Grungleby and I looked around.

“It looks a lot like the Torture Labyrinth, doesn’t it?”

We had walked through the door, and into another hallway.

The walls were made of similar rough stone, and the air had the same damp dankness. 

“Hang on a minute…” I began, turning around.

The door slammed shut noiselessly. The lock clicked.

“Hm.”

        “Seems like a plot contrivance, doesn’t it?” Grungleby said.

“A what?”

        “A plot contrivance.”

“What’s that?”

        “I don’t know,” it shrugged, “we should probably keep moving.”

I accepted this, and began walking.

The hallway was completely silent apart from the soft marching, and occasional squelching, of our feet.

We walked in silence for some time, and then continued to walk in silence for a good bit longer.

Soon, seemingly at the same time, an interesting fact became apparent to us.

        “Awfully quiet, isn’t it?” we said in unison. 

We looked at each other in surprise.

        “Well, not anymore, I suppose,” we said together again. 

This delighted us.

We skipped gaily down the corridor, laughing and singing songs together. I must say, it was a grand old time.

But soon enough, another interesting fact became apparent to us.

Or, rather, to Grungleby.

        It stopped skipping and looked around. 

I looked at him, disappointed that our gay skipping had been stopped. 

        “How long have we been skipping?”

I looked at my watch.

“About forty minutes or so.”

        “Awfully long hallway, isn’t it?” it said.

I looked around.

        “More of a tunnel than a hallway, now that I look at it,” it mused.

“What’s the difference?”

        Grungleby looked at me as if I had just asked the difference between a gremlin and a goblin.

        It opened its mouth to say something, but quickly closed it. 

“Yes,” I said as I looked around, “it is quite tunnel-like.”

        It was silent for a second.

        Then it said, quietly,

        “You’re no gremlin, guy.”

“Oh,” I said, crestfallen. 

        “...not yet, at least,” it muttered.

I looked at Grungleby.

“Hm?”

        “Hm?”

“What was that?”

        “What was what?”

“What’d you say about me not being a gremlin?”

        It looked around, not unsuspiciously.

        “Hm? What’s that?”

I looked at it.

“Hmm,” I said. 

        Grungleby looked at me strangely.

        “Where’d you get that?”

“Get what?”

        “That watch.”

I looked at my watch.

“I’ve always had this.”

        “No you haven’t,” it scoffed, “trust me, I woulda…”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged, “maybe I picked it up in Gary’s office, or something.”

        Grungleby’s jaw dropped.

        “You stole that?” it asked in disbelief, “from Gary?”

“Maybe,” I rolled my eyes sheepishly.

        “Oh man,” it said, “he’s gonna be pissed when he finds out.”

“He won’t find out.”

        “He will.”

I scoffed.

“Whatever, man,” I said weakly.

        Grungleby looked back down the tunnel.

        “Where’s it going?” it muttered to itself.

“Where’s what going?”

        “The tunnel.”

“Oh.”

I looked ahead.

“Seems like down there, innit?”

        “Yeah.”

“What do you reckon’s down there?”

        “I don’t know,” it sighed, “seems like we’ll have to find out.”

I thought about this.

“It does, doesn’t it?”

        “Yes,” Grungleby mused, “it does.”

We began walking in silence again. 

The tunnel stretched on for what seemed like miles, a straight and seamless corridor marked only by an imperceptible incline.

The skipping, and the sheer gayness of it all, had already taken its toll on our legs, and soon enough, the incline had its way with our calves.

Interestingly, a fact that was more painful than interesting became apparent to me. 

“YEEOWCH!” I screamed.

        Grungleby jumped.

        “What? What’s wrong?”

“Sorry,” I said, “it’s the incline. Finally got to me.”

        “Oh,” it looked at my calves, “yeah, those look messed up, man.”

I looked at my calves. They looked normal to me.

I looked at Grungleby’s calves, and that was when I first realized how muscular it was.

Not only its calves, but its entire body. Every inch of its creamy green skin rippled in sensual waves of-

        “What are you doing, man?’

“Hm?”

        “Why are you staring at me like that?”

I caught myself.

“Sorry,” I said, and straightened out my suit. 

        Grungleby looked at me quizzically.

        “Where’d you get that?”

“Where’d I get what?”

        “That suit!”

I looked at my suit.

“I’ve always had this.”

        “No you haven’t!” Grungleby cried, “What’s going on?”

I looked around. I listened. 

        “I mean-”

“Sh!”

        “Wha-”

“Sh!”

        Grungleby listened as well. 

There was just the barest hint of noise coming from the end of the tunnel. 

        “What is that?” Grungleby asked.

“Sounds like a crowd.” 

        Grungleby looked at my suit, and then back down the tunnel.

        “No…” it said.

“What?”

        “...it couldn’t be…”

“What is it?”

        Grungleby slowly and silently crept forward. 

I followed.

“What is it?” I whispered again. 

        Grungleby shook its head.

        “I don’t wanna jinx it. Let’s just see.”

We crept forward, and soon enough, the tunnel ended.

There was a solid, wooden door set into the wall in front of us.

No light crept from beneath it, but a dim din could be heard coming through it.

I looked at Grungleby.

        We pushed open the door.

We were presented with an absolute cacophony of sights and sounds.

Hoots, hollers, and bright lights assaulted the senses, and it was a good moment before I could regain my aforementioned senses and properly take in what I was seeing. 

I was astonished (and rightly so) to see something I hadn’t realized I’d missed: other humans.

Most wore suits, a couple wore rags, but they were all milling about and chatting with one another, with a few gremlins gremling about among them.

The atmosphere was charged, in an exciting and volatile way, and the noise was so loud I had to shout to be heard.

“What is this?” I asked Grungleby. 

        “It’s a Glorbo Nest!” I heard it say. 

“A what?”

        “What?” it shouted.

“What’s a Glorbo Nest?”

        “A what?”

“A Glorbo Nest!”

        “A Glorbo Nest?”

“Yeah!”

        “What about it?”

“What?”

        “What?”

“Didn’t you say…” I pointed at Grungleby and mimed speaking,

“...that this…” I gestured around me,

“...is a Glorbo Nest?” I shouted into its ear.

        Grungleby realized the confusion, took a step back, shook its head and shouted,

        “No!” 

“Oh,” I said.

        “I said…” it mimed speaking,

        “...that this…” it gestured around itself,

        “...is Torture Fest!” it made a gesture that looked vaguely like chopping an ax.

I looked around.

“Torture Fest?” I shouted.

        “Yeah!”

“What’s that?”

        Grungleby opened his mouth in response, but was cut short by a booming voice from the crowd.

        “You!”

I froze.

I didn’t see who had said it, or who they were pointing at when they did, but I instinctively knew it was directed against me.

I turned.

        A large, threatening man was pushing his way through the crowd towards me.

I remained frozen.

As he drew closer, I was, again, astonished to realize that I knew him.

        He stopped and wagged his finger at me.

        “Aren’t I supposed to be flagellating you right now?” he asked accusingly.

I was speechless.

Well, not entirely speechless, I was able to get some speech out. It sounded something like this: 

“Uh- d- m-”

        He laughed.

        “I’m just messing with you, dude!" he clapped me on the back, "it’s Torture Fest!”

I looked at him, and then looked around again.

This time, I was truly speechless. 

        “Hey, nice suit!” he looked at me, “how are you enjoying it, by the way?”

I stared at him in disbelief.

I managed to open my mouth. 

        “Torture Fest!” he gestured around, “Have you tried the fried Glorbo Nests?”

I had to take a seat.

I sat on the ground. 

        “Are you feeling okay?” my flagellator asked, concerned.

“Yeah- yeah, I’m fine.” I managed, “it’s just a lot.

        He looked around.

        “Yeah, I guess it is. This your first one?”

“Yeah.”

        “I guess I was flagellating you for all the other ones, huh.”

“Yeah.”

        He squatted next to me.

        “So, anyway, how’s it been? What have you been up to?”

“Just walking around, I guess.”

         “Oh yeah? What’s it like out there?”

“Out where?”

        “The Torture Labyrinth,” he said reverently. 

“It’s cool," I shrugged.

        “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

        “Got any cool stories?”

I thought about it.

“I talked to a bug,” I said.

        “Wow,” he said breathlessly, “that’s amazing.”

“Yeah,” I shrugged again, “I guess it is.”

        “So-”

I stopped him. I looked around. 

“Where’s Grungleby?”

        “Who?”

“Grungleby. The gremlin I was with.”

        “Oh, the little green guy? I think I saw it wandering over that way,” he pointed in the crowd.

I didn’t see Grungleby.

