The Mousetrap

By Heather Wielding

The Mousetrap is a new kind of game show. Instead of testing the wits of its guests, it sends them on a flesh-splitting escapade through the House, the Mousetraps elaborate set filled with traps and contraptions designed to sever skin and inflict pain. Sam and Gina, son and mother, find the House by accident, but sign the Deal willingly at the request of Jeremy, Mousetrap's charming host. As they embark upon their week-long journey to earthly wealth, millions of spectators hang on to their seats: will the new contestants live? And how much blood will they leave behind?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Heather Wielding
• Release date: Apr 14, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458083319

Book preview

The Mousetrap

by

Heather Wielding

Copyright 2015 Heather Wielding

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Prologue

Hunger and fatigue had finally won. The one-armed man slept, his back against the wall, in a long, white corridor.

His face was peaceful, lined with worry, hollowed out by hunger. The days he had spent in the House had left him thinner, but not weak. It would be a long time until the House beat him.

White smoke filled the hallway, swimming into it like soft clouds at the break of dawn.

The wall opposite from him shimmered, like a quiet lake just before the sun reaches its arms out to embrace the world. The white bled out, giving way to Jeremy's face.

It was nothing but a hologram, simple in technique, inferior in quality, but it did its job.

Good afternoon, contester, Jeremy whispered.

It seems you have found a nice place for a nap. I'll try to be quiet, so I won't disturb your rest.

The one-armed man stirred, rubbed his nose with the hand he had left, and settled in for sleep again.

Jeremy held in a breath, and waited until he was once again resting peacefully.

You have spent two weeks inside the Mousetrap, he continued.

"It is time I offer you the price you have won.

"Two hundred thousand dollars are yours, if you decide to take it, and leave the House.

"You may, if you so choose, continue on, remaining in the House until another week has passed. At that time I will find you again, and offer you the price you have won.

"By the end of your third week the sum will have risen to three hundred thousand dollars.

That's a lot of dough. Enough to buy you a dozen of those new robotic arms. You'd like that, wouldn’t you?

The one-armed man slept, hearing nothing of what Jeremy said.

I take it you're not interested in leaving? Jeremy asked. The one-armed man gave no response.

The hologram-Jeremy shrugged.

"Well, it's entirely up to you. We've enjoyed having you stay with us, and will continue to enjoy your presence in the future.

But since you have decided to stay, I will present you with a little gift.

A hatch opened under the hologram, near the floor. The one-armed man slept, dreaming of home, of the time when he still had both his arms, as a flock of insects poured out.

Jeremy smiled, his face twitching and jerking as dust moved through the gas streaming on the wall.

"These insects have been genetically manipulated to develop a taste for human flesh. They will dig into your body, and feast on your organs.

"Once they have filled their stomachs, they will breed, and lay their eggs in the soft tissues of your body. After accomplishing this, they will die.

"In time, the eggs will hatch, freeing an army of maggots into your body.

"The maggots will feast upon your flesh, their appetite much larger than that of their parents.

"Your mission is to show us how much your body can take.

"The maggots will be removed if you succeed in surviving them for an entire week.

Have a nice stay.

The hologram on the wall flickered and faded, and the insects surrounded the one-armed man. They entered his body through his ears and nostrils, making him sniffle and turn restlessly.

He woke up soon, only to find the corridor as empty as it had been when he fell asleep.

The insects were gone, and so was Jeremy.

Day One: Saturday

Mom! a child cried. He had come to a small clearing in the woods. Before him stood a house, a small, wooden house, more like a shack than a real house, its front door invitingly open.

The child didn't have the patience to wait for his mother. He dashed towards the house, nearly tripping on a root.

In their homes thousands of viewers bit their nails in excitement. Would they enter? Would they become the new attraction?

Sam!

Her voice was sharp, and the boy stopped, already disappointed, one foot on the threshold. His hair burned red in the sunlight, an amazing contrast to the bruises on his white skin. He looked gloomily at his mother, burying the hope of getting to explore the abandoned house.

He was tall, almost as tall as his mother. He was twelve, and already she found it difficult to look down on him.

It was getting difficult to tell him what to do.

She drew in a breath, held it in to calm her nerves, and let it out in a slow sigh. Her son was used to the sound, and knew what to expect: a fit, or a deal, depending on his mother's mood.

