BETWEEN THESE WALLS: Tomorrow never comes

By Gino Gammaldi

Horror is a genre that relies on one thing: instilling a sense of fear in the reader. The horror genre in this book is multifaceted. There is a particular kind of horror for every kind of person. For some, the most effective scare is the idea of being trapped in a haunted place. For others, it’s a dark mystery, blood and gore or being challenged by a serial killer. The main protagonist in this book is forced to confront all of these curses, ordeals, and calamities in a room that wreaks of torment and situations that cause great suffering and unhappiness the likes of which he has never experienced. The horrors that the protagonist encounters come from the subconscious, cryptic forces and alternate realms; mysterious happenings that manipulate feelings, state of mind and realities that create sensations of uneasiness and fear that stretch beyond consciousness and permeate deep within the human psyche. Most chapters in this book can be read independently of each other.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Sep 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9798369493045

Gino Gammaldi

Gino Gammaldi is married to Grace. They have 3 children and 6 grandchildren. He lives in Melbourne, Australia. He spent 26 years in Corporate Management. His education began in the Good Samaritan primary school (St Joseph – Korumburra) followed by secondary studies at St Patrick’s College in Sale, Victoria (as a boarder for 5 years) and at Taylors University Coaches in Melbourne. He has achieved qualifications from a number of tertiary institutions including Deakin University and Monash University. He also served 2 years as a National Serviceman in the Australian Army. Gino was inducted into the office of Justice of the Peace by His Excellency, the Governor in Council (Victoria) in 1999 and some years later was appointed a Commonwealth Celebrant by the Federal Attorney General of Australia. He is also the Chairman and Manager of an annual play in which he also has an acting role. Writing children books has become his passion, however, he also has commenced to write an adult novel and an account of early migrant life in Australia which features the experiences of his own family. Gino’s early childhood was on family farms in the district of Krowera, Victoria, Australia – a place which is little known but which holds fond memories for him.

Book preview

Copyright © 2023 by Gino Gammaldi.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and

such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 09/07/2023

Xlibris

AU TFN: 1 800 844 927 (Toll Free inside Australia)

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Illustrations from Gammaldi archives

Book title credits:

Alyssa-Grace Giglio

Jacob Giglio

Xander Gammaldi

Olvia Voulgaris

Lisa Jane Gillard

Grace Gammaldi

Consulting editor (Italian language):

Antonella Takeabreaath

Other books by Gino Gammaldi:

The Secret at St Mary’s

When Worlds Collide

Odyssey In Space

Friends

Amici

Was It Really Like That (complete book B/W)

Was It Really Like That (volume 1 colour)

Was It Really Like That (volume 2 colour)

Depths of Darkness

To all with whom I have crossed paths in

this transient life. Especially my wife Grace

who has endured so many hours of my

seclusion during the writing of this book.

Solitude is aloneness you choose and embrace.

Jeanne Marie Laskas

CONTENTS

Preface

Chapter 1     Obscurity

Chapter 2     The Darkness

Chapter 3     What the heck?

Chapter 4     The Demons

Chapter 5     Why and How?

Chapter 6     The Intruder

Chapter 7     Just me and this Room

Chapter 8     Social Isolation, Reconcilement, The Evil Within!

Chapter 9     Atonement

Chapter 10   Alien Encounter?

Chapter 11   To Live is To Die

Chapter 12   Overcoming My Agony

Chapter 13   My Life in Stages

Chapter 14   Take me to your leader!

Chapter 15   Another Dimension?

Chapter 16   The Realisation

Chapter 17   The Outside Within

Chapter 18   Conscious, Subconscious, Deception

Chapter 19   I might as well be on Mars

Chapter 20   My Chaotic Brain

Chapter 21   To be scared, really scared

Chapter 22   Room of Ghosts and Apparitions

Chapter 23   The Unknown

Chapter 24   God Again

Chapter 25   Cannibalism?

Chapter 26   The Hologram Incident

Chapter 27   The Strange World I Once Lived In

Chapter 28   The Horror Nightmares Continue

Chapter 29   Psychosis

Chapter 30   Panic & Anxiety

Chapter 31   The Clock

Chapter 32   Misophonia and Agoraphobia

Chapter 33   Jesus & Demons!

Chapter 34   My Reality and God

Chapter 35   Near-death/out-of-body Experience

Chapter 36   Oh! To die, but without dying?

Chapter 37   Inanimate Horror

Chapter 38   The Worst Nightmare & More

Chapter 39   Snake

Chapter 40   Schizophrenic?

Chapter 41   Gore in the Locker Room

Chapter 42   To Die is To Die!

Chapter 43   Paradise

Chapter 44   Pigs Again?

Chapter 45   The Killer Within

Chapter 46   Stairs to Nowhere

Chapter 47   Water/Stairs/Ghosts

Chapter 48   The Hands & The Mirror

Chapter 49   The Secret Door

Chapter 50   Desperation & Revenge

Chapter 51   Humanity’s Folly

Chapter 52   Light, Darkness and the Library

Chapter 53   Shame

Chapter 54   Towards Insanity

Chapter 55   The Tree

Chapter 56   The Piano

Chapter 57   Rooster Bait

Chapter 58   The Witch

Chapter 59   The Shadow Man

Chapter 60   The Box

Chapter 61   Death

CONTENTS

CHAPTERS

22, 33, 41, 45

IN ITALIAN

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CAPITOLI

22, 33, 41, 45

IN ITALIANO

Capitolo 22   L’ignoto

Capitolo 33   La Mia rèalta e Dio

Capitolo 41   Morire è Morire!

Capitolo 45   Scale verso il Nulla

When darkness comes .........?

