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The eyes of a young bloke shudder away from the creature in front of him. Avoiding any vision of the sight in front of him doesn't help. He huddles tightly against the wall. Calling himself a coward for sulking away from the beast, but it's safer. Still, he can see it in his head from the echoes in the chamber.
On the other side of the room was his captor, a towering spider covered in baby doll parts. All the pieces were sentient, as if the whole beast were a hive of individuals protecting the truth within. It hunches over, letting its numerous mouths munch on its snack. The two front doll arms hold onto the meal, cradling it. With closer evaluation, one would notice the meal was human.
Plastic heads gnaw and tear at the flesh, pulling apart pieces. Bones crunching under a few of the jaws. Shattering and being spit out on the floor. It mirrors the sound of marbles hitting pavement. Some pieces bounce; others crash and crack as they hit the grimy floor under the spider. The whole chamber was a half eaten buffet of human anatomy.
Other sounds fill the air. Plops of blood carry an arrhythmic tone. Twos, fours, and sevens. It’s chaotic and jarring against the rest of the appalling music. Every so often, a dull thud breaks all when a large chunk of the spider’s meal is dropped. Nothing about the sound in the chamber brings comfort, nor should anything down here.
Little giggles and soft whispered child tones slip from the mouths of those who don't eat. The same sound a baby doll makes. It has the childlike giggle, the babbling of nonsensical words, and the sweet hum of happiness. It only factors in a creepier tone when observing the demon.
Everything together paints the horrid image in the mind of Edwin Payne, haunting him since the day he entered. Nothing has ever truly blocked out the Spider Doll Demon from his mind.
It has been a while since he ran the corridors of the Doll House for the first time, but he's gotten out before, so he has faith in himself. He couldn't remember the full path that he had written down in his notebook since he dumped that knowledge in the ink, hoping he would never have to use it again. Eyes close as he tries to remember the pattern he had written down in the notebook all those years ago.
This was his labyrinth, not as intricate as the one in the myths he has read, but it was similar. Leave a trail, and one would escape, but he was not Theseus, and he didn’t have a ball of yarn. No. He was just a kid. All he knew was a way to escape. He’s done it before, but pulling that stunt again had a low probability.
There are a few paths he can recall. None of them seemed to be in order, but he will take what he can. Take a left to the open gate hall. Avoid the south wing; it held misery wraiths. It wasn't much, but it was better than starting over completely. He can do this.
Confidence floods the bloke as he pulls himself off the floor. Attempt eight. He will make it this time. On his knees, he places one hand on the wall for support. His back straightens before he can pull one leg out from under him. Slowly and quietly. That’s the rule for escaping from the room with the demon. His legs straighten, and he finds himself ready to leave. One last look at his captor.
Bare feet move in silence. He’s learned the hard way to sneak out of the room. Carefully, he takes each step. Not too slow since he knew how long a body enthralled the demon, but not too fast or he could make a sound. It’s a tedious process, but he finds himself out of the room and in the corridors of the endless halls. He’s run them numerous times, but remembering the path? That’s something he’s been finding difficult. This was attempt eight. This will be the attempt that becomes a success. The endless halls become his track.
Once clear, he runs. Legs pumping and arms swinging. With all his energy and all his strength, he tries his best to carry himself down the halls. Left. Left. Straight. He takes the same path as before on the sixth and seventh attempts. Straight. Keep running, he tells himself. He can make it. He runs down the hall that accommodates various rooms where agonizing and excruciating screams hide behind. This is a new feat for him this time down here. There’s hope. Hope fuels him to keep going.
A child’s giggle rings down the hall from behind him. The sweet sound of innocence that the demon hides behind. It causes Edwin to look back. He knows that doing so will slow him down, but he has to check if the demon draws near.
Bare feet smack the concrete. The space between the two is shorter as the boy picks up speed. He picks up speed, even when his calves burn and ache. He cannot stop. His eyes stay in front of him, looking for his next turn. As he crosses the hall, one foot crunches down on a porcelain fragment of a doll.
It digs into the skin, cutting deeply into the ball of his foot. Biting down on his tongue, he tries his best to muffle the agony he wants to let out. Any sound would alert the creature to his whereabouts. The muffled groan causes his eyes to close and pause in the hall.
The floor’s littered with discarded doll pieces. Some plastic, some porcelain. All came from the spider demon. He’s not sure if the creature molts or was harmed, and he would rather not know. It wasn’t the first time he’d snagged a piece.
He leans against the wall and lifts his leg up enough to check the damage. He can’t stop for long, or the creature will find him. The porcelain digs into his foot, but he can see it in the entry wound. Fingers pinch the side that didn’t sink in the first step. A tear slips down as he pulls it out. The piece gets dropped on a pile next to him. He endures the pain as he lowers his foot back to the floor. He lost time, but he doesn’t see the beast in any direction.