For the first time in many days she looked at him, and really saw him.

He was tall, and slim, almost too thin. He was easy to smile, easy to anger, just like she was. He had inherited his red hair and freckles from his father, along with his long legs and the amazing ability to find trouble.

Alright, she said. She had no real reason not to give in to her son. They were, after all, sort of lost, and the day was too hot for wandering around aimlessly. It would be cooler inside the house, shady and nice. Maybe they could even find water in there.

Let's go check it out, she said. He gave her a grin, and turned to run inside.

She held him by the arm.

Carefully, she said. Someone might still live there. Or some animal might have made a nest there. Don't rush in head first, be careful.

Sam listened, not entirely impatiently. He was used to Mom telling him what to do, when, and how to do it. He was also used to finding a way around her silly and most times pointless rules.

This time, however, he listened. The house was clearly uninhabited, but it didn't mean it was harmless. He had already learned something about empty buildings, and welcomed a short lesson in surviving.

Stop at the doorway, look around, Mom instructed. "If you hear anything, moving, growling, breathing, anything, back away.

Clear?

Roger-roger, Sam said, grinning, and was happy to see her smile as well. Her smile wasn't as sunny as it had been just a few short years ago, but it was still a smile.

Go on then, she said, letting go of his arm. Sam didn't run. He walked, all senses clear, listening, trying to smell every scent in the warm spring afternoon.

He entered, and in their homes thousands of viewers moved to the edges of their seats. Would they find the hidden door? Would Jeremy receive new guests?

Would their evenings be filled with new excitement?

Sam pulled at the door. It let out a wistful squeal. He would have easily fitted through the crack, but he knew Mom wouldn't want to risk touching spider webs. He heard her footsteps behind him, following him, comforting him. Since Dad had left Mom had stopped smiling, but she had always been there, watching over him, doing the best she could to feed him, filling his life with well-meaning rules and regulations.

The room he found was small, much smaller than he had expected. It was dusty and dark, filled with litter and rat droppings. There was a small table, and two chairs, one of them knocked over, and a cabinet on the wall. It was missing a door.

Most of the windows were broken, and many of them were covered with black plastic. Before, it had been a common material. Now it was scarce, and Sam wondered why anyone had wasted it to cover windows.

Then he realized the house must have been abandoned long before the change.

There's nothing here, Sam said as his mother's footsteps reached the wooden floor. Just dust and shadows.

It's cooler, Mom said. Isn't that something?

I guess, Sam replied, keeping the urge to kick at the fallen chair well hidden. Mom would lecture about that, and something inside him knew she was right. It was rude to kick chairs, even if they were in a deserted, empty house.

Wanna go through there? Mom asked, pointing at the hazy outlines of a door in the far corner, almost hidden in shadows and cobwebs.

Sam shrugged, and walked to the door anyway.

In their homes thousands of viewers bit their fingernails in growing suspense.

***

A little girl stared at the TV-screen, concentrated and blind to the outside world. Inside the screen a tall woman and a red-haired boy examined a small room in an abandoned house.

The girl didn't look away from the TV when someone entered.

Hey Yvonne, a man's voice said. The girl, Yvonne, made a sound that meant she had noted her father, and would have greeted him with more enthusiasm had not the TV taken up all her attention.

Whatchu watching? her father asked, and sat down on the sofa. Yvonne, lying on the floor on her belly, didn't move as he poked her foot with his.

She didn't look at all like him. For five years now he had been mesmerized by her soft, brown skin and her black curls. Her eyes were grey, with a touch of green, and everyone agreed the sweet child would some day grow up to be a breathtakingly beautiful woman. The proud father couldn't argue, and took her with him any chance he got, just to let the world see what a pretty child he had managed to conceive.

He grinned, pushing his red hair from his forehead.

New people, Yvonne said. Her father frowned at her, but she still hadn't moved, and couldn't see the rebuke in his eyes.

We've talked about this show, he said, combing his hair with his fingers. It was too long, and constantly fell into his eyes.

Now Yvonne offered him a glance, a short and defiant one. I want to watch, she said.

He shook his head, both irritated with her wilfulness, and proud of her decisiveness.