I looked where we had walked in from, and I didn’t see the door either.

I stood up, and began to walk towards where the flagellator had pointed.

        He stopped me.

        “Are you feeling okay?” he asked genuinely.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

        “Really?”

“Yes.”

        “Oh. You just look kind of small, is all.”

“Small?”

        “You know, not your usual size, and all that.”

“Oh...”

        “And kind of green, too, now that I look at you.”

I stopped.

        “But, hey, you’re still human!”

        He looked at me again, and made a gesture with his head that vaguely translated to, “Eh.”

“Excuse me, I have to go.”

        “Hey, no worries at all, enjoy Torture Fest!”

“Thanks.”

I pushed past him and into the crowd.

        “And hey!” he said sharply.

I stopped and turned.

        “I’ll getcha!” he laughed, “Whu-psh!” 

I kept pushing.

Torture Fest was everything you would expect from a torture-themed festival, in that even amidst the random acts of torture, one couldn’t help but have a good time.

The crowd was buzzing with an infectious energy; even the screams, while still agonized, were tinged with a sense of frivolity.

There were dunk tanks that inverted the classic notion of dropping someone into a bucket of water, there was a ferris wheel connected to a stretching rack, and there were fried Glorbo Nests.

A passerby (wearing only a black hood and matching loincloth) was kind enough to purchase one for me.

        “It’s Torture Fest!” he said, “you gotta try one! Besides, it’s only three gorblucks…”

It was like nothing else I had ever tried before, and nothing else I’ve tried since. I can’t even begin to explain their taste or texture, and so I won’t.

But I will say that upon trying it, I was very much surprised by its strange taste and unusual texture. Even now, writing this, I can still taste its strangeness and feel its unusualness in my mouth.

Truly, I say, the endless years of flagellation may just be worth it, if only for one fried Glorbo Nest.

I couldn’t find Grungleby. I kept pushing my way through the crowd of people, eliciting a few quickly ameliorated hostilities.

Some appeared to be torturers, some appeared to be torturees, but all were joking and laughing with each other.

I overheard a conversation between two men that appeared to be flagellators.

        “...and so I’m flagellating the dude, and he’s all screaming, ‘HELP ME! PLEASE STOP!’”

        “Oh, that’s the best.”

        “...and I’m like, ‘Shut up! I’m totally flagellating you right now!’”

        “Oh, I love doing that.”

        “Yeah, it’s the best. One time I was flagellating this other guy…”

Their conversation faded as I sidled past.

There were gremlins galore, running through the legs of the festivants and occasionally tying their shoelaces together, but there was still no sign of Grungleby.

I decided to let the matter go for the moment, and tried to enjoy myself. 

I mingled, meandered, and generally mucked about. 

I eventually saw a crowd of cheering people in the distance, and walked over.

As I pushed my way through the outer ring, I was only mildly surprised by what I found on the inside.

In the center, jeered on by the crowd, was a small group of humans kicking a small creature.

As I looked closer, I noticed that it bore a vague resemblance to the Keith-creature I had met earlier. 

        “Get him!” a member of the crowd shouted.

        “Yeah,” another member yelled, “kick him!”

        “Rngh!” a member of the kicking group grunted between breaths, “I’m… totally… kicking you… right now!”

         The creature said nothing. It was limp.

After another couple minutes of kicking, the crowd lost interest and the group stopped kicking.

They laughed and high fived as they walked away. 

        “Dude, I totally saw that one kick…” one said to another. 

I stayed behind.

The creature looked dead.

After another couple minutes of lying on the ground, it began to twitch.

        "Urgh…” it groaned.

I kept quiet.

        It winced at the lights, and then flinched at the sight of me.

I stayed still.

        It seemed to weigh me in its head.

        Then it looked deep into my face, and scampered away into the shadows.

        It skulked there. 

I stood up, and kept looking for Grungleby. 

I found it at what appeared to be the Torture Fest equivalent of a bar.

        It was sitting alone, with a glass of strange, dark liquid that, by the looks of it, was half empty. 

“Grungleby?” I asked as I sat down next to it.

        It turned.

        “Do you have any idea how insulting that is?” it asked dourly.

“Yes,” I sighed.

        It turned back to its glass.

        “No you don’t,” it said sourly.

I said nothing.

        “How was your conversation with Captain Flagellator?”

“What?”

        “You know who I’m talking about. The hunk who was all over you.”

“Oh- no, Grungleby, it’s not like that-”

        “Whatever,” it drank its drink, “I don’t care.”

I said nothing.

It was obvious it cared. 

        Grungleby said nothing for some time.

        Then, it spoke. 

        “How’s Torture Fest going?” 

“Oh- it’s nice, I suppose.”

        “That’s good,” it said, “I always enjoy Torture Fest.”

“Yeah, I can see why,” I looked around.

        It seemed to lighten up.

        “What am I doing?” it laughed, “you can’t have a bad time at Torture Fest!”

I smiled. 

        It looked at me excitedly. “Have you tried the fried-”

Grungleby was again cut short by a piercing voice from the crowd.

        “You!”

I felt the same instinctive fear I did the first time.

I turned. 

        It was Gary. 

“Hey, Gary,” I began, “what’s happen-”

        “You stole my watch!” he screamed.

I looked at my wrist.

I was still wearing the watch.

        “Now you’ve forced me to do something drastic…” he said slowly.

A crowd began to form around us, closing us in.

Grungleby swallowed. 

        “...something I rarely do…”

The crowd grew tighter, people straining to see in. 

“What’s that?” I asked.

        Gary looked at me with pity.

        “I’m going to use…” he crescendoed. 

I swallowed.

The crowd shifted nervously.

        “...my strange and powerful Goblin Magic!” he announced loudly.

Grungleby audibly gulped.

An excited murmur rippled through the crowd. 

        He chuckled to himself and savored the moment.

“Your strange and powerful Goblin Magic?” I asked.

        “Yes,” he said, annoyed.

“What’s that?”

The crowd gasped.

        Gary looked offended, and almost speechless.

        “Wh- It’s this!” he raised his arms, “I cast…”

Grungleby shifted.

The crowd held its breath.

        “...my strange and powerful Goblin Magic!” he yelled, and thrust his hands in my direction.

There was no crackling thunderpeal, nor any smiting bolt of lightning. In fact, it was very underwhelming.

But that didn’t stop Grungleby from jumping in front of me.

        “AARRGGHH!!” Grungleby screamed as it writhed and rolled on the ground.

“Grungleby!” I yelled. 

        Gary chuckled, and again savored the moment. He drank in my tears as I fawned over Grungleby, and tasted the succulent nature of Grungleby’s writhing and wriggling. 

        “Ha, ha, ha!” he said dryly, and parted a path through the crowd. 

        Grungleby continued to scream and squirm for some time, but eventually stopped, and lay there limp. 

“Grungleby?” I asked.

        It opened one of its eyes and looked around.

        “Is he gone?” it whispered.

“Who? Gary?”

        It nodded imperceptibly.

“Oh. Yeah, he left a while ago.”

        Grungleby popped up and dusted itself off. 

“Are you okay?”

        “Yeah,” it said cheerfully, “I feel like a million gorblucks, actually!”

I was relieved. 

        It patted me on the shoulder.

        “Sorry to take that from you…”

“Hm?”

        “...but it doesn’t happen every day, you know.”

“What’s that?”

        Grungleby stopped.

        “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

I looked at Grungleby suspiciously.

“Thanks,” I said warily.

        “My pleasure,” it said.

I maintained my gaze of suspicion.

“Hmm,” I said. 

        Grungleby said nothing sheepishly.

“Listen, Grungleby…” I began.

        “Hm?”

“...there’s something I need to ask you.”

        “Yes?” Grungleby asked expectantly. 

I opened my mouth, but not unsurprisingly, I was cut off from another voice from the crowd. 

        “You!” it boomed.

I froze.

I turned.

Chapter Text

“I see you!” a man yelled, “You can’t get away this time!”

I looked at who he was pointing at. 

        It was another man, on the other side of the crowd. 

“Come on!” the first man said, “You know I’ll get you!”

        The man he was pointing at turned and ran. 

The first man pursued him.

        Grungleby watched them go, and then turned to me.

        “You were saying?”

“Hm?” I said, still frozen.

        “You were saying something? About asking me something?”

I looked at Grungleby.

“Oh- yes, sorry. I was going to ask you…”

        “Mm-hmm?”

“...am I turning into a gremlin?”

        It looked at me in a strange way.

        “Why do you ask that?”

“Well, my flagellator said…”

        It rolled its eyes.

“...I’m looking kind of small. And green. And not confidently human.”

