The Man Upstairs.

How long has it been? Days? Weeks? I am losing my mind. I am frightened, confused, and angry. It is hard to keep track of time in this place. I want to see the stars again. The options in front of me are hardly equivalent, but for the first time, I?ve been given a choice. I?m using this weird device in front of me to call out for your help. I don?t know whom this will reach, but it?s my only shot.
Bear with me; let me start at the beginning. I promise I will keep it short. Note: do not trust everything I tell you. Do not take everything I tell you as a fact. Trust me when I say I will not tell any lies on purpose nor will I twist facts even so slightly.
Let?s start with my discovery so far. I?m in a rectangular building made of whitewashed concrete. A corridor runs down the middle of the building. Along the corridor are six little rooms, three on each side. They are identical except for the fact that it?s mirrored on one side. Each one is furnished with an iron-framed bed and a bedside cabinet. There?s a bathroom at one end of the corridor and a kitchen at the other.
Opposite the kitchen, in the middle of an open area, there?s a rectangular wooden table with six wooden chairs. There are no windows. No doors. The only way to get in or out is through this metal hatch attached on the low ceiling of the building, just above wooden table.
There?s a clock on the corridor wall. It?s broken. The sweep of the clock moves back and forth stuck between the five and six. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. At first I was glad, I thought of it as a sign of life. Now it drives me... insane. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. It?s always 02:02 AM.
The only reason I am here is because of one small mistake. Throughout life I?ve made plenty and I?m only 19 years of age. My life was a numbers game of peculiarity. I knew at some point I would step on big ****. No one told me it would be now. And the way it happened still bothers me. I thought he was old. He gave me the impression he was old. I thought he was an easy prey. That?s how I fell for it.
Please don?t judge me. The doctor had offered me a fortune. I did what I had to. I did not care about the beak-like mask that he used to hide his identity nor the fact I?ve been instructed to stab an old and helpless man. He paid a fortune for a job he had promised would be easy. Given the opportunity wouldn?t you have done the same?
I had found my target with ease; or rather, the doctor revealed his daily routine and location. At night, when the old man hopped on the last train home, I followed him to his house. From the outside, I could see the light turned on through the curtainless windows. I waited half an hour till he switched it off, and then another before I approached the front door. I grabbed my tools to pick lock the door, only to realize the man did not lock the door at all. Foolish, I thought. I tiptoed the floor in the dark. I squinted my eyes, barely seeing a thing. After a couple of steps the floor creaked.
That wasn?t me.
I heard the front door close behind me. Slam.
And that?s all I remember.
It was dark when I woke, my body still motionless like a block of ice. At some point in time, a silent flash lit up the place. My brain was still numb. I couldn?t think, I couldn?t move. I could barely speak; and to whom? All I could do was stand and breath. I examined the place thoroughly, every nook and cranny, and concluded the only way out was through the metal hatch.
I moved the wooden table beneath the hatch and leaped on it. I placed my hand firmly on he metal pull handle of the hatch and jerked it. And again. And again. I could almost feel the skin on my palm tear.
?Let me out!? I said.
I huffed and puffed, placing my hand on my lower back. I twisted a muscle*.* But that didn?t stop me. I jerked the handle now with both hands.
A hissing sound stirred from the corners of the building. Some gassy chemicals flooded in. I jumped off and ran to my cell. It kept up with me. I passed out. And ever since, my memory has been playing tricks on me. The details were off from time to time. The smallest details. The man above thought I wouldn?t notice. But I did.
The next time I woke the place wasn?t empty. A little girl sat at end of my bed.
I wasn?t alone.
The girl was shy. She looked away, her lips not moving. After a long couple of seconds she opened her mouth. ?How are you feeling?? she asked.
?I?ve been better.? I said.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath as I studied the girl. She looked at most 11 years old, her cloths dirty, hair all messed up. Emotions welled up inside me. She?s just a little girl. Did I care? Not really. What happened to her had nothing to do with me. But a man capable of doing this to a little girl would not be kind to me. And I wanted to survive.