PREFACE

Within these pages lies a tale that explores the occult and the macabre, unlike any I have written before. This latest book takes you on a journey through the eyes of the protagonist, revealing his struggle against unknown forces that bind him within a room of horrors. Each chapter unravels a new reality as the room transforms unexpectedly. It becomes a stage for macabre mysteries, where murder, torture and gore intertwine with a limitless, twisted imagination. There is no end to the horrors that manifest within its walls. The first-person perspective offers an intimate glimpse into the protagonist’s terror, confusion and unwavering determination. His destiny is sealed against his will as he confronts the unfathomable power that holds him captive. This narrative pushes the boundaries of the author’s previous writings, delving into realms that challenge the reader’s senses. The room defies natural laws, blurring the line between life and death and beckoning the protagonist to confront his deepest fears. As the author, I have embarked on a journey of exploration driven by a curiosity for the occult and the macabre. This tale seeks to disturb and enthral, presenting the reader with the unknown and grotesque. It invites contemplation of the indomitable human spirit in the face of insurmountable odds while delving into the depths of our darkest fears and testing the limits of our imagination. Prepare to be mesmerised and terrified. Prepare to descend into darkness as you turn the page. Welcome to This Room, these walls of unpredictable mysteries where escape seems impossible and the room’s secrets threaten to consume all who dare to venture within and who are trapped against their will. Let the chilling suspense and relentless horrors captivate your imagination as the protagonist’s struggles become a testament to the resilience of the human spirit in the face of malevolence.

Anonymous

CHAPTER ONE

Obscurity

At first, it didn’t seem real. I knew I was where I thought I should be, but everything else in the room seems unreal. I feel a sense of foreboding as the stillness in the room suddenly dawns upon me like a mantle that envelopes my whole being. Suddenly I feel trapped by some force beyond any sense of reality. The dim pencil of light that forces its way through the misty window on the rustic brick wall casts awkward shadows on the walls. As each shape flickers indifferently, my heartbeat increases in unison with their movement. The shroud of darkness surrounding me is becoming increasingly oppressive like a heavy weight slowly pressing down on my shivering body.

How much longer can I sustain what I am feeling? Although I have a fair idea of where I am, I am still trying to figure out what circumstances brought me into this undesirable place. Desperate to orientate myself, I try to make my way toward the window through which that feeble beam of light is beckoning. It’s at this moment that I realise my actual predicament. Struggling as forcibly as I can, I cannot pull myself away from the wall against which I have been leaning. Have I lost all reason? Why am I attached to this wall? Nothing makes sense. My legs, arms, and body appear to be attached irretrievably from the stone wall. I feel an intense cold penetrating my body as if stung by the frozen surface of pure ice. The frosty sensation comes and leaves as if someone has flicked a switch. But it is so sharp. At that moment, I become aware of my nakedness.

This whole experience is becoming weirder by the moment. I am in a dark room, seemingly attached to a wall, while in a state of naked obscurity. There has to be a logical reason for all of this. But try as I might, no logic presents itself, so I remain in the quiet solace of desperation.

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My choices are to accept my crazy situation and wait for some sign indicating a release from this unwarranted imprisonment or to figure a way out by myself. Either way, I know that it is going to take a miracle. Nonetheless, it is obvious to me that I have been thrust into this unknown void by something or someone, and they must have had reasons that were clear only to themselves. But why me? My life is of no natural consequence to anyone, let alone to someone who might think of obtaining some gain from imprisoning me in this unfortunate manner. Perhaps the answer to my questions has nothing to do with monetary or political gain; there is no money to extort as my background has been relatively frugal and political affiliations have had no serious clout within the political scene. So, what is the purpose of this absurd situation? Try as I might, configuring anything that makes the slightest sense in my befuddled brain becomes more painful as each minute passes.

The thought of release has no substance at this point. The wall to which I am attached has the pull of a powerful magnet which tugs mercilessly and at regular intervals at critical parts of my body which are the most vulnerable. From the scanty evidence I have about my situation, I know that it will be just a matter of time before my body will be torn apart and strewn along the face of the wall and the floor beneath my dangling feet. Floor, what floor? There is no floor, at least none that I can feel. Have I been suspended to this icy wall; this façade not only sends shivers throughout my entire being but also holds me in a way that can only be described as psychological crucifixion.

The darkness exacerbates the shivering I feel. It feels like it is closing in on me inch by inch, and that faint glimmer of light that I first noticed through what I thought was a window begins to gently and eerily flicker away. A feeling of spookiness and uneasiness takes over. It is like a supernatural strangeness. Never have I felt anything like this. It is an unearthly feeling, creepy and haunting. My mind and entire body succumb to the impossible imagination and exhaustion. I am vanquished, it seems.

CHAPTER TWO

The Darkness

The release I feel, does not seem real and it isn’t. I cannot possibly grasp the insanity of the transformation surrounding me. As if by magic, some semblance of an answer is mysteriously taking shape, yet obscurity is still everywhere. I try to control my breathing, cough, and splutter as the effort is painful. Perhaps the cords that hold me so tightly have caused some damage to my ribs. But that was to be the least of my problems. I shudder and feel sick to my stomach as if my insides have been infected by some strange chemical substance which not only makes me regurgitate whatever I have swallowed, but the smell is putrid, like decaying flesh. I become angry at my condition. I become angry at what put me in this inhuman place. I become angry at my feebleness, which is insignificantly weak and unable to figure out how to escape my entrapment.

The darkness lurks ominously. Lost, scared, confused. How long do I have to endure this? The cold, oh, the cold. What is flowing through my veins cannot be warm blood any more. It is more like liquid fear. The surroundings get even darker. I realise the light has now gone. I feel even more alone in my prison of darkness, surrounded by uncontrollable fear and unknown dangers. What is happening here? I shout as the pain in doing so pierces my lungs. "Why am I in this crisis of uncertainty, insecurity and vulnerability? Why has the light gone? How much longer will I be trapped in this darkness and cruel exposure? Why am I numb all over?

