One Way Out

By Eric Hinrichs

"One Way Out" takes readers on a thrilling journey of suspense and survival. Danny, Phoebe, Chris, Trev, and Maria expect a mundane detention, but instead find themselves transported into an uncharted realm filled with treacherous puzzles and relentless danger. Their reality shifts drastically, replaced by a high-stakes game of life and death. The rules are simple: they must work together, face their fears, and solve the enigmas that could lead them to safety. Yet, as they unravel each riddle, they grapple with an unnerving question—will they survive to find the One Way Out? This heart-stopping adventure, suitable for readers of all ages, challenges the mind and spirit and asks: could you solve the puzzles, and would you survive the journey?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798350939903

Book preview

Chapter 1

I’m Back!

Here I go, another detention with Mr. Stametz.

Danny threw opened the detention classroom door with a loud Hello, Mr. Stametz! Danny McJames is back!

Danny entered the room with the confident swagger of one who had seen it all before and wasn’t affected, thank you very much. Detention was no big deal; Danny got detention all the time. That’s what happened when you were the King of Pranks at Palisades Middle School. To Danny’s surprise, Mr. Stametz wasn’t there. Odd, thought Danny. Mr. Stametz is always on time.

With no audience, Danny deflated. Was he in the right room? He poked his head back out the doorway to check the room number against his detention slip. Room 136, all right. Definitely not the usual detention room. And where was Mr. Stametz? He was never late.

Where did this room even come from? It was an interior decorator’s nightmare that reminded Danny of a long-neglected basement. The walls were painted a sickly green that almost made him queasy just looking at them. Mismatched worn and peeling linoleum tiles on the floor didn’t help. The flickering overhead fluorescent bulbs did not improve the creepiness of the room either. Old, scarred desks were scattered about the room in a semblance of rows and aisles. A large wooden teacher’s desk was at the far end of the room in front of ancient slate blackboards that hadn’t been cleaned in years.

Danny wandered into the classroom and the door shut behind him with a dull thud that sounded like a dungeon walling off a prisoner from the rest of the world. Danny gulped and made a beeline to sit as far from the teacher’s desk as he could get, where he plopped down into the chair. Now all he had to do was wait for Mr. Stametz to show up and find out what dumb thing the school had dreamt up for his punishment this time.

The day of The Incident, Danny woke up extra early. He was excited about his plans for the day and he needed to get to school early. He threw on some baggy jeans and an old Three Stooges T-shirt and used his fingers to comb his sandy blond hair. He grabbed his backpack, which was suspiciously bulging that morning, and ran out of the back door to his bike. Soon he was pedaling furiously while occasionally looking at his watch. If he hurried, he figured, he should be at school in plenty of time for his plan.

Danny was proud to say that if you look up practical jokes or pranks in the dictionary, it would not be a surprise if the definition mentioned Danny McJames. His love for pranks and mischief started at an early age; even as a young boy, he would get into situations that did not have the best outcome. He had no desire to be an athlete, but lived for pulling off pranks. He didn’t take life seriously despite the best efforts of his parents.

Danny thought school was a waste of time. Who needed math? He could do your basics—that was all you needed, right? After all, what else did you need to do with math? And geography? Who cared where the Azores were—he wasn’t planning on going there so why worry about where they were or what they did there? And what was it with social studies? Who cared what people did way back when? Egyptians? Mayans? Roman Senators? They’re no longer around so why would they matter to him? They certainly were not going to show up in his neighborhood any time soon.

The only thing Danny thought school was good for was lunch and endless opportunities for practical jokes. He seemed to spend so much time in detention it was a wonder he learned anything at all, but every year he managed to advance to the next grade.

Fifteen minutes after leaving his house, Danny arrived at school. He locked up his bike and sprinted up the front steps; once through the entrance, he made his way to Ms. Quinby’s art class. If his plan was to work, he had to get things in place before the start of school—before Ms. Quinby arrived for the school day.

When the bell rang, signaling that the first class of the day had begun, Ms. Quinby’s art class took their assigned seats while chattering amongst themselves.

Ms. Quinby clapped her hands together to get the students’ attention. Class, quiet please! The class settled in and grew reasonably quiet—especially Danny.

Now, today we are going to do something very special. As you know, each year Palisades Middle School holds its annual art competition. This year the theme is modern abstract. I know you will find it absolutely stimulating, as do I. This form of art allows you to express yourself without limits, to explore the corners of your mind and creativity. Isn’t that wonderful? Ms. Quinby waited gleefully for a reaction, but the class was silent. Ms. Quinby didn’t let the lack of a response dampen her enthusiasm.