        Grungleby was quiet for a moment.

        Then it snapped,

        “Would that be such a bad thing?”

I was taken aback.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying…”

        Grungleby looked around, and then in the direction the men had run.

        “We need to go.”

“Well, hang on…”

        “We need to go, now.” it said forcefully.

I was no one to argue.

I followed Grungleby as it weaved through the crowd and stalls. 

The festival was dying down.

The screams had lost their frivolity, the hierarchy between torturer and torturee had been reinstated, and the fried Glorbo Nests were all sold out.

As a torturee and a gremlin, we weren’t safe, and although we didn’t have to resort to pure skulking, we did slink and scamper through the shadows. 

We turned a corner.

In front of us was the largest man I have ever seen.

He was built like a literal mountain, was completely hairless, and had hands the size of dinner plates. 

        He saw us, and reached out his tremendous hands as he lunged.

        “COME HERE, YOU!” he boomed.

Grungleby and I screamed and ran.

We bolted through the crowd, pushing and screaming.

We did away with our previous practice of slinking and scampering, and ran purely for our lives.

We attracted many suspicious glances, and subsequent glances at what we were running from were only followed by cruel laughs. 

We didn’t stop until we were absolutely positive we were safe, and found ourselves behind the back of the now empty Torture Fest Welcome Tent. 

“Who was that?” I asked breathlessly.

        “Who? The guy that just lunged at us?”

“Yeah.”

        “Oh,” Grungleby panted, “that was Gormald.”

“Gormald?”

        “Yeah.”

“Who’s that?”

        Grungleby looked at me as if I had just asked him who Gary was. 

“Oh, I-”

        “He’s the guy that just lunged at us,” it said.

“I mean, why did he lunge at us? Was he going to torture us?”

        “Who?” it asked incredulously, “Gormald?”

“Yeah.”

        “No,” Grungleby shook its head, “he just likes doing that.”

“Oh,” I pondered this, “I see.”

        Grungleby peeked around the corner of the tent.

        “I think that’s the exit,” it said. 

“What is?”

        “Look,” it pointed.

I looked.

There was an open doorway in the wall across the now empty path, with a small glowing sign above it that read, “EXIT”.

“Yes,” I mused, “I suppose it is.”

        Grungleby said nothing.

“Shall we run for it?”

        Grungleby seemed to grapple with a difficult decision. 

        “Yes,” it said finally.

We ran for it.

I reached the exit, and looked behind me.

        Grungleby was being dragged away by two muscular men.

“Grungleby!” I screamed, and reached out my hand.

        “Run!” it yelled, “Talk to-”

        One of the men clamped his hand over its mouth.

        “Ow!” he cried.

“Talk to who?”

        “Just run! There’s no time!”

I watched as the men struggled to drag Grungleby away into the mass of deserted tents.

        “Okay, maybe there is time!” I heard it yell, “Talk to…”

        Its voice faded into the distance.

I ran. 

I ran out of the massive room that had hosted Torture Fest and into the familiar hallways of the Torture Labyrinth.

Its dank stoniness welcomed me; with each twist and turn I took I grew more and more lost, and I felt more and more comfortable.

It’s easy to feel lost when you know vaguely where you are, but when you’re completely lost, you always know exactly where you are. Right there.

Soon, I came across a fork in the path. This surprised me, and I picked it up.

Even sooner after that, the path split into two directions, and this surprised me even more.

I stopped. 

I shook my head, cocked it, and listened. 

        From the left path, I could just barely make out the sound of a voice. It sounded agitated.

        From the right, I heard only faint dripping from somewhere deep, and the far-flung echoes of soft, plodding footsteps. 

I took the right path. 

I continued walking for some time, turning many corners.

Most of them were roughly the same, a standard 90 degrees in one of two directions, but one in particular stood out.

I had just turned 90 degrees to my right.

I saw a vague figure in the distance and quickly ducked back behind the corner. 

        “Hey, I saw that! I saw you duck behind that corner!” nobody yelled.

“Hm,” I thought, and peeked my head past the corner.

        I saw no vague figure. 

“I saw that!” I tested as I walked back out, “I know you’re back there!”

        Nothing happened.

        Then, the figure slowly slunk back out.

        It was, not quite unsurprisingly, small, green, and humanoid. 

“Well,” I said, “what have we here? Someone slinking about, eh?”

        The creature bowed its head and shuffled forward.

“Knows a lot about ducking behind corners, I suppose!”

        It said nothing.

“I say,” I built up, “do you have any idea how insulting that is?” 

        “No,” it mumbled.

“Well!” I proclaimed, “let that be a lesson to you, then!”

        The creature looked shameful.

        Then it looked up.

I was shocked.

“Greebles?” I said.

        “Hi.”

“Oh! Sorry about all that.”

        “That’s alright. I like the suit.”

“Thanks,” I straightened it out, “how’ve you been?”

        “Oh, you know,” it gestured to the hallway, “can’t complain.”

“You know, you really can’t.”

        “How about yourself?”

“Oh, not too bad,” I said, “just came from Torture Fest.”

        “Oh!” Greebles tried to look happy, “that’s awesome!”

“Yeah, it was pretty fun.”

        “I bet,” he said forlornly, “I can never get tickets…”

“So, anyway, Greebles…”

        “Hm?” it looked up.

“...can I ask you a question?”

        “Oh, sure!” it perked up, “about what?”

“Grungleby.”

        His crest fell.

        “Yeah,” he said, “follow me.”

It led me in the direction I had come from, but we took turns that I had no recollection of.

Soon we were in a distinctly unfamiliar hallway that was, almost surprisingly, still made of a dank stone. 

        Greebles stopped at an inconspicuous crack in the bottom of a wall, and slipped through.

I followed it through the crack and into a small, dark room.

        Greebles lit a candle that threw the room into a warm light.

The room was smaller than Grungleby’s, but it was cozier.

The table had two chairs instead of one, a cabinet and a cupboard, and a symbol that looked like a plus sign hanging on one of the walls.

We sat down. 

        “Can I get you anything to drink?” Greebles asked, “I think I have some wine.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

        “Suit yourself,” it shrugged. 

“So, Greebles-”

        “Did they have Glorbo Nests?” he asked.

“Hm?”

        “At Torture Fest? Did they have them?”

“Oh, yes…”

        His crest fell even further than it had before.

        “Oh,” he said. 

I thought about their strange taste and unusual texture.

“...they were quite good.” 

         “I’ve always wanted to try one…” 

“Yeah…”

        “...I’ve never been to Torture Fest…” he said morosely.

“...yeah…”

        “...I can never find tickets…”

“...yeah, that sucks…” 

        “...yeah…” Greebles looked down at his feet. 

“...they’re really good.”

There was an awkward silence.

“So, anyway,” I said, “Greebs…”

        “Yeah?” he looked up.

“I wanted to ask you a couple questions.”

        “Oh, right,” he said sullenly, “yeah, go ahead.”

“Well,” I began, “I suppose my first question would be…”

        “Mm-hmm?”

I asked my question.

        Greebles’ eyes widened in surprise.

“Has Grungleby been involved in an elaborate and convoluted scheme orchestrated by Gary the Goblin that involves turning me into a gremlin and condemning me to a lifetime of eternal torture in the Torture Labyrinth?” is the question I should have asked.

Instead, the question I did ask was this:

“Do you think Grungleby likes me?”

        “Oh- uh,” Greebles stammered, “I’m not quite sure.”

“Oh,” I said, disappointed, “never mind…” 

        “Well-”

“...stupid question…”

        “Do you like Grungleby?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said sheepishly, “it's nice, I suppose.”

        “Have you talked to it about it?”

“About what?”

        “You know,” Greebles made an incomprehensible gesture, “you two.”

“No,” I said, “I was going to, but it had to leave.”

        “Oh?” Greebles seemed mildly surprised, “where was it going?”

“I’m not too sure…”

        “Hm...”

“...I just know it was with two muscular men…”

        Greebles stopped.

“...probably having a great time right now…”

        “What’s that?”

“Hm?”

        “What did you say? About Grungleby with two men?”

“Yes,” I said sourly, “muscular men.”

        Greebles thought for a moment.

        “Do you know why?” he asked.

“Well,” I thought about it,  “they probably spend a lot of time working out, I suppose.”

        “No,” he said patiently, “do you know why Grungleby was going with them?”

“Oh,” I thought about it.

“I don’t want to think about it,” I said.

        Greebles pondered this.

        Then, he asked, ‘Was Grungleby being dragged away?”

“By the men?”

        “Yes, the muscular ones. Were they dragging Grungleby away?”

I thought about it.