You know what will happen to them, he said. Yvonne wasn't an easy child, and sometimes he feared the spoiled child would grow up to be a horrible teen. Direct orders caused violent arguments and fits of rage and tears, and so he had begun to persuade her until she gave in or forgot what she had wanted.

I want, she said now, and he knew this time she wouldn't cave in. This time she would throw a fit if he tried to pull her away from the TV.

He didn't feel like calming down a raging five-year-old, so he settled to watch with her. He didn't share her enthusiasm about the Mousetrap, and avoided it the best he could. He had read about it in the papers, though. Everyone had.

The concept was simple: non-suspecting people were loured into the House, the door was locked, and the audience got to see how long the surprised stars managed to stay alive. There were three shows per day: a collage of the previous night in the morning, two hours of live feed around midday, and a whopping five hours in the evening.

It was midday now, and he knew Yvonne wouldn't get to see anything that would disturb her sleep. The network had rules, too, although sometimes it seemed it ruled the world.

The TV showed an image of a dark, dusty room. There were two people in the room. Yvonne had turned up the volume, so he had no trouble hearing what they said. The people, a boy and a woman, talked about a door, and about leaving. The boy seemed a touch listless, though it had probably been his idea to check out the house. The woman's voice sounded familiar. He tried to get a closer look at her, but her back was turned to the camera.

There was something familiar about her hair as well, about the way it fell down her back in a shiny river of dark silk. He realized he knew what it would smell like, he could almost recall the faint odour of shampoo and herbs.

He frowned at memories, and tried to chase them away. They resisted, and for a moment he could even remember how Gina's hair felt on his chest.

They'll go in, Yvonne said, her voice the blank voice of a sleepwalker. They'll go in, and Jeremy will come.

He started to tell her to change the channel when the woman turned her head.

His stomach was suddenly hot and heavy, filled with dread.

It was Gina.

For a short moment he stared at her, not truly realizing it was actually, truly her on the TV. For a short moment she was a memory come to life, a distant dream on the screen.

And then she spoke a name, a name he had picked for their son.

Come on, Sam, Gina said behind the glistening lake of the screen.

Let's go in.

***

The second door didn't creak. It opened easily, silently, like its hinges had just been oiled.

Sam turned the knob, and the door opened on its own, sliding aside to welcome them.

He hesitated, his hand hanging in mid-air, his head slightly tilted, suspicion in his eyes.

Are you sure, Mom? he asked, turning to his mother.

Gina frowned at him, and walked by him, entered the next room without him, and Sam reluctantly followed.

The house had lost all its charm now. To Sam it seemed it had, without him really noticing it, become a bit menacing. It was too silent, its rooms were too small and...

… why hadn't the hinges creaked?

The next room was small, smaller than the one before, almost like a closet.

Gina looked around, turning in a slow circle she had learned watching endless reruns of Xena, and Sam knew in her mind she wasn't a single mom who worked the grocery store during the day, and the streets at night, oh no, in her mind she was a warrior, just like Xena, and in her mind she was in charge, not the silent house, not Sam, not the...

Sam tilted his head like he always did when he was confused.

A light had flashed in the corner high above his head. It was the kind of flash you see when sunlight bounces of glass.

He tried to look very carefully, tried to see what was hidden in the high corner, tried to make out what was hidden behind cob-webs, but a bang startled him.

What was that! Sam cried, jumping, taking a few steps towards Mom. He was embarrassed straight away: he was far too old to be jumping at sounds.

Probably just the door, Mom said. Xena was gone. She was just Mom now, tall and too thin. Sam noted there was something sharp about her face, something he didn't much care for.

It was almost like she had seen too much, and expected to see more.

Can we go now? Sam asked. I think I saw a pathway back there. If we follow it...

Mom nodded. She had seen something in the corner, and Sam followed her disgusted gaze.

A spider the size of his hand slowly wrapped up something that seemed like a baby mouse inside its sticky web.

Sam felt his breakfast getting the urge to see daylight again.

Let's get out of here, Sam said, quietly, and fear touched him for the first time.

He, unlike his mother, wasn't entirely oblivious to the concept of the Mousetrap.

***

Yvonne gave her father another quick glance. She had watched the world turn around itself for no more than five years, and already she knew her father better than anyone.

She could sense something about him, something that, to her knowledge, should have been foreign to him. Something reserved entirely to mothers and daughters.