Bravely I try to make an effort to move at least some parts of my body. My feeble efforts fail to provoke any response. My breathing increases sharply, as does the pain in sympathy. It’s then that strange and almost imperceptible sensations begin to permeate the room. I see nothing. My eyes are clouded over. It could be congealed blood or just messy perspiration. Even if my eyes were clear, it wouldn’t help because the darkness now is thick like tar. If I didn’t know better, it would feel like being entombed. This makes me panic, fighting and struggling to escape my bondage. But my movements are feeble and there is just darkness. Then the thought hits me that I might never get out of wherever in damnation I’m being held prisoner. Am I going to die right here in the blackness? I’ve always been scared of confined spaces, especially if the same space is bathed in darkness. I vow that if, by some divine power, I manage to get out of this place, my life will be changed. I know I cannot go through something as traumatic as this and be the same person.

I start to cry. Yep, I cry. I am so overwhelmed. You know that feeling where your mind is racing a mile a minute? You can’t even slow it down enough to form a coherent thought because your brain is chasing seventeen trains at once, and none of them is even slightly related, but you have to think of all of them right this minute; it’s even worse in This Room. The most dreadful, inexplicable situation of my entire life, and I don’t even have a world around me to distract from it. Just me and my racing mind shouting at me with a voice louder than God’s.

How did I get here? That’s the question that comes back most, but I can’t seem ever to answer it. I can’t remember. The last thing I remember is ……. what? I have memories from the last few days but can’t order them or piece together what I was doing that has left me in this inexplicable state. Nothing makes sense. So, I am stuck, perpetually at square one, trying to solve an unsolvable mystery. Looking back on the last days and weeks, I can remember virtually nothing …….… that’s the most painful part. Every bit of memory is like a punch in the gut. I am quickly beginning to accept my fate, and isn’t that strange? Every day, you get stuck in traffic, snuggle your dog and dream up ways to get out of work and you don’t think anything of it. But every day, there is someone, somewhere in the world, who is suffering one of the worst fates imaginable, and at that moment, they would give anything to be you. I think of all the people whose lives I would never envy, and now how I envy them; they are surrounded by daylight. Just think of that for a moment. What I’m thinking, how I’m feeling. It doesn’t seem to be of much consequence. I wish I could do the horror justice, but the fact that I’m even able to gasp for air makes that impossible.

Picture yourself waking up with no idea where you are. In complete darkness; complete darkness. You realise you’re in an unfamiliar room where you cannot orient yourself. That flickering beam of light slowly fading. You’ve alive but somehow restrained. Where does your mind go? Confusion, obviously, and fear too. But where else? Your entire life flashes before your eyes, not instantly, but for hours. All the great memories, and even the not-so-great ones, seem to be a dream or maybe a movie of a different person’s life altogether. All the loved ones, all the kind words, the kisses and the good grades, the Christmas trees and that one time you made that goal to win that game. All are rushing through your head like a tornado, primarily happy memories but drowning in sadness, for you know they are the only ones you will probably ever make.

Soon, I will be dead, not breathing, not living, not thinking. I feel the realisation of my own mortality is suffocating me. I suppose one is always new and near to death intellectually, but now, it’s here and happening to me. Didn’t you always, somehow, think you’d be exempt? Your memories, which at present seem the most essential things in the world, are entirely dependent upon the neurons firing wildly in your brain. Soon they’ll be nothing at all, less than nothing, perhaps, and the only miserable time you have left will be spent here, God knows where waiting for the air to run out as the darkness becomes ever so thick.

And why hasn’t the air run out? I’ve been in This Room for what feels like days. I have dozed in and out of consciousness several times. I thought I might be dying of hunger or, indeed, thirst. I had taken to moaning to myself …… water …… water. It was all I could do. I have exhausted my throat from screaming, my tear ducts from crying, and my mind from wondering what the hell has happened to me. I barely have enough energy left to wish for the end. But in this confused mental haze, one thought appears in my mind…… Sanctuary! I cannot place it, yet I feel sure that word holds everything, the key to all the answers. It’s as though my mind is trying feebly to help me remember. But there isn’t much time to remember. A hissing noise makes me nearly jump out of my skin. It is the first noise not made by me that I’ve heard in quite a while. But where is it coming from? I cannot see anything, of course, but the smell in the room is rapidly changing. Whatever gas is pumped in the room works quickly; I don’t even have time to breathe.

With great effort, I turn my head to one side and the other.

Where, where am I?

I manage to utter through a mouthful of what tastes like gauze. How I let out that scream is anyone’s guess, yet I believe something came out of my raspy throat. It all seems like a nightmare. Have I just been dreaming? It’s impossible. Far too vivid and emotional, my throat feels raw from my attempts to scream. But again, I question what I am even doing here. My mind, blurred though it is, goes straight to the balls of gauze jammed in the back of my jaw, right over my wisdom teeth. Hell, I remember now; I never had them out when I was a teenager, like they say you’re supposed to, so by the time I was getting out of my teen years, they were giving me some trouble, pushing against my other teeth, poking through in strange places and causing pain. They were quite big, even as wisdom teeth go, so I had no choice. I had to get them removed. But how? I was finishing up my last year of secondary school. I had no money and I also owed a lot of it. My health insurance was worse than shit; it was non-existent. I couldn’t handle the pain or the payments. I was basically screwed.

CHAPTER THREE

What the heck?

"I suppose it’s time to tell you this now."

The voice startles me out of my senseless reverie. I have no idea where it came from, but its sound penetrates my eardrums like a hornet struggling to escape the confines of its nest. It has a robotic signature which is as annoying as it is menacing.

Tell me what? I utter as I cough that dreaded, gagging gauze out of my suffering gullet.

You’ve essentially signed your life away to us without reading what you signed. We are primarily a psychological agency working on emotional trauma and its after-effects. Soldiers coming home from war, that kind of thing. We simulated an experience you would find traumatic and studied your internal and external reactions carefully.