“Well, now that you mention it…”

        “Yes?” he said expectantly.

“...they were more toned, really…”

        Greebles sighed.

“...but, then again, I couldn’t really see, what with them draggin Grungleby away, and all…”

        Greebles looked at me sharply.

        “They were?” he asked.

“Well-”

        “Dragging Grungleby away?”

“Oh,” I said, “yes, they were.”

        Greebles took this in.

        “Hm,” he said.

“Why? Do you suppose that’s important?”

        “I don’t know,” he said, “but it’s probably best if you wait here. I’ll be right back.”

“Oh. Are you going to see Grungleby?”

        “No.”

“Oh,” I said, disappointed, “well, if you do, tell it I say hello.”

        Greebles smiled.

        “I will.” 

I heard him exit the front crack and plod quickly down the hall.

Almost immediately after he was out of sight, I stood up and began to look through the small cabinet and cupboard that cramped the room. 

The cabinet only held a small book. The pages were filled with strange sequences of what appeared to be letters and numbers. I couldn’t make sense of any of it.  

Inside the cupboard was a small bottle that looked to hold the same dark liquid that Grungleby gave me, and two small, dirty glasses.

On the bottle was a small piece of tape that read, “G.J.”

I took a sniff.

        It smelled like sewage water.

I took a small sip.

        It tasted like sewage water, but I could appreciate the depth of flavor a bit more. 

I took another sip.

        I noticed the nuances and complexity of it.

I took a gulp.

        It tasted amazing. 

I downed the rest of the bottle, and started to feel strange. 

I felt guilty for drinking all of Greebles’ strange drink, and attempted to scrawl an apologetic note on the bottle.

When that didn’t work, I attempted to carve it into the table with the fork I had found, and left the room muttering about “wine” and “greembles” and “gremling juice.”

After squeezing out of the front crack, I found myself in an unfamiliar hallway.

First I looked left, and then I looked right. Then I looked left again, and then left two more times.

The hallway now seemed strangely familiar. 

Still under the strange influence of the drink, I began plodding.

But soon I grew restless, and began to scurry down the hall.

I tore off my suit.

“Hee hee!” I giggled.

I looked at my hands.

        They were now a creamy green, and had shrunken into wizened claws of bone and sinew. 

“Ha ha!” I laughed.

I came across a door, and without stopping to read the sign, knocked on it loudly.

“Hoo hoo!” I cried as I scampered away. 

I heard the door open behind me, and deep voices shout.

        They began to run after me. 

I smiled to myself and began to race faster.

I began approaching a corner.

Even from a distance I could tell it was exactly 90 degrees to the right. I just had to duck behind it and they’d never see me again.

I turned the corner and ran straight into a wall.

It was the second dead end I'd ever seen in the Torture Labyrinth. 

As I stumbled backwards, dazed, I saw Grungleby’s face swimming around me

I heard it say,

        “Seems like a plot contrivance, doesn’t it?” 

I mumbled something of an agreement, and was only vaguely aware of two pairs of muscular arms that began to drag me away.

My senses returned a few minutes later, only after a sharp and blinding pain carried them even further away. 

“AAAAIIIEEEE!!!” I screamed.

        “Shut up!” a familiar voice yelled, “I’m totally flagellating you right now!”

Chapter Text

I cannot say how long ago I remained in that chamber, but it felt like centuries.

Literal centuries of endless, eternal flagellation, interrupted only by meager time to eat and sleep, and occasional breaks for the flagellator to rest his arm.

Each minute felt like an hour, each hour felt like a day, and each day felt like a year.

I’m not sure if the math quite adds up, but it was very hard to concentrate on it all while it was happening.

My hands quickly filled back out and lost their green pigmentation, returning to the strangely unfamiliar look of human hands, less claw-like and more utilitarian. Their primary utilization was shoveling gruelish food into my mouth and struggling against my restraints.

Unfortunately, the restraints held.

I got to know my flagellator pretty well throughout the centuries.

He didn’t eat or sleep with me, and didn’t say much on his breaks, but he was always happy to talk while on the clock.

Our conversations went something like this:

        WHU-PSH!

I tense every muscle in my body.

        “I hope you know…”

        WHU-PSH!

I grit my teeth.

        “...I don’t enjoy this very much…”

        WHU-PSH!

I struggle against my restraints.

        “...it’s nothing personal, really…”

        WHU-PSH!

I roll and loll.

        “...but I’ve got to pay my bills, too, you know…”

        WHU-PSH!

I writhe and wriggle.

        “...besides, I didn’t build the system…”

        WHU-PSH!

I barely hold in a scream.

        “...I just live in it, same as you…”

        WHU-PSH!

“AAAAIIIEEEE!!!” 

        “Shut up!”

        WHU-PSH!

It was hard to argue with his logic. I tried my best to keep quiet.

I soon felt the first inkling of hatred spark from the deep recesses of my consciousness. I resisted at first, but it offered a refuge I could not ignore.

I began to hate, and dwell in my hatred. It was the only way to keep my sanity and screams in. 

I hated my flagellator. I hated his whip. I hated the Torture Labyrinth, and Gary the Goblin, and Greebles and The Bug and every other miserable bastard involved in this sick scheme.

But most of all, I began to hate Grungleby.

I hated Grungleby for giving me the Gremlin Juice. I hated Grungleby for leaving me at Torture Fest, and for scampering away with two or three muscular men. I hated Grungleby for leaving me alone in the Torture Labyrinth.

I pictured every possible scenario of revenge, with every individual involved; throttling, gouging, kicking, kicking, kicking.

All the pain I endured was transformed into pain I would eventually inflict on others.

Day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, my Pain-Inflicto-Meter grew and grew. 

Eventually, a man dressed in a sharp suit entered the room during a flagellation session.

He informed us both that I had just broken the Torture Labyrinth’s all-time record for “Longest Time Under Flagellation Without Screaming,” which was 7 days, 3 minutes, and 12 seconds. I was to be given more flagellation as a reward. 

I screamed for two weeks straight after that.

Thus, I endured endless centuries of eternal flagellation.

Late one night, after my flagellator left and I was laying in my cot, I heard a voice.

        “Strange, isn’t it?” it said.

I recognized the voice and jumped up.

“Where are you?” I asked the room.

        “Down here.”

I looked down. 

        There was a bug on the ground.

I was astonished. 

        “Listen-”

I ground it into a paste. 

This happened again the next night, and the night after, and it continued for many nights beyond.

It was always the same scenario: a bug would find its way into my chambers, say the words,

“Strange, isn’t it?”

and be promptly ground into a paste under forces incomprehensible to the bug mind. 

I began to relish the hunt, grinding them quicker and quicker, and once I even caught one in the middle of clearing its throat. It was good fun for quite some time.

But as I continued to grind and squish, I felt my hatred slowly begin to diminish.

With each bug I crushed, a small but not-insignificant amount of my Pain-Inflicto-Meter was released into the world, until I was grinding them out of tradition and habit only.

Then, one night, the bug spoke thusly:

        “Strange, isn’t it?”

I’m not sure if it was the tone of its voice, or if it was merely divine intervention, but I kept my foot hovering inches above the bug instead of bringing it down.

“What’s strange?”

        “Oh-”

        The bug seemed startled, as if it was awaiting a different and already accepted response.

        "...well, this, I suppose.”

“What do you mean?”

        “Me, you, being here.”

“Are you the same bug from before?”

        “Me?” it chuckled, “no, no, you ground him into a paste.”

“No, I mean, are you the bug from before? Outside the Chamber of Unending Flagellation?”

        It chuckled again.

        “I wouldn’t worry about that, if I were you…”

“Oh…”

        “...what I would worry about, is what I have to say…”

“...well, what do you have to say?”

        “...although I suppose it’d be what you have to say, seeing as how I’m you in this scenario…”

I thought about it.

“Well not necessarily…” 

        “...anyway, what I came to say is this-”

“...just because you’re me, doesn’t make me you, you know…

        It thought about this.

“...could be a split consciousness thing…”

        “Hm,” it said.

“...or perhaps I don’t even exist!"

        "...I can see that, I suppose...."

"...except for you, of course…”

        “...but then, if there’s no me, why should I care what I have to say?”

“Well, I suppose that’s the question, isn’t it?”

        It pondered this.

“Anyway, if I were you, what would I have to say?”

        “Hm? Oh- yes, I came here to tell you this: I’m going to help you escape.”

I looked around at the meager room around my cot. It was pitch black.

“Really?” I asked.

        “Yes.”

“Why?”

        The bug was silent for a moment.

        Then, it said,

        “I wouldn’t worry about that, if I were you.”