Fear.

If fathers could feel fear, who would protect mothers and daughters? Who would drive fear away if not fathers?

Daddy? Yvonne tried, but he didn't move. He didn't come to her, didn't look at her, didn't jump, ready to fulfil her every desire. Instead, he sat there, on the edge of the sofa, his elbows on his knees, half of his face hidden behind his hands, his eyes huge and hurt above his slender fingers.

Yvonne tried to think, tried to understand what had gotten Daddy so upset. There was nothing gross on the telly: that would come later, at night, after Yvonne had been put to bed. Now all they could see was a woman and a boy, and they were just walking around in the second room. There was nothing to fear, not yet.

Their house was big, warm, and bright. There was nothing to fear.

And still Daddy sat there, on the edge of the sofa, and fear oozed from him.

Daddy! Yvonne repeated. Her voice was now high-pitched, filled with the threat of tears. Daddy!

Now he looked at her. It happened slowly, like he had to force his eyes away from the TV. When his gaze met hers, his fear made her scared. She had never seen him like this.

She didn't know what to do.

What is it, sweetheart? Daddy asked, and although she spoke to her, Yvonne felt his eyes looking straight through her.

Jeremy can let them out, Yvonne blurted. I wanna watch cartoons now, she said, making a desperate attempt for the remote control.

Daddy was quicker. He grabbed it, and hid it under the pillows.

Yvonne attacked it, and soon the warm, bright room was filled with the wails of a disappointed five-year-old.

And the sounds of the Mousetrap.

***

The door was closed.

It had been open when they came in. Opening it had been difficult.

Sam paused in the middle of the room. His arm went out to stop Mom, but missed her.

A sound. A new sound reached his ears. A sound he could almost recognize.

… black cables dancing on the ground...

… high-voltage power lines above his head...

… a man tied to a chair, electricity changing his brain to Jell-O ...

Mom, no!

She turned, frowning, her hand inched away from the door-knob.

Don't touch it, Sam said, taking a hesitant step towards her. She was stubborn: most times when he asked her not to do something, she did it anyway, just to spite him. Please Mom, don't touch it.

She turned back to the door, examining it, weighing it with her eyes. Her hand drew closer, and paused.

The hum grew stronger as she pulled her hand away from the door, and stepped back.

A soft, blue lightning escaped the door, and danced along its surface.

It's electrified, Sam explained. His mind was running wild now, out of control, and he let it. Little details were bound together, conclusions led to a wondrous truth.

They never showed the outside of the House. If they had, people would avoid it, and the concept would be ruined. The location of the House was one of the best kept secrets in the nation. All the public knew was what QBC wanted it to know.

That wasn't much.

It has to be near a town, Sam and his mates had concluded. Close enough so someone finds it sometimes, but far enough to go unnoticed. It must be hidden in the woods.

Sam and his mother had found the clearing by accident. They had gotten lost on what was planned out as a simple picnic. They hadn't noticed the small house until they stood under its shadow.

Sam's mind ran like a rabbit freed from its cage.

A house, with only two rooms.

Rooms that, on retrospect, seemed eerily familiar.

The electrified door.

The lack of mouldy smell.

The flash of light in the corner.

Sam looked. He got to look for a long time, but he found it.

A small camera stared at them from a shadowy corner. It was carefully concealed. Sam had only spotted it because he knew what he was looking for. He had seen it film unsuspecting visitors.

Mom, he said.

Mom, I think this is the Mousetrap.

***

A door slid aside. It turned on invisible hinges, and revealed a large, brightly lit room. A circular pedestal stood in the middle of the room, and soft sofas sat on the platform.

Sam saw the cameras, noted them before shock could wear out. He had seen this room before, as well as the man who waited for them.

He leaned on one of the sofas, wearing a long, gleaming coat. As he saw them, he straightened himself. His voice echoed and boomed, amplified to reach the audiences at home.

Welcome, guests! he spoke, holding out his left arm, inviting them to join him.

I am Jeremy, the man said, and this is... the Mousetrap!

***

Gina found herself at a surprising lack for words. She knew she had seen the man before, but couldn't remember where. She thought he must have been a client, until he welcomed them to the Mousetrap.

Sudden realisation struck her, images of the show flashed before her. He had never been a regular watcher,