A blood trail follows him now. He still tries to run. A small limp comes with him with each step on the injured food, but he bears the pain. He runs. He turns the corner, putting much of his weight on the hurt foot. Eyes close for a second as if he’s praying, but no one will answer when he’s down here. No brave soul would venture to save him. It’s a risk he didn’t want anyone to take.
Feet are still in motion. He soon hits something hard. Not a wall. Not a misery wraith. Hard plastic and rough porcelain cut against his clothing. Eyes don’t dare open, as he knows what he hits. The leg that Edwin ran into wraps around his body, squeezing it.
Flecks of black flicker in his vision before everything starts to unfocus. A few blinks help clear the scattered dots, but only for a few seconds. A loud crack rings in his ears. Pain explodes in his back, soon vanishing. A piercing scream races from within and flees down the halls of the Doll House. Half his body goes limp. Everything below his ribs doesn’t exist to any of his nerves. It throws him into a panic. Breathing becomes sharp with quick breaths. Each one brings a sharp pain. All of this tells him the worst: the eighth attempt is the eighth failure. The leg squeezes tighter, piercing the snapped spinal cord. The surge of pain causes Edwin to black out.
As he regains consciousness, Edwin finds himself somewhere else. No. Where he is is where he started: the demon’s main chamber. He’s back on the floor across the room from his predator, who’s devouring the eighth version of him. It’s where he always wakes up after a failed attempt.
Life. Reincarnated once again. It’s a torturous cycle he never wanted to experience again, but here he is. Trapped in Hell in the Doll House. The endless halls always bring him back to the demon, back to the pile of failed attempts. It hasn’t changed. Nothing has. The demon is enthralled by the body, and when it grows tired, it will turn to him for another game of cat and mouse. Nothing could stop this cycle except escape.
He’s done it before. He’s ventured into several rooms of the deadly sins. He’s ran up the endless stairway before. The path from the Doll House to freedom is sketched in his notebook. He is proof that he’s escaped Hell before. Edwin Payne: one of the known cases of a spirit escaping. The problem is, why can’t he do it now? What was different?
The cowering bloke sits with his legs curled to his chest. He leans against the wall, avoiding seeing the demon. He has the same clothes on his back as last time. His motive is different. Last time, he believed he was there because of a miscalculation, but that was the opposite of what the Night Nurse said before the door opened. He was there because he was supposed to be. The thought hurts and digs deep into him, causing him to ball up tighter.
He shakes the thought away. He cannot slip away so soon. He can make it. He will prove to Asa that her records were incorrect and he isn’t supposed to be down here. Attempt eight wasn't the last attempt. He has enough fight to run the halls a few more times. Edwin wasn't going to quit. It was too soon to call that. He's Edwin Payne, and the only thing stopping him from escaping is himself.
He’s lost count of all the times he’s tried. All the times he’s been ripped apart, eaten alive, thrown across the hall, and the other unspeakable ways he’s been killed. All he knows is that he’s failed. Failed so many times that he cannot make out the number of bodies that build a hill of discarded versions of him. Was it twenty, thirty, or fifty of them laying on top of each other? None were whole. Severed limbs and loose organs have fallen off the hill and rolled down around it.
He knows he’s tried and tried again. All he does is find himself back in the chamber with the demon. Each time he loses, and each time the demon wins. Always finding the creature with its most recent prize withering in its plastic arms. The same sound rings out. Even if he tries to muffle them, they have burned into his eardrums.
Hours have passed. . . or was it days? It’s difficult to figure out how long he’s been here with the dim lighting in the Doll House. The windows just peer out to other locations in Hell. Sunlight doesn’t touch here and never plans to. There’s no ticking clock in any of the rooms that latch to the halls. He isn’t sure how long he swims in the darkness between death and rebirth. There’s nothing that can help Edwin figure out how long he’s been down here.
A giggle that sounds like it belongs to a child came from the demon. Was it mocking Edwin? It must have known the reason why Edwin kept running away. He always assumed that this was a game for the demon. A game it wanted to play for centuries since it did trade something for him.
He curls up against the wall. The light of hope that has been glowing since he arrived has started to flicker. It’s slowly going out, like a candle that’s just a wick. There’s no wax or oil to keep it burning. It might have been the only source of hope in Hell. The damned lose hope when they find themselves here. It’s a miracle to Edwin that he still has a speck of it.
With each passing moment, Edwin slips away. He is close to being gone, but something keeps him sane. There is something that keeps him going and holding on. The thought keeps him from slipping too far.
He closes his eyes. He finds strength in a way that he could never explain to anyone. His mind draws out the one thing that Edwin has been holding on to since he was dragged back down. The fact he’s always sure of–
Brown eyes.
Brown curls.
The fact that Charles Rowland is the bravest person he knew. That nothing could stop him, not even Edwin.
And he’s hopelessly in love with him.