“Oh,” I thought about it, “is this going to be another one of those things where I run around for a couple weeks, meet someone, and then end up getting flagellated for eternity again?”

        “No.”

“Oh, okay.”

        “Listen-”

I ground it into a paste.

I was visited again the next night.

But instead of sneaking in as its previous counterparts had, it stomped in.

        “I say, do you have any idea…” it began immediately.

“Hi, really, really sorry about that…”

        “...I mean, just what do you think you’re doing…”

“...the timing was too good to pass up…”

        “...it’s just disgraceful, really…”

“...just a little too much juice left in the meter…”

        “...and you know you go to hell for that, right? Killing bugs…”

“...really, really sorry.”

I shifted my foot.

        It stopped ranting in a harrumph, and sighed.

        “Listen, meatball…”

I listened.

        “...I’m here to bust you out whether you like it or not.”

“Well, maybe I like it here,” I turned my nose up.

        “I’m not talking about the chamber, you idiot!” it spluttered, “I’m talking about the Torture Labyrinth!”

I stopped and looked at the bug.

        “I’m going to help you, Escape the Torture Labyrinth!” it announced the phrase in an operatic sort of way.

The words sounded strange to me. It was as if they had long ago lost all meaning, and now existed only as pale vestiges of once-familiar symbols and sounds.

I straightened my back and lifted my chin. 

“Yes…” I muttered to myself.

        “So can we get going?” it asked hurriedly.

“Yes, sorry…”

I began to collect my belongings, and realizing I had none, contented myself with collecting my thoughts instead.

One in particular stood out to me.

“...wait...” I said, and hesitated.

        “Listen,” it cut me off, “if I were you, I’d just worry about following me.”

I shut up and imagined what it would be like to be a bug in mind. 

I followed the bug in front of me, but soon became aware of a solid object blocking my forward progress. 

“Hm,” I said.

        “Come on!” the bug shouted back, “we need to get going!”

“Sorry,” I whispered, “there’s something blocking my forward progress!”

        “That’s the door!”

I stood up and took a step back. 

“I can see that, I suppose.”

        “Just open it!”

I tried the doorknob. 

It was locked. 

“It’s locked,” I said.

        “Try again!”

I tried again.

The doorknob jerked and clicked, and I pushed open the door.

“Sorry,” I said to the bug, “the handle-”

        “Come on.”

        It started walking quickly down the hallway.

I followed.

The bug led me through hallways that I had never been in before, and up and down some staircases I had forgotten existed. 

It marched along as quickly as it could, and I trudged behind it.

Soon, the same thought I had earlier began to stand out once again.

After mulling it over for a couple minutes, I was able to form it into a question.

“Why are you helping me escape?” I asked the bug.

        “Hm? What’s that?”

“Why are you helping me... Escape the Torture Labyrinth?” I said loudly.

        It looked at me as if I had just asked it why it was so small. 

        “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well,” I thought about it, “aren’t you guys super anti-escaping, and all that?”

        It made a face. 

        “What do you mean, ‘you guys’?” it said sourly.

“Oh-” I stuttered, “no, I didn’t mean it like that…”

        “Why do you want to escape?” it scoffed, “Aren’t you guys super pro-getting-tortured?”

“Sorry, I-”

        Then it sighed.

        “Listen, I get it…”

“You do?”

        “...I mean, we are a hive mind…”

“You are?”

        It looked more surprised than offended. 

        “Don’t worry about it, guy…”

“Oh…”

        “...we just gotta keep moving forward.”

“...okay...”

I kept walking. 

Eventually, another thought began to stand out to me.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

        It scoffed again.

        “To Escape the Torture Labyrinth!”

“Oh, right.”

        It harrumphed.

“Why?”

        It stopped marching. 

        “Listen, guy,” it exploded, “I don't know what your deal is! Do you want to escape or not?”

“No, no, I want to escape…”

        “Then let’s go!”

“...I’m just a little confused as to why you’re helping me, that’s all…”

        “Why wouldn’t I help you?” it was more offended than surprised, “I’m a bug, guy! That’s what we do!”

“You do?”

        “I’m helping you right now, aren’t I?”

“You are?”

        It sighed and pinched its brow.

As much as a bug can pinch its brow, of course.

        It took a deep breath.

        “Just listen-”

“Mm-hmm?”

        “...I’m a bug. I’m helping you escape. What is so difficult for you to grasp about that concept?”

“Nothing,” I said, “I just thought bugs were anti-escaping, is all.”

        It stared at me in amazement. 

        Then, as much as it could, a look of realization washed over the bug’s face.

        “Ohhhh,” it said in surprised amusement, “you’re talking about that guy!”

Surprised, I said nothing.

        “Don’t get him started, y’know what I mean?” it nudged me and winked.

I laughed weakly.

        “...and don’t even mention the word ‘system’…” it muttered as it walked away. 

Many thoughts stood out to me then. 

I tried to ignore them, but after I could no longer keep them contained, I chose what seemed to be the most trivial matter. 

“Are we going straight there, then?” I asked.

        “Straight where?”

“The Exit to the Torture Labyrinth,” I pronounced grandly.

        “Oh,” it scoffed once more, “no, no, we would never go straight there…”

“Oh, I see…

        “...Gandalf’s eagles, and all that…”

“Whose eagles?”

        The bug opened its mouth to say something, and then closed it when it saw my face. 

        “Nothing,” it said, “I wouldn’t worry about it, if I were you.”

“Oh,” I said, and continued moving forward.

Chapter Text

We eventually came to a door in the wall.

It was unlike every other door I'd seen in the Torture Labyrinth. It had a certain aura of grandiosity to it, as if every being that had ever opened it did so with a level of integrity and dignity.

The bug crawled under the door.

        “Come in!” it said from inside.

I tried the doorknob.

        It was unlocked. 

“It’s-” I said as I walked into the room.

The room was regularly sized, the shape of a very average rectangular prism. It had an open doorway in the right wall.

Inside was a normal looking table. The only thing unusual about it was that it seemed to be missing chairs.

I walked in and closed the door.

        “Welcome,” I heard a voice say.

“Thanks for having me,” I said.

        “It is our pleasure,” the voice said.

I saw no one else in the room.

I looked down for the bug, but it was gone.

        “Please, have a seat,” the voice said.

I took a seat on the ground.

“Thanks for having me,” I said again.

        There was some frantic whispering, and then the sound of a chair being dragged across the floor.

The chair seemed to drag itself into the room from the doorway.

It made its way towards me, and I sat down in it. 

        There was some laboured wheezing as the chair pushed me into the table.

        “Welcome,” the voice said again.

“Thanks for having me,” I said a third time.

        “It is our pleasure,” the voice said again.

I then noticed a small figure on the table across from me. 

As soon as I noticed it, I noticed a hundred other small figures milling around on the table, on the ground, and on the walls around me. 

They were bugs.

        “I suppose you’re wondering why we brought you here…” the bug on the table said.

“Not really,” I said.

        “...you see, it all started a thousand years ago…” it launched into a speech.

“I see,” I said, and began to pick at the table.

I zoned out for an indeterminate amount of time. 

        “...and after he was crucified, well, we’d just about had it, you see…”

“Sorry?” I said, zoning back in.

        “...but then he-” it stopped. “What?”

“Who was crucified?”

        The bug looked indignant.

As much as a bug can look indignant, of course.

        “Haven’t you been paying attention to anything I’ve said?” the bug asked.

“Not really,” I said.

        The bug sighed. 

        “Listen, here’s the long and short of it-” 

I listened.

        “…we’re the Union for Escaping the Torture Labyrinth, UFETL, for short…”

“I what?”

        “...and we’ve brought you here because- what?”

“I fettle?”

        It looked me up and down.

        “Well, I suppose you might…”

“Ah.”

        “...but that’s not important right now. What’s important is this: we need you to-”

“What’s in there?”

I pointed to the doorway.

        The bug looked at the doorway.

        “Nothing,” it said.

I heard some shuffling from the other room.

        “So-”

“What was that?” I asked the bug.

        “It’s nothing. Listen-” it started.

At that moment, a figure came out from behind the door frame.

I was astonished to see a small, green, humanoid creature with a squinched up face.

I was even more astonished to realize that I recognized it.

It was Grungleby.

It looked a thousand years older than when I had last seen it.

“You- you’re alive?” I stuttered as I stood in amazement. 

        It smiled weakly and nodded as it walked into the room.

        “Yes, I’m alive…” it began.

It moved slowly across the room towards me, and sat down in the chair.

        “...but much has happened.” 

I stared, still standing in amazement. 

“But- but how?” I stammered out. 