I can’t believe what my ears are hearing. This thing, this robotic thing or whatever it is, human or not, has been manipulating my whole being the entire time I have been in this dreadful state and for what? I still have no answers at all.

We will now provide you with an experimental medication to help you forget the experience altogether.

Now, just wait a Goddam minute. I demand some answers. You can’t deny me this much. I want to know who or what you are, why you have selected me for these hellish experiments, and for what purpose.

You are in no position to demand anything. Came the quick response from what seemed like nowhere in the room. Our laboratory staff would have asked you some well-placed questions when you were in a mild state of sedation, which would help us determine our experiments’ effects. The voice pauses. And then, of course, we removed your wisdom teeth, free of charge."

All this was said very matter-of-factly. I have a thousand things to say. But Where the hell am I, is all I can manage. Then there is utter silence for what seems like aeons. I am still attached to this ice-cold wall with an array of cord-like straps as unforgiving as poison ivy.

You will know more soon enough. I will first have you released.

It’s like someone has just offered me the key to freedom. Hearing these words gives me hope that whoever or whatever has placed me in this room can display at least a little compassion. I consider this for a moment. How and who or what is going to release me? There is nobody else in this room. There is only the sound of that hollow-sounding voice. Then it happened. I am cast onto the bare wooden floor like a pile of crumpled rags discarded from a laundry chute.

The bonds which had held me to that awful wall suddenly let go of me as if they had expended their usefulness. I lay where I have fallen for some time, unable to move a muscle. My body is numb from the horror of what it has experienced. When I can finally move a muscle, it’s like I am making an effort for the first time. There is no coordination of mind or body as I stumble repeatedly in my attempts to stand upright.

The darkness doesn’t help at all. It then dawns on me how destructive it must be for people who once had sight and then lost it. The feeling of incompetence must, at first, be immense. I feel deeply an unconscious fear that probably developed in childhood. I feel intrinsically nervous about what is happening but can’t pinpoint it. Because of the ever-present darkness, my anxiety has caught me off guard. Am I experiencing the impact of some trauma that I experienced unexpectedly and out of nowhere as a child? An experience which brought on fear and anxiety that still lingers due to that unresolved event.

Of course, you won’t be telling anyone about what you’ve seen here.

There is that annoying voice again. How can I tell anyone anything? I don’t even know where I am or how I got here. I still can barely move. I spring to my feet with a tremendous spurt of energy, such as a weight lifter might use in a ‘snatch and lift’ to win a title. My legs crumble as if they had no bone structure to support them. I think the uncalculated manoeuvre probably did more harm than good. I decide not to try this again. I begin to crawl along the wooden floor until I reach what feels like something sturdy. I grab the object and use it as a crutch to pull myself upright. The object turns out to be a chair upon which I quickly sit. That thin beam of light begins to penetrate the darkness again, but ever so slightly. I search the room but can’t discern anything that makes sense. Not enough light. Then the most dreadful thought comes to me. Is the darkness a sign that I am going blind? But why was I tied to a wall? Sheer and absolute terror paralyses me. I now feel threatened and in danger, and my definition of independence is challenged. I am trapped in a chair in a damp room. I cannot make sense of the room I am in; the echoes are too confusing and ever-changing.

Then I hear footsteps, followed by the laughter of a young child. Suddenly someone charges in and kicks one of the legs from under my chair. It, she or he quickly vanishes. Then the laughter again; I hear it’s from a young girl. It’s a mocking laugh. Again, someone or something charges in and kicks another leg from under the chair. I start to wobble. I feel water at my feet. It’s rising. Another leg is kicked from under the chair and more laughter. I don’t know where the person or thing is, but I know it’s there, looking at me, pointing at me. Finally, the last leg is kicked from under the chair, and I fall onto the wooden floor. The water is freezing cold in my mouth, and I can’t move my body.

I now have to assume some things. How fast is the water flowing into the room? If the room fills very quickly, I’ll be dead very soon. If the ceiling is too low, it won’t take long for the room to fill with water, and I’ll die. If the water is flowing slowly enough into This Room, there might be a chance for me to somehow find a way to escape being drowned. If the walls are weak, the water pressure might further weaken certain sections and create gaps for the water to spill out of the room. But the question is how, what, when, to get out and how long I can survive. Just as I inhale my last breath of the remaining musty air, the water starts to seep through the cracks in the wooden floor. Why it pooled in the first place, I have no clue. There is no evidence of any water main, tap or other water outlet. I panic; I’m paralysed! Will it happen again? Since the water somehow just appeared in this room out of nowhere, it is tough to define if the laws of physics, as I know them, exist here. Perhaps they do to some extent and at a more critical level and spatial perspective, which allows teleportation for the water to work. What am I thinking; teleportation? The realm of science fiction. However, the concept stays with me.

The ominous laughter stops. It trails off as abruptly as it had started, but its chilling sound makes the hairs at the back of my neck stand on end. That voice, demanding I tell nobody of my experience, sounded supremely confident that I would do as constrained. But I promise myself that if I ever escape this mess, the whole world will know what transpired here, and calamity will fall to the perpetrator or perpetrators. The intensity of the light grows, and I have to shield my eyes. Then I gasp in horror at what I see. Thankful that I have not gone blind but greatly disturbed by the scene before me. All I had conjured in my mind to this point becomes a blur.