So, class, today we are going to use our tempura paints as the medium. I’ve set out opened paint jars on each of your tables, along with canvases, poster boards, and a box with paint brushes and paint sponges that you can use for your painting. And I have wonderful news for you! Each of your paintings will be entered into the annual art competition, where the winner will get their work displayed in the school entrance! Isn’t that grand!

Ms. Quinby looked around the room. Even the lure of a competition didn’t excite the students. Ms. Quinby continued, her enthusiasm unabated.

Very well then, class. I will join you in this artful endeavor. She picked up two jars of paint. To start with, I will be using a coral pink and a lovely marine blue. She placed both jars next to an easel already set up with a blank canvas and held the jar of coral pink front of her for the class to see.

Now, we need a paint brush. Open the box on your desk and select a paint brush or paint sponge. Ms. Quinby opened her paint box and screamed, letting go of the jar. It hit the ground and broke, splashing coral pink paint everywhere. A small green head peeked out from the box and seemed to look around, trying to get a measure of its surroundings.

Ribbit! Ribbit!

A frog hopped awkwardly out of the box onto the canvas lying on Ms. Quinby’s table while coral paint dripped off its back and legs.

Ribbit! Ribbit!

It then hopped off the canvas onto the floor and was soon joined by other frogs as students opened their boxes of brushes. Soon the classroom was filled with the sound of frogs calling out to each other. In the chaos, paint jars were knocked over and paint spread everywhere.

Ribbit! Ribbit!

Frogs were hopping every which way, which the class thought was the coolest thing ever. Some of the boys—and a few girls—started chasing the frogs, trying to catch them. Other students screamed and ran around, frantically trying to get away from the frogs. More frogs popped their heads out and added to the chaos. It wasn’t long before the entire class was filled with frogs croaking and kids screaming and laughing. Some of the kids clearly did not like frogs. Mindy Parker was especially upset when her new jeans and blouse were splashed with sunset red and holly green by a rather large frog and his companion, although it was said the frog’s footprints made for a rather interesting design.

Frogs were hopping and croaking all over the canvases with Ms. Quinby in hysterics. Paint was on everyone’s clothes, on canvases—they weren’t blank anymore!—on Ms. Quinby’s desk, on the floor and tables. The students that were running around trying to catch the frogs found it next to impossible, with the paint making them slippery little buggers.

Chaos reigned. Ms. Quinby just stood in place, screaming and pulling her hair. A frog hopped onto her desk, looked up at her, and let out a rather boisterous ribbit. Ms. Quinby looked at the frog and fainted right then and there! The frog looked at her on the floor, let out another ribbit, and hopped away.

It took the rest of the day to catch all the frogs. The students went to the gym to wash and change into their gym clothes, as their clothes were covered in a kaleidoscope of colors. Ms. Quinby was taken to the school nurse to recover. She was very jittery after that; her classes only used crayons the rest of the year. It is thought Ms. Quinby finally lost it when a painting by one of the frogs won the school’s art competition later that year.

As for Danny, it was the best day of his life. He just sat back and laughed at everything that was happening around him. But the school soon figured out Danny was the prankster, which was how he found himself now sitting in detention waiting for Mr. Stametz to show.

Not long after Danny sat down, the detention door opened and in walked Chris Price. Chris looked the athlete he was: tall, slim, and fit, yet not gangly. He was slightly tan with unruly brown hair. He walked with that self-assured stride of someone whose excessive self-confidence bordered on cockiness. He saw Danny and nodded.

Hi, Danny.

Hi, Chris. What are you doing here?

Ah, I like to think it is a bit of misunderstanding. Teacher thinks I was cheating and, well, here I am.

That sucks. You have to tell me about it… Hey, what about the game Saturday? You’re playing, right?

Chris reddened. No, as of now I’m not, but I’m hoping coach will straighten things out in time.

Danny was surprised. If you don’t play, that could make things tough for us! The Wildcats are a good team. We need you if we want any chance of winning!

Yeah, that’s a given. Chris’s ego was easily stroked. That is why I expect this misunderstanding to be cleared up by then. I’m not worried. But, meanwhile, I’m stuck in this dump of a room.

Yeah, tell me about it. I didn’t even know this room existed. Danny looked around uneasily. This isn’t the usual detention room.

It isn’t? I wouldn’t know. This is my first detention. Chris looked around the room. Boy, if this isn’t an ugly room!

Yeah, really.

Chris dropped into the desk near Danny. No teacher? Maybe we can go home, you think?