        It smiled weakly again.

        “Change is the nature of things, my friend.”

“No- I mean, how are you alive?”

        “Oh-”

        It stopped and looked at itself.

        "Well, I suppose I haven’t died yet, have I?”

“I thought you’d have been torn to shreds! By those men! Those muscular men!”

        “Oh,” it chuckled, “those men. No, no, I was never torn to shreds by them, you see.”

“Oh,” I said sullenly, “but you were torn to shreds, then.”

        It smiled warmly.

        “No, no…”

I relaxed.

        “...I was never torn to shreds. Come, sit down…”

I sat down in my chair, found it to be much further down than I originally thought, and then found myself sitting on the floor.

        “...you see, it all started when you drank my…” it started from the chair.

“I see,” I said, and began to pick at the floor.

I zoned out again.

        “...dragged away by those muscular men…” I heard.

I zoned back in.

“Sorry?” I said.

        It smiled slightly.

        “I was just saying…”

“Yes?”

        “...how you were dragged away by those muscular men and flagellated for eternity. After drinking what was in my cupboard and carving that frightful thing into my table, of course.”

I looked closer at the creature.

“Greebles?” I said.

        “Yes?”

“Oh- sorry, I thought-”

        “Yes?” 

I looked closer at it.

“Never mind.”

        It looked at me strangely. 

        “Anyway, I was about to say…”

“Yes?”

        “...we at the union are in desperate need of someone to escape.”

“Oh,” I said, “to escape from where?”

        “To Escape…” 

“Yes?”

        “...The Torture Labyrinth!” it boomed.

I thought about it. 

“Yes…”

        “Yes?”

“...I suppose that is a good idea. Having someone escape, and all.”

        “Yes,” it said, “and we think you’re the perfect person for it.”

I stopped.

“Me?”

        “Yes.”

“Why me?”

        “Well, you want to, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I thought about it, “I suppose I do.”

        “Well, there you go.”

“Ah.”

        “But first-”

        “But first,” the bug interrupted, “we need you to find something.”

        “Someone, even,” Greebles peppered in.

I looked at the two of them.

        They looked at each other, and then looked back at me.

        “We need you to find…” they crescendoed in unison.

I waited patiently.

        “Grungleby,” Greebles said.

        “Gary,” the Bug said.

        “Gormald,” a third voice pronounced loudly. 

There was a collective gasp in the room.

I whipped around.

        There was no one there.

“Who said that?” I asked.

        “Down here,” the voice said.

I looked down. 

        There was a bug on the floor. 

As I looked, I noticed the hundred other bugs milling around on the floor. 

Some were fastidiously carrying crumbs from point A to N, some were fastidiously marching from point N to T, and others appeared to be fastidiously loafing about.

        “Sorry, I meant up,” the voice said.

I looked up. 

I was astonished.

        It was the bug from before.

“It’s you!” I exclaimed.

        “Yes, it’s me…” the bug on the ceiling began.

        “What…” the bug on the table cried, “are you doing here?”

        “Kill it!” a bug on the ground screamed.

        “Grind it into a paste!” another yelled out.

        “Who’s that?” Greebles asked me.

“It’s the bug! From before!” I explained slowly and rationally.

        Greebles looked at me strangely.

        “I thought you ground that guy into a paste?” it said.

“Oh- no, the bug from the Chamber of Never- er, Unending Flagellation.”

        “Oh,” Greebles looked at the bug on the ceiling. 

        “...well, why don’t you fly on up here and say that to my- oh, wait!” it lobbed to a bug on the ground. 

There was much rabble rousing amongst the bugs below.

        “What’s it doing here?” Greebles asked.

“You know,” I thought about it, “I’m not too sure.”

        “...oh, believe me, I will, and you’d better believe it…” it tossed to another.

The rabble grew more roused.

“What are you doing here?” I asked the bug. 

The bug from before, that is.

        It looked at me as if I had pulled it away from something that was endlessly entertaining, like shooting fish in a barrel. 

        “Oh-” it regained its composure, “yes, I came here to tell you…”

“Yes?”

        “...if you want to Escape the Torture Labyrinth…”

“Mm-hmm...”

        “...you need to find…”

I nodded.

        “...Gormald!”

“Gormald?” I asked.

        “Yes, Gormald!”

“Why Gorm-”

        “Pay no attention to the bug on the ceiling,” the bug on the table yelled, “you only need to find Gary!”

        “No!” Greebles shouted, “Grungleby!”

        “Gormald!”

        “Grungleby!”

        “Gary!”

        “Gorm-”

“Enough!” I cried, “let me think!”

        “Oh, great,” the bug on the table muttered.

I thought.

        Everyone waited expectantly.

I thought of Gormald, the terrifying, pale mountain of a man, and his penchant for lunging.

I thought of Gary and his schemes and plots. I pictured him chuckling and steepling his fingers.

I thought of Grungleby, and its smile. I thought of our first meeting and our time at Torture Fest, and I thought of its cries as it was dragged away by those men.

Those muscular men. 

I looked at the group, my decision made.

“I’m going to find…”

        They bated their breaths.

“...G-” was all I managed to say before everything went dark.

Chapter Text

There was a high-pitched ringing, a bright light, and a terrible headache.

        The words, “...I know, but you didn’t have to hit ‘em that hard…” swam around my head.

“Urgh…” I groaned.

        “Oh- quick! Before they see you!” a voice said hurriedly.

There was some pittering that faded into pattering.

I sat up, holding my head.

“Urgh…” I said again.

        “Hey, there,” Greebles’ face said to mine, “how ya feeling?”

I looked around. 

“What was that?” 

        “‘Hey, there, how ya feeling?’”

“Oh- no, what happened? Did someone hit me?”

        Greebles hesitated as it looked over my shoulder. 

        “Don’t worry about it.”

I looked behind me.

“Oh,” I said, "okay."

        “Come on, sit down.”

I winced as Greebles pulled me up and sat me down in the chair.

        “Now…” it leveled a serious gaze.

“Hm?” I rubbed my head, still dazed.

        “...who are you going to find?”

This brought me back. 

“Grungleby,” I said, looking Greebles in the eye.

        Greebles suppressed a smile.

        The bug on the table groaned.

        The bug on the ceiling was busy jousting with the bugs on the floor.

“Now…” I leveled a slightly less serious gaze.

        “Hm?” 

“...how do I get out of this place?”

        “There’s a door out back…”

        It trailed off, looking behind me again.

I looked at Greebles expectantly.

“Yes?” I asked.

        “Did you open that door?” 

        It pointed at the door I came in through. 

I looked behind me.

“Yeah.”

        Greebles looked slightly put out. 

       "Hm," it said.

“What is it?”

        “Don’t worry about it. Just make sure you leave out back.”

“Oh,” I said as I got up, “okay.”

        “Oh- and before you do…”

“Hm?” I stopped.

        “...I believe this belongs to you.”

        Greebles held out the fork. 

“Oh, right-” I took it, “thank you.”

        “Real Schrodinger’s fork, huh?”

“What?” 

        “The guy?"

       It looked at me expectantly.

        "With the gun?”

I looked at the fork.

It had rusted a good bit.

“What?”

        “Never mind- don’t worry about it.”

“Oh,” I said, “okay.”

        “Well!” Greebles clapped me on the lower back, “Good luck, and all that!”

“Yes, thanks for helping me escape, I suppose.”

        “Our pleasure,” he said agreeably.

“Thanks for having me,” I said to the bug a fourth time.

        “Thanks for coming,” it said sourly. 

“It was nice to see you,” I said to the bug on the ceiling.

        “Hm? Oh- yes, great to see you!” it waved to me, “good luck escaping!”

I thought about this as I walked out the back. 

I decided not to worry about it.

I found myself in a hallway.

The walls were made of a rough, damp stone.

A dusting of moss glowed verdantly in the corners, and the air was dank.

I inhaled deeply.

“Ahhh,” I thought to myself, “dankness,”

I looked to my left, and then to my right. Then I looked left again, and then left two more times. 

“Hm,” I thought, “strangely familiar.”

I began walking. 

My footsteps clacked and squelched into the nearby darkness, echoing into distant corridors.

I meandered slowly, savoring the pleasant atmosphere and the time to myself. 

As much as one can meander down a straight hallway, of course.

An interesting sense of peace soon came over me.

It felt familiar, in a strange sort of way.

“Hm,” I thought, “familiarly strange.”

I was quite pleased with that one. 

So pleased, in fact, that I didn’t notice the other pair of hands in the hallway with me until they were almost clamped around my throat.

“AAAAIIIEEEE!!!” I screamed as I jumped away from the hands.