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CHAPTER FOUR

The Demons

It’s easy for anyone of us to have dreams that appear to be unreal projections of images conjured up by our subconscious mind while in a deep sleep. How often do we awaken from our slumber in a state of sheer and unrivalled awe or shock? I can hardly ever recall the content of my dreams and have no fundamental understanding of why we dream. I know that there are times when I wake knowing I have experienced something like a hallucination with scant memory of the details. That’s ok. It’s when the details are vivid, intense and of a disturbing nature that I have shivers along my spine. Especially when I can’t explain them. I’ve been told that mental health disorders such as depression and anxiety, as well as bipolar disorder and other mood-related conditions, can trigger intense and sometimes disturbing or damaging dreams and nightmares. The medications for these conditions, including antidepressants and antipsychotics, are also associated with a higher risk of nightmares. I feel sure that none of these can account for the scene before me. A scene that presents itself in a manner so lurid that it quickly causes such horror and revulsion that I can barely hold back the troubled contents of my twisted stomach.

Something dreadful has been done. People have been tied up and repeatedly stabbed. Skulls have been fractured from several savage blows. Necks are bruised on some of the bodies, suggesting they have been strangled. Blood is everywhere. This small room has been turned into a torture chamber. All the time I am in This Room, I feel alone. How wrong can I be? As I scan the room, I discover more strangeness. There is not a single stitch of clothing anywhere in the room. There are tables, three or four of them and each has pieces of complex equipment placed in an orderly fashion. There are also monitors and computer arrays. Yet, all that I see seems somewhat odd. Nothing resembles equipment with which I am familiar. Nothing in the room is what I would consider to be standard.

What the hell has happened here? Everything remains hopelessly elusive. This is becoming one of those irritating mysteries that is nothing but a bunch of questions left in a hopelessly tangled mess. Why am I part of all of this? Who is that voice? Who are all these bodies? What in God’s name happened in this room and why?

I have no answers.

Where are you? I shout at the top of my voice.

There is no response. I walk around This Room, searching for a way out. I need to escape this nightmare. I have been dragged unwillingly into this hell hole. Now I find myself on a scary escape adventure. The thing I have to do is to escape the room’s horror and get back to safety. Easier said than done. There don’t appear to be any exits. Well, none that I can identify. I have to be careful. Sometimes horror rooms contain traps. But what other entrapment could be worse than the one I have already been thrust into? I must be resolute in my intention to escape and look for clues that might give me the advantage I desperately need. The stench emanating from the blood and the dead bodies is becoming oppressive. The demonic scene is now gradually becoming illuminated as the light intensifies. The light comes from a series of oblong lamps mounted along the entire length of one wall. It’s then that I see a solitary figure standing beside what looks like a massive screen on which appears constantly flickering number sequences that seem to have no logic or meaning. It’s all in green. I wonder if this could be the one whose voice I heard.

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Moments later, a heavy metal door opens very slowly. Its squeaky sound immediately gets my attention. I turn my head abruptly and notice the face of a little girl framed in jet-black hair staring in my direction. I’m startled by the ghostly apparition. Is she the one that screamed? As quickly as she appeared, she was gone again. The image of her contorted face is now burned into my brain. Who is she? And who is this tall, thin person standing next to the screen? Are they responsible for me being here and the carnage surrounding me? Surely not. But there is not another living creature in the room. A conjecture is useless. I’m getting nowhere. I approach the part of the room where that strange little girl had appeared. Perhaps that could be my way out. I’m shocked when I reach the wall; there is no sign of a door where there should have been one. Had I imagined that door and the girl? Do I imagine the tall thin person and all of what surrounds me in this God-forsaken room?

My attention then focuses on the huge screen. It is like a living, nearly omnipotent system with a mind of its own. It has turned itself off and then instantly comes back to life. The system begins to pulsate with new life. Electronic signals travelling at the immense speed of light (186,272 miles per second), the lifeblood of the huge mega-machine, flash through cables, bounce from satellite antennas and streak along microwave and optical communication channels. Or so I surmise. This has to be the stuff of advanced science and scientific experiments. But why the bodies? I focus on the monitor again. The person stands motionless. Perhaps he is giving instructions to the machine via some secret panel hidden from my field of vision. Intricate code sequences faultlessly guide trillions of bits of information to destinations unknown to me and for unknown purposes.

But why should any of this be of interest to me? This is just another demon I might have to contend with to escape the ordeal confronting me. This machine reminds me of the Brontosaurus of prehistoric times. It can probably solve any problem given to it by relying upon a cooperative community of computers to solve the prodigious problems it undertook. All for what purpose, I keep asking?

All I want to do is escape. I can’t escape; no one can save me. I don’t know where I am, so I have nowhere to go. Even if I escape, I can only pray and hope someone will find me. Are this complex machine, this tall thin man, and the little girl all part of a puzzle I must solve to escape this torture? Are these obscure things my only saviour? I have been tortured, been made to feel that I am nothing, that I am worthless and weak and can never be strong. I have been captivated and threatened. I look closer at that strange figure standing beside the big screen, still scrolling unintelligible hieroglyphics. The stranger is middle-aged; has a muscular face and grey eyes. Strong hands that could crumble anything he or it touches. If you think I like being here, you need to think again. I have been treated so poorly and am surrounded by death. Someone or something has betrayed me, perhaps it was a friend, and this is where it gets me. Someday, somehow, I will get my revenge. Someone will pay.

Inside This Room, I now notice a crippled bed, broken walls with no paint, spray-painted windows, and a creepy black door that seems to disappear into the fabric of the wall itself. I now become acutely aware of my nakedness. The cold penetrates every part of my being, and I feel lost and without life. The man or thing has a grip on my psyche such that I’m expected to be stranded here for a reason. I will leave here alive; I will get revenge once I do. I begin to question myself. Has my life been full of lies? Has not one person in my life told me the truth?

I can’t trust anyone, can’t talk to anyone. I can’t even believe what has happened in This Room of Demons, even though the evidence surrounds me. I blink, hoping to wake up. I feel like I am in a nightmare. It’s as if someone is out to get me. Someone wants me to suffer, but I didn’t do anything to deserve this. I need to get out of this darkness and into the light. I need to open my eyes to sunlight instead of suffering in fear. No matter what has happened, my eyes can’t make a tear. I want my life back; I want it to be the way it was. I want a fresh start in my life and for things to return to normal. But I must realise that things will not go as I desperately want. Now I have to conquer my fears, defeat the enemy and escape the torture and the demons at any cost. But how?