Was hopeless the right word? Love was a topic that always made him feel like a dilettante. It wasn’t something he was ever interested in when he was alive, but after meeting Charles, things twisted in his mind. It was slow, but after realizing that, if he did have one, his heart would beat for him. He wanted to know what it felt like to kiss Charles.
It’s tormenting to be in love with Charles Rowland. He’s reckless, also he was always around Edwin. He never went a full day without seeing him or without talking to him.
Just thinking of him gives breath to the burning light of hope in his chest. He lets his mind wander more about his crush. He focuses on the golden cross earring, the one that reflects the sun when hit just right. He can see his bright smile before he bursts into laughter.
It gives him enough strength to pull himself up. He runs this time. Another attempt.
It doesn’t end as he wants it to, but when he finds himself back in the chamber, he tries again. He thinks of Charles. He pretends he’s cheering him on in the living plane. He can almost hear his voice.
“C’mon mate! You can escape. You’ve done it before,” says the hallucination of Charles.
It gets him to push himself. It causes Edwin to run faster down the hall that tripped him up on the eighth time. He doesn’t miss the right turn like he did the twelfth and twenty-first time. He’s getting better. He can–
The gasp of life brings him back. A few attempts have passed, and everyone ends like the one before. He takes a breath of courage before pulling himself back to his feet. It’s weaker than the last. He tries to hold on to the thought of seeing Charles again. It helps. But it distracts his mind.
He takes a left. No. it was supposed to be right. He circles the hall. It was a new hall, one he hadn’t explored. It couldn’t be the exit. Did the labyrinth change? Could it have changed? Hell could grow smarter and learn from its victims. He wouldn’t rule that out. Just thinking about that makes him sink down. It makes him hit the floor and pull his knees to his chest. His head rests on top of his knees.
Hell wanted him, and Hell finally got him. Even with the faint thought of Charles that lingers in his mind, Edwin cannot find the strength in him. Not anymore.
“I’m sorry, Charles,” he whispers weakly.
A tear slips down his cheek and down to his knee. A few more follow on the same path. He wasn’t strong enough. He couldn’t escape. After all, when he escaped last time, things felt strange. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt like Hell allowed him to escape.
By keeping his silence, the creature can’t find him. Being still allows him to hide in plain sight. If he keeps this up, he could stay in this hall for a few days at most.
“Edwin?” Charles’s voice breaks the silence in the hall.
For a moment, Edwin believes it's in his head. Charles wasn’t that reckless or idiotic to come down to Hell for a rescue mission. No one in their right mind would do that. It only makes his arms tighten around his legs.
But what if he’s wrong? Slowly, Edwin picks up his head. The yellowish glow of a lantern glows down the hall. The same one he once used for Charles back in the attic of St. Hilarion’s. He couldn’t imagine that, right?
Behind the light stands him. Stands Charles. The real Charles. The one his ghost heart would beat for.
“Edwin, mate.”
His voice is soft, calming. There’s hope in his voice. There’s hope glowing in the hall, all because of Charles Rowland.
“Charles?” He whispers as he slowly pulls himself up.
He needed to know if it was him– if it truly was the bloke he’s been in love with. He takes a step toward him once he’s standing.
That one step alerts it. It causes the horrors he’s dealt with for almost a century to be witnessed by Charles. The creature speeds down the hall, down the corridor, and scoops Edwin up like a rag doll in the plastic arms. Slamming his body against the wall, then against one of the legs. The wound on his head, which he thought had finally healed, opened up again. It leaves a trail to the room where Edwin will wake up in.
If Charles was real, he should run. If Charles was truly Charles, he wouldn’t, thought Edwin. If Charles felt the same tug in his chest as he did, then he would follow the demon, even if it was dangerous.
When he does wake up in a new version of himself, he’s cowering. Charles wasn’t in the room where the demon rests. The Charles he saw was another figment of delusion. Charles was smarter than that. Edwin curls up, trying not to make a sound. No one would come for him. Charles deserved better anyway.
How long has it been since he saw Charles? If it was Charles, would he have made it by now? Minutes pass by, and he still finds himself alone with the demon. The Charles he saw wasn’t real.
What catches his attention is the slight reflection of light on the wall in front of him. The light catches a splatter of crimson, causing the deep wine to brighten. Light like that doesn’t show down here. So what was. . .
Before he can turn around, he hears his voice. He hears Charles’s voice.
“Edw–”
The sound causes Edwin to twist himself quickly, and he finds himself with Charles in front of him. His hand is now covering his mouth to avoid the demon hearing them. For the first time, he can feel him. Soft lips against his palm. Hell made things feel real and alive. For the first time, he’s feeling Charles. He’s real. Charles Rowland was here with him in Hell.
He came to Hell for him. Came to rescue him. He was the bravest person he knew, and bloody hell, he was in love with him.