        They were claw-like, only bone and sinew, and appeared to be reaching- 

I swatted them away.

        “AAGGHH!” the creature attached to them cried out. 

        It was gremlin-like, only skin and muscle, and appeared to be lunging-

        “GNRARGH!” it snarled.

I caught the creature, but not before its hands succeeded in closing around my throat. 

        They squeezed.

I struggled, trying to unpeel the hands from my throat. 

        They squeezed harder.

I felt myself losing my air, followed by my strength, and not too long after, my consciousness.

The last thing I saw was the creature’s pale face hovering directly over mine, contorted in a mask of pure rage and drooling a little. 

I sank into the darkness behind me. 

I woke up to a prodding sensation in my torso.

        “Are you okay?” I heard.

“Urgh…” I groaned. 

        “What happened?” it kept prodding. 

I slowly sat up and looked around.

        It was the creature from before.

        It kept prodding me in the stomach.

“What happened?” I asked.

       It stopped.

       “I just asked you that."

“Oh- didn’t you just choke me out?”

        “Is that what that was?” 

I thought about it. 

“I think so,” I said. 

        “Oh- sorry, I’ve never gotten that far before. I didn’t know that would happen.”

“Really?”

        “Yeah, people usually cream me to bits as soon as they see me, let alone before I can start grabbin’ at em.”

I pondered this.

“Cream you to bits?” I asked.

        “Yeah, you know, really work me over. Pulverize me.”

“Oh,” I said, “sorry.”

        “That’s alright. It is a Torture Labyrinth, after all.”

“Yes, I suppose it is…”

        “...and everyone’s getting tortured, like, all the time…”

“...I suppose they are…”

        It looked me up and down.

        “So, what’s your story?”

“Me? Oh, I’m escaping.”

        Its eyes widened.

        “Escaping?”

“Yes, I’m..."

I paused.

"...Escaping the Torture Labyrinth!” I announced loudly, throwing echoes down distant hallways. 

        “Really?!” it looked pleased, “how’d you manage that, then?”

I thought about it.

“Well, I'm not too sure, actually…”

        “Oh, I see…”

“...something to do with fettling…”

        “...well, no surprises there…”

“...although they didn't give me a palimspsest or anything..."

       "...a palimpsest?"

"Yeah."

       "What's that?"

"It's a piece of paper with drawings or writings layered over top of each other."

       "Oh, I see..."

"...although it hasn't done me much good, now that I think about it..."

       "...well, no surprises there..."

I looked around, somewhat perplexed.

"Hm," I said.

       "...so, have you done it yet?"

“Hm? Done what?”

        “Escaped.”

I looked around.

“No, I don’t think so.”

        “Oh,” it looked vaguely disappointed, “do you want help?”

I took a proper gander at the creature then.

I noticed a slight resemblance to the keith-creatures I had seen earlier.

“No, I don’t think so…” I began to stand up. 

        “Oh…” it looked positively disappointed.

“...unless you know how to escape, of course…”

        It perked up.

        “Sure, I know how to escape!” 

I stopped.

“You do?”

        “Yeah! I'm I'm headed there right now!"

"You are?"

        "Wanna come?"

I hesitated.

I thought about my promise to find Grungleby. 

“I’d better not.”

        “Oh,” it looked negatively disappointed, “okay…”

“Sorry, but I’ve got to find something…”

        “...it’s fine…”

“...someone, even…”

        “...just around the corner, is all…”

“Hm? Just around the corner, you say?”

        “Yes, just around that one right there.”

        It pointed to the corner in front of us.

It looked exactly like every other corner I had seen in the labyrinth.

Well, half of them, anyhow, it was a standard 90 degrees to the left. 

“You’re telling me the Exit to the Torture Labyrinth is just around that corner right there?”

I pointed towards the corner. 

        It looked where I was pointing.

        “Yes.”

“Well, I can’t say no to that…”

        “That’s the spirit!” it laughed.

I watched as it scampered ahead.

It peeked to the left, giggled a bit, and slunk behind the corner. 

I followed. 

I turned the corner.

Chapter Text

The pale keith-creature stood in the center of the hallway, gesturing happily to the door beside it. 

The door looked like every other door I’d seen in the labyrinth. 

Well, except for every door I’d seen that didn’t look like every other door in the labyrinth.

In short, it was a modest, unassuming wooden door set neatly into the damp stone brick of the wall. The knotted boards were cinched tightly by a rusted iron belt, a slim undercrack betrayed not sound nor light, and the doorknob was naught but a wrought iron ring hanging limply fromst the wood. 

“This is the Exit to the Torture Labyrinth?” I asked the creature. 

        The creature looked at the door.

        “This?”

“Yeah.”

        “No, this is just the door. It’s inside.”

“Oh.”

        The creature pulled open the door with a creak.

The door, that is. 

It opened into nothingness. 

“This is the Exit to the Torture Labyrinth?” I asked again.

        “No, it’s down there.”

        It pointed into the darkness. 

I peered closer.

I could make out the faint outline of a single stair leading down, but past that, nothing.

“ Probably another stair, ” I thought. 

        “Come on, let’s go.”

        It started walking down the stairs, and was soon swallowed up by the inky blackness.

I followed. 

There was nothing after the first stair. 

“AAAIIIIEEE!” I screamed as I plunged into the darkness.

I felt myself hit something hard.

        “What was that?” I heard a voice in the darkness say.

I looked down. 

“That’d be the second stair, I reckon.”

        “I meant that scream. Was that you?”

I looked behind me into the hallway.

“I suppose it was.”

        “Why are you screaming in here?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged, “just felt like it, I guess.”

        “Ha!” it laughed, “That’s a good one!”

“Thanks,” I sniffed.

        “...I gotta remember that one…” it muttered as it faded into the darkness.

I followed, groping in the darkness for the next stair of clammy stone.

I found it, clamped down, and started groping with the other foot. 

Any meager light from the hallway was quickly gobbled up by the oppressive darkness of the stairway. I could see nothing but my feet on the stone beneath me, not even my hands.

The stairway kept marching down, straight down, surprisingly gentle in its steepness. 

Each step was basically the same; a naked foot groping out in the darkness, trusting the next step to not be problematically far down, and, upon finding this to be the case, clamping down and sending its twin groping into the darkness.

As much as feet can grope and clamp, of course. 

“ Clamp,” I thought to myself.

I clamped.

“ Grope. ”

I groped.

“ Clamp. ” 

I clamped.

This went on for the better part of seven days, endlessly groping and clamping as I made my way down. 

At a couple hours past noon on the seventh day, I became aware of an interesting fact.

I realized I hadn’t heard the creature at all since it last spoke. 

I thought about it, and realized I had no idea what its name was.

“Keith?” I called out.

        There was no response.

“Creature?” I tried.

        The darkness remained silent.

“Hm.” 

I stopped groping and clamping, and stood straight on the stair I was standing on. 

There was darkness in front of me, and darkness behind me.

There was darkness above me, and darkness below me.

Except for a broad rectangle of clammy stone, that is. 

I decided to keep walking down.

“ Grope, ” I thought to myself as I stepped into the void.

I could not say how long I was walking down that stairway. 

I had lost count of the stairs after around twenty or so, and the weeks soon turned into months, which turned into years. 

At least, that’s what it felt like.

It felt like decades as I was walking, literal decades of endless groping and clamping, one foot and one stair at a time.

But when I got to the bottom, and finally saw what was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairway, it felt like only seconds had passed.

I suppose I should presently relate to you what it was, in fact, that I had been walking down the staircase for.

What all the endless centuries of eternal flagellation, the endless decades of groping and clamping, and the comparatively short time spent walking around the Torture Labyrinth was for.

It was this:

I saw the faintest hint of light in the distance, far below me. 

As I kept walking, it grew stronger and brighter until I was absolutely sure there was something down there.

I started groping and clamping quicker and more recklessly, and then began running down the stairs as fast as I could.

Then I was taking the stairs two at a time, and then three, until I was all but jumping down as far as I could and letting my knees take the brunt of the impact.

Then I got the idea to go two feet at a time.

That was when I slipped.

“AAAII-” I began.

My head hit stone.

I woke up in the most pain I’d ever been in.

As I came to my senses, I remembered the time I spent in the flagellation chambers, and began to feel relatively better.

Of course, it certainly helped that I had made it to the bottom of the stairway, and finally saw what was waiting for me. 

Quite unsurprisingly, it was a door. 

Almost as unsurprisingly, it was quite unlike any other door I’d ever seen, in the labyrinth or outside.

The most surprising thing about the door, frankly, was the warm light seeping out from underneath, and the sound of raucous carousing coming from inside.