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An obscure image on one of the screens

CHAPTER FIVE

Why and How?

I’m trapped in a room with no way out but my own will. But how badly do I want to get out if the key is my will? This Room is unlike any other one I’ve been in before, apart from four walls, a floor and a ceiling. The floor isn’t that stable. It did hold that massive volume of water that nearly drowned me, but then the water seeped out through the many cracks. So, I try not to move around too much. Because of my self-esteem, fears and anguish, every move I make is premeditated with a high level of trepidation. The cracks and holes in the floor are evenly spaced, so it seems that the floor was built for a specific purpose, which has no immediate meaning to me other than the obvious.

Ashes spread everywhere, and there are empty vials and Petri dishes under the tables, with some wedged into the darkened cracks of the foundation. Although cold and wet, the four walls are made of their own individual materials…… addiction, misery, hopelessness and ambition; that’s also where the spot for the door is. Spread across the walls are holes from me slamming my head or swinging my fists from when I was suspended. There are some posters that I look at for motivation on the walls. But they only work to enrage me when I look at them. The walls depict despair, it seems. They change constantly, sometimes light, sometimes dark, sometimes I see images and sometimes not. Yet they are still walls that I can’t go past. The ceiling protects me from whatever is outside, a protection that I would prefer to be reversed to protect me from what’s inside this Room. I don’t know why I’m trapped in this Room. I don’t even know how I got here. This Room is a mess, but at the same time, it is technologically vibrant and equipped. Technology combined with misery, torture, murder and what appears to be human experimentation of a most bizarre kind. I’m falling apart psychologically, knowing I must find a way out…..soon.

So many memories come flooding back to me during this unwarranted confinement. Memories of the past manifest themselves as recurring dreams and nightmares. Dreams of mundane or ordinary life activities suggest a specific locale I might have inhabited during a past life. People who appeared regularly in my dreams and who may have had a special relationship with me in another life. All this is playing havoc with my brain while I try desperately to regain some form of sanity in this hell beyond my comprehension. I keep asking myself why me, and each time, the answer alludes me. If there is no answer to my predicament, why does it exist? How can an experience so horrid as this one have no suggestion of a beginning or an end? Is this an eternity created to delude one’s sense of self-consciousness by an unassuming entity with no boundaries or restraints? I know our memories can get worse as time goes on. Recollection of what I did yesterday is probably a lot better than for the same day three years ago. Yet, I often have moments when old and seemingly forgotten memories pop back into my mind. Perhaps I have visited my childhood home, walked into my old bedroom and been hit with feelings of my past. I have no idea why I’m having these memories, and why it is that I can suddenly remember things that happened so long ago and which I thought I had forgotten.

I now ask myself which of these muddles of memories is contributing to my current state of insecurity. It could be that each memory is associated with different parts of what is happening in This Room. Some may be similar because they share the exact location or mood or have some other factor in common. But what factor? Here I go again, questioning. Am I living out nightmares that I experienced in the past? What nightmares? Perhaps as a child. Many things were interpreted as frightening for me as a child. I had a compassionate and vulnerable nature that quickly fractured whenever the unknown or sinister confronted me. I was deeply disturbed by the sight of clowns and their unpredictable antics. Macabre Halloween costumes and associated activities were constantly terrorising for me.

What about mistakes of the past? Could any of these have influenced what’s happening to me now? Perhaps my past mistakes, decisions and behaviours could cause all this. A better outcome would have been if I had made different choices. Incorrect decisions about my career, education, children, relationships and self could all have somehow led to this unfortunate state. Should I now feel disappointment, frustration and helplessness because of what might have happened in my past? I certainly can’t change past events, so must I regret not being able to rectify my mistakes? Perhaps I should feel deep regret, and it’s without question that deep inside, I do feel this deep emotion. It troubles me now more than ever to think of the errors I made in my life, not only to myself but to others who mean so much to me. If This Room of Terror will be my punishment, then so be it. Let it be done. My past has reappearance in the present situation and has also taken away part of my self-esteem. It has made me question my self-worth. Wow, how can any part of me be deemed to be of some value in this cave of doom? Nothing makes sense. I don’t make sense. The world doesn’t make sense. My past haunting me doesn’t make sense. I’m in limbo, waiting to be redeemed by some unknown force. A force that has me entrapped in its evil den.

All of this tells me that I must take responsibility for some of my past actions. But I need to be very careful in doing so. Taking responsibility will involve analysing all the factors that led to the outcome within which I am trapped. Easier said than done. My religious upbringing in my early childhood and teen years might have unexpectedly influenced how my life panned out in later years. I’m of Italian heritage. I lived in a Catholic household in Italy and then in Australia. As a child, I heard many religious stories from parents and other devout Christians; we would be told about the many cases of alleged miracles of the Virgin Mary.

My favourites always were about the apparitions in Fatima, Medjugorje, and Lourdes and about how a statue of Mary started to cry real tears in Syracuse. In Primary school, the nuns would also tell us that Mary could appear to anyone if they were chosen. This often left me traumatised. On the farm, the toilet was not attached to the house; when I had to go, I always expected to see ghosts emerging from behind bushes. I always needed at least an hour to fall asleep because I thought about the Virgin Mary appearing. I was terrorised by the fact that she could supposedly speak with me if she appeared and was watching me every second of my life. This happened for at least a few years until some of my school friends told me it wasn’t true. It was all ‘crap’; I wasn’t sure whether to believe them, but it made me less anxious. I also noticed how many of these apparitions were seen by children or teens and how it was very probable that they just made up the stories to get attention. I also discovered how much money the Church makes with the sanctuaries they build on the sites of the apparitions and how people make up new apparitions to keep the sites popular. My whole childhood was very religiously dominated because, as a child, I was very quickly indoctrinated as everyone else. The same happened during my years at a Marist Brothers boarding school. I now have respect for religion but in a much different way. However, I cannot help but think that my early experiences with the Church and its indoctrinations might resurface, thus contributing to this new set of complex and hellish scenarios.

