By Michael Teasdale
Always last to everything.
Jonah is the last of his class to change, both physically and developmentally.
He hears the cries from out in the hallway. The scuffling playfights, the macho name-calling. Everything he seeks to avoid as he slinks from the dressing room into the whitewashed cubicle, towel tight around his waist, hiding his shame until he feels safe to remove it.
His hand twists the knob and a blast of warm water cascades down on his wiry frame, drowning out the voices.
Jonah scrubs off the mud as quickly and efficiently as he can—toweling down like a lunatic, pulling the soft cotton tightly around him once more, keeping an ear out for any indication of the boys returning.
In his haste to finish, he slips on the wet floor. Staggers forward. Eats the wall with a crunch… and hears the voice.
“Please, help me.”
His eyes flit to the showers’ entrance.
No. The sound comes from somewhere behind the wall.
“Please… please help me.”
Tentatively, Jonah presses his ear to the wall, taps it with a finger. Is it hollow?
“I’ve been trapped here for so long. Please let me out!”
Jonah steps back, his bare feet splashing in the pooling lather, then he notices it.
A crack. A fissure, running up the wall, stopping and splitting off in a perpendicular direction.
Jonah’s eyes track the contour.
A rectangle.
A door? And behind it… a voice?
“Who’s back there?” His voice echoes through the empty hollow of the cubicles.
The reply comes back louder, still muffled but real. “It’s me. It’s Jonah! Please let me out!”
Jonah’s cheeks burn at the mention of his name. He can almost visualize the scale of the ruse, yet his hands reach forward anyway, as if controlled by some external will, placing pressure on the center of the fissure.
The texture of the wall feels different here. Something gives, and he loses his balance for a second time. His towel drops from his waist, and he scrambles to retrieve it, rising only in time to see the black rectangle of darkness that has replaced the wall and the scrawny, gaunt-eyed boy who stands shivering in its depths.
“I’m sorry,” says the boy in a familiar voice, “but it’s someone else’s turn!”
Before Jonah can react, the boy’s hands are upon him, pivoting and shoving him into that selfsame darkness. He lands in a heap, turning only to see the boy mouth a silent apology, as the door slides closed between them.
Darkness.
Jonah screams, clambers to his feet, hammers at the wall with the flats of his hands. He hears the boy’s voice, fainter now, as if moving away, but calling out to him all the same.
“You have to find another way. It’s my turn now. There are other doors. Just listen. Listen carefully.”
Footsteps.
Silence.
Jonah tries to breathe. He remembers the basement during summer camp. The rattle of keys and the cruel laughter of the other students. The moment Mrs. Jones set him free. The relief, the daylight, and the…
Noise.
It comes from far to his left. Groping in the darkness, he sidesteps slowly through the shadowy passage until he nears the source.
He knows the sound well: bone on flesh. A fist striking human tissue.
“What’s the matter, Jonah? Want another one? Just say it and get it over with.”
Another voice.
“Okay… Okay, I’ll say it. I’ll say it.”
Jonah knows this voice, too. It is his own voice. He winces as it obeys.
Shaking his head, he shuffles away, moving silently on through the passage, rejecting the horrible familiarity of submission.
As Jonah moves he hears more voices, blending and reverberating. Every voice his own, but all somehow unique. They echo as he shuffles on, wondering if each voice resides behind further fissures and cracks, more doors that might open.
Eventually, he hears a less familiar conversation.
“Hey, Jonah. You done? It’s lunchtime.”
The bully again, only this time… different?
“Almost. I’ll catch you in the cafeteria.”
It is his own voice, yet also subtly altered, bolder and more confident.
Jonah stops. He remembers the boy who first tricked him, another Jonah, weaker and scrawnier than himself. Is that why he chose him? Is this to be his own way out?
“Hey,” Jonah yells. “Hey! Help me! I’m trapped in here!”
There is a pause, then the sound of the shower turning off and damp, sticky footsteps approaching. “Who’s there?” comes the reply.
Jonah knows better now.
“Please,” he yells back. “Push on the wall. It’s thinner here. I’m stuck behind it!”
A pause. Then a rush of air whistles past his left ear, and a crack of light emerges, as the false-wall begins sliding back. Jonah throws his back to the barrier and follows its movement. In the darkness, he holds his breath as he hears the feet slosh forward, moving tentatively into the shadowy space, alongside him.
Reaching out, Jonah finds the flesh and pushes, as hard as he can, staggering backward, out into the light. For a second, the double turns, a look of confusion mixed with despair crossing his face. Jonah mouths a silent apology as the door closes, sealing his twin behind it.
From the other side of the wall, the doppelganger screams. Jonah’s response is quick. He wanders over to each shower and turns them on in succession, each cascade of water silencing the screams a little more.
“Hey Jonah, you coming or not?” comes the cry from outside the changing room.
Jonah ignores it. He walks up to the wall and presses his face close.
“If you can hear me,” he says “I’m sorry. You can find a way out. There are other doors. Any of them will be okay for you. You’re stronger than I am. For me… it had to be this one.”
Pulling his towel tight around him, Jonah straightens his back and strides out of the showers, leaving the water running.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Whoa. This story blew me away. I loved the element of mystery pervading it. Fantastic job!
Wow! Fascination story. Intriguing and creepy…
That was wild. I loved it!
Amazing story, Michael!
Fantastic read. Loving your work
Thank you everybody for your kind words. I’m glad you enjoyed this story.
brrr *shivers* this was such a creepy, EPIC story. I love the way it flowed, and the little glimpses of Jonah’s character sprinkled all throughout it was awesome!