Darren awoke in complete darkness, his head throbbing. The air was damp, and the smell of mildew filled his nostrils. He reached out, his fingers brushing against rough stone walls.
He stood up slowly, realizing he was in a small, enclosed space. His hand knocked against something solid—an old wooden stool.
Panic set in as he tried to recall how he got there. His last memory was walking home late at night. He had taken a shortcut through an alley.
Someone must have been waiting. He shouted for help, but his voice echoed back at him, the sound swallowed by the oppressive silence.
Darren sat on the stool, trying to calm his racing heart. Hours seemed to pass. Suddenly, he heard a faint scraping noise from above. He looked up, squinting in the darkness.
A small hatch in the ceiling creaked open, and a dim light filtered through. A figure peered down at him, face obscured by shadows.
“Who’s there?”
Darren demanded, his voice shaking.
No response. Instead, something was lowered through the hatch—another stool, identical to the one he was sitting on. It hovered in the air, suspended by an unseen force, before being placed gently on the ground beside him.
The hatch closed, plunging him back into darkness.
Darren’s mind raced. Was this some kind of sick game? He stood and pushed the stools against the walls, trying to use them to reach the hatch. But the ceiling was too high.
Exhausted and frustrated, he sat back down. Hours passed, or maybe it was days—time had lost all meaning.
The hatch opened again. This time, it wasn’t a stool that was lowered, but a tattered piece of paper.
Darren scrambled to grab it, his hands trembling. In the faint light, he could barely make out the words scrawled in a messy script: “Sit or suffer.”
He glanced at the stool next to him, identical to the one he was sitting on. The meaning of the note was clear: he had to remain seated, or face some unknown consequence.
His fear grew with each passing moment, the silence around him becoming a living thing, pressing against him.
But then, curiosity got the better of him. He stood up, defying the cryptic message. The ground beneath his feet began to tremble, and a low growl emanated from the darkness.
The stool began to shake violently, and an unseen force knocked him to the ground. The air grew colder, and Darren felt an icy grip around his throat.
Gasping for breath, he scrambled back onto the stool. The shaking stopped, and the growl receded, leaving him in the oppressive silence once more.
Realization dawned on him: he was being watched, judged by some malevolent presence that enforced the cryptic rule.
An unknown number of hours ticked by, Darren’s will to defy the order waned. He sat on the stool, unmoving, his mind unraveling. The hatch never opened again, and he never saw another soul.
The silence became his constant companion, a reminder of his isolation and the ever-watchful presence that kept him trapped.
Darren knew one thing for certain: he could never leave the stool. It was both his prison and his salvation, the only thing standing between him and the horrors that lurked in the darkness beyond.
Gareth Ellis - Author 