Why and how did this happen to me?

This is the one question that continues to plague my mind. I am despondent, worried, nervous and ill. I wonder now if life is worth living, and I ask myself repeatedly, Why did God let this happen to me? Yes, I’m calling on God; incidentally, it seems the only sane approach to finding the answer to my present difficulty. Of course, I could adopt the attitude of bold defiance and grimly be determined to fight against what I could refer to as my trials. Yes, perhaps all of this is part of some trial leading to a conviction to atone for my discretions of the past. Who the hell knows? Or I could give up with the fatalistic attitude that my troubles are unavoidable. But I think the best policy right now is to ask myself quietly and calmly, Why and how did all of this trauma come into my life, and did my somewhat less than the supportive attitude towards some of the Church’s religious doctrine or systems of doctrine proclaimed by ecclesiastical authority have an influence? Perhaps it’s not God. If not, is there some other superior entity at play here? The alien technology in This Room certainly could point to another source for the gruesome elements in this Room. But what? My first temptation right now is to reason that I will be dealing with something I at least have some knowledge of, God. If it’s God punishing me for some sins that I have committed, then I’m hoping that the punishment will soon end because the God in my Christian upbringing is supposedly an all-forgiving God. While this could be true, it cannot be the principal reason for my distress. Instead, He might have purposely extended my life so that my questions might be answered. If God’s primary purpose was ultimate punishment, He could have taken my life away well before now. Instead, I still live in this horror, and the fundamental questions still need answers.

I must have been bad, or this abuse and trauma would not have happened to me. Is there something wrong with me? It must be my fault! I must have done something wrong! I wish I could come up with a good answer to Why me? Yet, I remain mystified as to why I must suffer so immensely. I do not know why these bad things are happening to me. What does matter is what I decide to do about what has happened to me. I wish someone could help me reduce the symptoms that are getting in the way of my exiting this nightmare. Eventually, I must find the meaning of my pain and seek my escape. I try to comfort myself by believing it will happen, that I am doing fantastic, having survived so far.

I promise myself that whatever I am going through will be over soon. It’s okay; I can get past this. It probably happened to me because someone or something believes that I am strong enough to handle it. Right now, I feel the exact opposite, but I remember someone from my past saying, Nothing is permanent; you will be a better human being after this; it will give you an experience or a lesson. Learn from it. It’s okay to feel low; everyone has been through some trauma where we question why this happened to me; I didn’t do anything wrong. It is never about that; maybe God has a plan for you; trust it!

Here I go bringing God back into the picture.

A Buddhist would say, Shit happens, and that’s that. Small comfort for me. It is just one of those crappy things that happen; anybody can say this. But is there a proper time for horrid things to happen? Why should they happen at all? So, should I shrug my shoulders or grit my teeth and consider it a test of my patience and ability to adjust to unfavourable circumstances mentally? I know that much resilience will be needed to overcome this misfortune with patience and a certain degree of dignity. But why mention dignity? I’m naked, have been suspended from a wall in a dungeon-like room, surrounded by bloodied bodies and technological equipment of which I have not the slightest comprehension. Then my subconscious kicks in …. Don’t whine, don’t cry, think, square your shoulders and look forward before you fall into a hole of blackest depression. Your choice!

CHAPTER SIX

The Intruder

I sense my isolation as never before. I feel completely abandoned. The corpses offer no compensation for the absence of living humans. I still needed to learn whether the tall figure beside the screens was human. The machines continue with their oscillating humming. Two magnetically charged poles across the Room begin to fluctuate in unison but in deviation from what appears on the screens. Snapping like an angry whip, an electric charge forms a continuous link between the two poles. It weaves and twists in timeless obedience as the intensity of the charge fluctuates. A shimmering double helix forms equidistant between the magnetic poles. The electric field pulsates with greater power, and for just an instant, a microsecond, the delicate structure illuminates the once pitch-black Room in a kaleidoscope of colour.

In that instant, I am the intruder, and again question why. I didn’t choose to be in this place.

What the heck!

I cannot move.

What’s happening?

All these thoughts run through my mind as I will every muscle to move. All to no effect. I then feel the pressure on my head moving me forward. Slowly, almost as if in increments, but moving undoubtedly. I try to call out, but I can’t speak, just as I can’t move. The pressure is at my head and moving down my neck and torso. For some mystifying reason, I remember reading an article about sleep paralysis and how most who experience it also hallucinate and swear something evil is in the Room with them. I don’t know why or how I remember this piece of knowledge, but I figure that I must be experiencing sleep paralysis of some kind. I have been tied to the wall and must have been unconscious for part of that time. Unfortunately, I can’t remember how to combat the hallucinations I am facing if this was a hallucination because it does not feel like one.

I try hard to move, and I strain my neck in the process. It feels like I’m pulling my head out of drying cement as I try to escape the grip that continues tightening with each move I struggle to make. As soon as my head moves a little, it is snapped back. I spin around simultaneously. Nothing. What did I expect? To see one of the headless bodies standing behind me, ready to force me into submission? Ha, the whole experience seems silly, but it isn’t over. Not by a long shot. Although I cannot see anyone behind me, something has attached itself to me with a purpose in mind. As the supposed intruder in this Room, I hypothesise to be part of a creation of the terror within this real or unreal environment and associate it with being paralysed and manifesting myself in the form of hallucinations. Does this make sense? Am I responding to being stuck in limbo between conscious and unconscious?