I knocked.

        The carousing stopped and turned into tittering and pittering.

        After some anticipatory pattering, the door creaked open.

The light blinded me. 

        Standing in the doorway, blotting out a vaguely gremlish shape, was a creature.

        “I told you it was them!” the creature called back to the room.

The cheers deafened me. 

        “Come on, come in!” the creature pulled me inside. Its voice was vaguely familiar. 

As I adjusted to the light, after decades of darkness, I began to take in what I was seeing.

The room and its occupants were lit by the candles on the tables and in the chandeliers, giving the atmosphere a quality of melted butter. 

The room appeared to be some kind of tavern, with a low, arching ceiling supported by ancient wooden pillars, and archways on each wall opening into separate rooms and tunnels. The walls were a beige kind of plaster, and the wood was deeply stained.

The occupants, for that matter, made up the largest congregation of gremlin-like creatures I had ever seen. They were comfortably spread out among the various tables, bars, nooks and crannies, all chatting amiably with each other. 

        “Everyone!” the creature that pulled me in announced to the room.

Everyone stopped and listened.

        “This is…” 

        The creature looked at me. 

It was the keith-creature from before.

        “What’s your name?” it whispered to me.

I told it my name.

        It announced it to the room.

There was a loud cheer and general clunking of mugs.

I saw what looked like money being exchanged by some of the other creatures.

        “Come on, drinks’re on me,” the creature pulled me to one of the bars. 

“What is this place?” I wondered aloud.

        “It’s a bar,” it said as it sat me on a stool.

        “What’ll it be?” the bartender asked the creature.

The bartender was small, green, and humanoid, but strangely, it had hair; it was balding, and had prominent sideburns connected to a thick mustache. It was wearing a vest and suspenders, which, also strangely, didn’t seem to be attached to anything.

        “What do you want?” the creature I was with turned to me.

“Oh- uh…” 

I thought about it.

“Do you have Gremlin Juice?” I asked the bartender.

        “He wants Gremlin Juice!” the creature laughed to the bartender.

“Is that bad?” I asked the two of them.

        “Is it bad, he asks!” the bartender laughed to the creature.

“Do you have it?” I asked.

        “Do we have it!” the two of them cried in unison, looking at each other.

        “Buddy,” the bartender said to me with tears in his eyes, “it’s the only thing we got!”

“Oh,” I said, “I’ll have one, please.”

        “Make it two, Ernie,” the creature said.

Ernie nodded, took two mugs and filled them from a wooden cask, then set them in front of us.

The drink didn’t look anything like the sewage drink that Grungleby and Greebles had. It was gold, and had a strange aroma.

        “Hey,” the creature said to me, raising its mug, “to Escaping the Torture Labyrinth!” 

“Oh- yes!” 

I clunked and drank.

The drink was pure ambrosia. 

It trickled down my throat, warming my insides and cooling my mind, providing me with a sense of clarity and rejuvenation that I had never experienced before. I felt at peace.

I turned around and looked at the room in front of me. 

The crowd had already returned to their previous conversations, laughing, hooting, and hollering. There were a few creatures that were clearing the empty mugs, and another few that were clearing some less-than-empty mugs under the nose of their owner. 

Most of the tables held a good number of creatures, all talking amongst themselves, but a few had smaller groups, and in some of the nooks and crannies a couple creatures appeared to be canoodling. The room held a similar energy to Torture Fest, but much warmer and more relaxed.

“What is this place?” I asked again.

        The creature I was with looked around. 

        “You know, I’m not too sure…” it began.

“Here you are, Gary,” another creature interrupted, handing the creature I was with some money. 

It was one of the creatures I had seen collecting money earlier, and it was wearing a gold chain around its neck. 

        “Oh, right- thanks!” Gary took the money and counted it. 

The other creature nodded to me and walked away.

        “And thank you ,” Gary turned to me, “I knew I could count on you.”

“Oh- of course,” I said. 

I had no idea what it was talking about.

        “Next one’s on me, Ernie,” Gary said, laying the money on the bar.

        “Hey, next one’s on Gary!” Ernie shouted to the room.

There was another loud cheer and clunking of mugs.

        “...I’ve always just thought of it as home,” Gary finished, turning back towards the room.

I looked around. I could see why.

“Your name’s Gary?” I asked.

        “Yep,” Gary said happily.

“What are you?”

        Gary looked at me in surprise, which turned into a look of disgust.

        “Oh…” it said, looking at me with a new sense of distance.

“Oh- sorry- I didn’t mean it like that…” I stammered out.

        “Yeah, you gotta get that checked out, dude,” Gary said, turning back to the room, “that’s not normal.”

“...sorry,” I said sheepishly.

        Gary looked at me with a strange sense of pity.

        “That’s alright,” it relaxed, “it is a complicated system, after all.”

“It is?”

        “Well you’ve got your goblins and your gremlins…”

“Uh-huh…”

        “...and you can’t forget about Gormald…”

“...no, you really can’t…”

        “...now, most folks upstairs would call us gremloids…”

“Gremloids?” I asked.

        “Yeah, you know, gremlish, but not entirely gremlins,” it explained.

“Oh, I see…”

        “...but me, personally?” 

        It paused.

        “I’m just a little guy!” it laughed.

Ernie laughed as well. 

I thought about it. 

“Well, what makes a gremlin a gremlin?”

        “That’s the question, ain’t it?” 

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

        “Listen, guy…”

I listened.

        “...I’m gonna let you in on a little secret.”

I leaned closer.

        “It’s all bullshit.”

“What is?”

        “Goblins, gremlins, gremloids. The Torture Labyrinth.”

“What about Gormald?”

        “Oh, no, he’s as real as they get.”

“Oh.”

        “What I’m saying is, there’s nothing that makes a gremlin fundamentally different from a goblin. Or a gremlin from a gremloid, for that matter.”

“Really? Why do they look different, then?”

        “Do they?”

“Vaguely, I suppose…”

        “Well, nobody’s identical.”

“...I suppose that’s true…”

        “Well, there you go.”

“...but why do they act differently? I thought gremlins and goblins had distinct personalities?”

        “Oh, they do, for sure, but it’s got nothing to do with any fundamental differences. That’s just who they are as people. It’s a… a… oh, what do you call it, Ernie?”

“A social construct,” Ernie offered.

        “There you go, a social construct. Nothing fundamentally real.”

“Well, it certainly feels real.”

        “Oh, it certainly does, it’s got tremendous implications for how society constructs itself. But there’s no real difference between any of ‘em.”

I thought about it.

        “I mean,” it scoffed, “we’re all small green humanoids, for cryin’ out loud!”

“Yes,” I mused, “I suppose you are.”

       It looked at me strangely.

        “And there’s a great deal of switching back and forth, you see…”

“There is?”

        “Sure, I mean, look at yourself! Switching between gremlin and human like there’s no tomorrow!”

“Well, I’m a human, aren’t I?”

        “Are you?”

I looked at my hands. 

They had returned to the sinewy green claws of a gremlin.

“Hm,” I said. 

        “Strange, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I suppose it is...”

        “Anyway, it’s all bullshit. Gremlin, goblin, gremloid . People just live different lives.”

“...but what about the Torture Labyrinth?”

        “What about it?”

“How is it bullshit?”

        “Well, you see,” it shifted and leaned closer, “it’s not real .”

“What isn’t?”

        “The whole thing. The story about there being no escape, everyone being tortured all the time. It’s all made up.”

“It is?”

        “Look around! Do we look like we’re being tortured?”

I looked around. 

“No,” I said.

        “Well, there you go.”

“But where is it?”

        “Where’s what?”

“The Exit to the Torture Labyrinth,” I pronounced grandly.

        “Oh,” it chuckled, “that’s just a metaphor.”

“Oh,” I said, disappointed, “I see…”

        “Sorry, kid.” 

        It took a swig from its mug.

“...I just thought there’d be a door, or something…”

        It choked and spluttered.

        “Oh, you mean that exit!” it laughed, “yeah, it’s just down that hall over there.”

        It pointed through one of the archways.

I saw a hallway stretching into the distance, but I couldn’t see any door.

“That’s the Exit to the Torture Labyrinth?” I asked.

        “Well, that's the hallway, but its down there.”

“I can Escape the Torture Labyrinth just down that hallway over there?”

        "Yeah," it took another swig.

“Well,” I drained the rest of my mug, “thanks for having me, I suppose.”

I got up to leave.

        “Wait!”

I waited.

        “Won’t you stay a while?” it asked kindly, “hang out?” 

I thought about it.

“Sure,” I said.