Danny looked over at Chris. I wouldn’t try anything. It would just make things worse. I figure we just chill until the teacher gets here. If Mr. Stametz doesn’t show up, I’ll just tell Principal Miller that our wonderful detention teacher didn’t show. That way we have an excuse if we leave early.

Chris thought about what Danny said. I guess you’re right. Probably should do that and not risk getting benched for the game. With that, Chris sat back and resigned himself to wait.

So, tell me, what happened that caused you to end up in detention?

Chris shrugged. I was stupid, really.

Chapter 2

Don’t be so Testy!

Chris Price was the future all-star receiver for Palisades High School—at least in his own mind. Chris was always the jock since he was big enough to hold a football in his hands. His father was a high school standout, so, naturally, Chris had to be as well. His father expected it. When the time came, every day after school, Chris’s father would run drills with Chris, practicing throwing and catching a football, the proper way to read defenses, how to run the perfect route, and the best technique for tackling an opponent. By the time Chris was in seventh grade, he was far and away the best and most polished football player at Palisades Middle School in a long time.

His goal was a football scholarship to a university such as Penn State or Pitt. Maybe even a free ride to one of the southern powerhouse teams such as Alabama or Georgia. Well, maybe not Georgia. Chris wasn’t very fond of peaches.

Chris would joke to his teammates in the locker room after practice that his name was Price because he was worth it. Usually, his teammates would just moan and good naturedly throw their wet socks and towels at him.

Certainly, Chris had a promising future ahead of him. Football was his life. School, well, that was another matter. Chris did not see the upside of school. In his mind, all school was good for was to play football. He knew he had to have good grades to play, but he also knew he was good, a potential star for Palisades football. Chris’s football prowess, combined with an occasional word from his coach to his teachers asking for a little help with Chris’s test scores, ensured Chris would pass his courses. Chris didn’t really try to study. Who had the time? Chris would do anything not to study, even if that meant borrowing homework—or paying for it.

He had practice and training every day. Why did he need to know history or English or algebra? What did any of that have to do with football? Once he made the big time, he would have his people handle such things. Yes, Chris concluded, he had it all figured out and then some. His grades may not be stellar and they could hurt his chances of a scholarship, but as long as he excelled in football, he reasoned, there would be a workaround, a look in the other direction.

Okay, I want to see a crossing slant from the tight end and down and outs from the wide receivers. Coach Silcox looked towards the quarterback. Russell, I want you to go through your progressions and target the receivers as your primary. The tight end is your check down, got it? Okay, on my signal.

Coach Silcox blew his whistle. The center snapped the football, the line executed their blocks, and Russell faded back while tracking his receivers. He saw a break in coverage on Chris running down field on the left side and threw a perfect spiral in his direction. Chris sped up, timing his run to catch the ball in stride. The ball came at Chris about chest high; Chris reached out with soft hands and pulled the ball in, tucking it into his arm where it would be protected. John Nozad was one of the school’s best defenders, which was why he was defending against Chris. Chris saw John turn to cut him off but Chris anticipated John’s move and with a deke and a juke put John on his backside. From there it was a simple run down the sideline into the end zone.

Yeah! Great job team! That’s the way to execute! That’s how it’s done, baby! yelled out Coach Silcox. Okay, everyone circle around. The players trotted back to the line of scrimmage where Coach Silcox was standing. Okay, listen up. First, terrific throw, Russell. If we can get those one-on-ones like that on Chris in the game this weekend, we will be in fine shape. Chris, great concentration, and that was a nice move on John there.

Thanks, Coach! beamed Chris.

John, nice try on the coverage, but you were going up against our best in Chris, so don’t be hard on yourself out there. Russell made a terrific throw and Chris, well, you know how hard he is to cover. I know you will not let that happen to you in the game—their receivers are not as quick as Chris, so all is good.

Thanks, Coach. John looked at Chris, who winked. Chris knew John was a good defender and would have no problem this weekend playing defense. John knew it too. He knew Chris was so good of a receiver that there were very few defenders who could cover him in the open field.

Coach Silcox continued. Alright, we had a good practice. I expect to see the same effort this weekend from all of you. Remember, if we win, we’re in the playoffs. Hear me? Playoffs! So, there will be no losing this weekend! I need all of you to be ready and focused for the game. Do I make myself clear? Coach did not wait for a reply. Practice is done for today. Go home and I’ll see you back here Friday for walk throughs. The team grabbed their gear and drifted off to clean up and catch the after-hours bus home.

Chris took off his helmet and stuffed it into his gear bag while grabbing a towel to dry off.

Oh, Chris, do you have a minute? I need to speak to you about something.

Sure, Coach. What’s up?