There was no face when I first turned, no body, no colour. But as the room begins to darken again, I feel a manifestation of evil gathering together to form a single dark silhouette in the form of a man, the thing next to the screen. My fear transforms me into a wild beast determined to escape this horrible figure of darkness and whatever it is that has me in its firm grasp. I begin to panic again. My heart is nearly beating out of my chest. The wooden floor crackles under my feeble legs as I try unsuccessfully to flee. Then I hear a blood-curdling howl from the tall figure’s head that makes my blood run cold and fixates me to the spot where I stand. I fall to the floor.

I come to my senses after what seems like hours, but I have no concept of time. I have no idea how long I’ve even been in This Room. But time is of no consequence; it doesn’t matter. I’m unsure what matters other than an insatiable urge to leave. I am gasping, panting, and choking to regain normal rhythm. Cupping my hands towards my face, I attempt to wipe out the events. I finally manage to get myself back onto my feet. As I turn, I see a shadow move about the room. But the room is empty of life other than mine. I look behind where I am standing…..nothing! I look toward where the double helix has formed, but it reveals no clues. The tall figure is ever present, and for just an instant, I detect a slight movement, but my congealed eyes could be deceiving me. Within seconds, the figure is in front of my face looming there in front of me, replacing my view. My eyes widen and I open my mouth to scream, but the figure envelopes and consumes my very essence. Everything about its shape is convoluted. Its movements made no sense in my tangled brain, yet when I first cast my gaze on this thing, it had shape and form that registered a kind of acceptable familiarity. Its pattern continues to alter and as new outlines configure, I imagine this thing as the creation of some sick person’s horror fantasy. Or perhaps all this has something to do with the screens and other sophisticated equipment in the Room. Could it be that the bodies on the floor went through a similar process of finality as this creature? The mere thought of this happening has filled me with renewed fear.

The creature’s movements have now stopped. All the gyrations culminate abruptly and all is still. It stands before me, menacing, daring, almost inviting me to move to perhaps allow it to pounce. I lunge forward without considering my debilitated state, expecting to make complete contact with this unsymmetrical apparition. The pain that now reverberates through my entire body is matched only by the shock that I have effectively met no resistance from that which I have attacked.

No! It’s still there, behind me now. It hadn’t moved. My body has just penetrated straight through this thing. What the hell constitutes its structure; is it human, inanimate or maybe alien? Who is the intruder now……me or this thing of no substance? There has to be an explanation. I’m either seeing this form, or it’s just a figment of my disturbed imagination. Regardless, all this is playing havoc with my brain and sensibility, so much so that I am floundering in this torment.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Just me and this Room

The air is thin! My primary concern has to be to find some way to escape. I’ll be dead in under 2 minutes, for that’s about as long as I know I can hold my breath if the air in the Room runs out. I discovered this during army training when I almost drowned during a field exercise required for consideration to be admitted into Armoured Corps. I failed and had to be rescued. I then knew how long I could survive without air. Some others must have had greater lung capacity as they emerged out of the water without any sign of diminished breathing. Perhaps this Room is an airlock in outer space. So, I just need to push the switch and wait for the air to enter through the vents. Oh, wait. There is no switch, there are no vents. Just me and the walls that are adorned with horrid elements. Damn.

If indeed I’m actually in a room in space ……… how that can happen, I have no concept …………. part of what will kill me in a vacuum is the absolute coldness of space. If only the walls were warm. I’d flatten myself up against them to maximise heat transfer. No switch, no vents, no air, no heat. Just me and the walls in this Room of decaying corpses, machines and a holographic creature. Perhaps I can find heat if I somehow lean against one of these massive humming machines, which must generate some heat transfer. The electrostatic force created should allow me to lightly bind to the side of the machine or computer stack, and the Pauli-exclusion principle will act as a barricade to protect part of my body from the vacuum, which inevitably will result if all the air is gone. No switch, vents, air, heat, electrostatic force, or Pauli-exclusion principle. Just me and the walls. Nothing stops me from just escaping by floating through the wall. It cannot be sold without the Pauli-exclusion Principle.¹ It is probably just a hologram or an illusion. Just drift on through the walls and I’m out of the Room. There is no switch, vents, air, heat, electrostatic force, Pauli-exclusion principle, momentum, drift, nothing to push off against, just me and the walls. By now, I should be dead from the vacuum around me… That is a form of escape, isn’t it?

There is no switch, vents, air, heat, electrostatic force, Pauli-exclusion principle, momentum, drift, nothing to push off against, death, or vacuum, just me and the walls. This makes no sense. No air and no vacuum? No death? How can that be? This must be a dream. Time to wake up. No switch, no vents, no air, no heat, no electrostatic force, no Pauli-exclusion principle, no momentum, no drift, nothing to push off against, no death, no vacuum either, no dream, no waking just me and the walls.

Given everything I know, can I be sure I’m alive? Perhaps this is hell and my final demise. It is time to pray for GOD to save me. No switch, no vents, no air, no heat, no electrostatic force, no Pauli-exclusion principle, no momentum, no drift, nothing to push off against, no death, no vacuum either, no dream, no waking, no life, no hell, no demise, no GOD to save me just me and the walls. Perhaps I just need to wait for my sentence in this purgatory to pass. I should be unconcerned about my predicament, like a stone in a wall. No switch, no vents, no air, no heat, no electrostatic force, no Pauli-exclusion principle, no momentum, no drift, nothing to push off against, no death, no vacuum either, no dream, no waking, no life, no hell, no demise, no GOD to save me, no sentence, no purgatory, no time, no concern, just me and the walls and the gore.

How can this be? I was a part of the wall. Acceptance is the key. No switch, no vents, no air, no heat, no electrostatic force, no Pauli-exclusion principle, no momentum, no drift, nothing to push off against, no death, no vacuum either, no dream, no waking, no life, no hell, no demise, no GOD to save me, no sentence, no purgatory, no time, no