Her name was Lily. It was her birthday when it happened. Her dad took her to the mall to get her first necklace, one with her name on it. After the purchase, her dad asked let her wait outside of a public bathroom. She waited bravely, playing with the silver necklace around her neck. He never came back. When evening came, a security man told her the mall was about to close. She cried her eyes out.
The man said her dad might be home already and offered her a ride. The next thing she remembered was waking up enclosed in these walls.
?Can I please stay here with you?? she asked.
?I don?t mind,? I said.
From that point on, people kept appearing one by one. Not long after, Neil claimed one of the rooms; my room. He was a big man, twice my size. I have to admit, the thought occurred that if food and goods ever got scarce, I haven?t got much leverage against him. He could snap me like a twig if he wanted to. Nevertheless, he wanted the room closest to the kitchen, so I moved.
My eyes snapped open, my heart pounding, cold sweat covered my body. My breaths were short and sharp.
?Poor soul, you must be thirsty. Let me get you some tea from the kitchen,? an old woman said as she walked out of my room.
The hell?
Not even a minute later, the old woman returned and held out her gnarled fingers around the cup.
?Thanks...? I said.
Her eyes were in constant motion, scanning me. The old lady's smile was out of place. When I looked deep into her lifeless eyes I sensed deep hope. It made me uncomfortable.
?I appreciate the gesture,? I said. ?But I don?t feel comfortable when people watch me sleep.?
She didn?t stop looking, her eyes grew vacant. With each tick of the clock, her skin looked more pale. Her quiet demeanor was gone, replaced despair. But she grasped the message and walked out.
My relationship with these three was? how should I call it? Based on lies, I suppose. The old woman was never visibly unkind to me. she was always smiling, or rather grinning. She faked her sincerity. Despite her frail appearance and tender expression, I knew there was more behind that mask. I knew benign shimmered behind those facet of wrinkles.
I got along with Neil. I made sure of that. If it came down to it, I could deal with an old hag. Neil I had to keep close. Close enough that when time came and I had to stab him in the back, he would never see it coming.
From time to time, Lily would come to me for comfort. And I would just tell her lies to make her feel better. I had no trouble telling lies and at the same time I avoided having to deal with a kid crying.
?Why did the man upstairs lock us up?? she would ask.
?I don?t know. But he?ll be sorry if I get my hands on him.?
?W-what if he comes down here?? She was shaking like a blade of grass.
?I won?t let him do anything to you.?
?You promise??
?Yeah.?
?What is your name??
?My name is Ben. I don?t like my name.?
?I like it. Who gave you the name??
?My dad. I don?t like him either.?
?Okay.?
I settled her down and comforted her. Gave her a smile from time to time. During these times, I tried to convince myself I did it all out of pity for her, but a small part of me admitted that maybe I didn?t want to be alone. Whenever she curled up into a ball against me, I knew we both embraced the moment of shared loneliness. I stole the blankets and pillows from the spare rooms, made myself a little nest by the door. It reminded me a bit of the streets. She slept on my bed. The hours floated by.
And then a sequence of weirdness took place.
Food ran short. One day the man above decided we didn?t need breakfast anymore. That was a theory Neil palmed off on us. I had another. Neil kept it all for himself. No one liked the man upstairs, but he had always been fair.
Today, when he was in the bathroom, I sneaked to his room.
It was locked. Plates, glasses, cups, forks, and knives; all from plastic. What else? Pillows, toilet paper, tea bags. I named everything I could find in the place. I know my memory played tricks sometime, but I made a mental note of everything here, and I was certain there were no locks. There?s a fixed set of objects in this place. If something broke, it was replaced the next time we all woke up. It?s always been like that. Nothing else. How did he get his hands on a lock?
My heart raced. I didn?t know what to do. Maybe it wasn?t a big deal. Maybe he hid it before he was stripped? But what if he was the man upstairs hiding among us? Before I recovered from the initial shock, I hear noises from the two rooms that weren?t used. There were four of us total. The two rooms, supposed to be empty, definitely weren?t.
My heart beat harder, chills ran down my spine, when the clock loomed over me. It wasn?t 02:02 AM.
I stormed to my room, light headed. A strange device lied on my bed. There were letters on the screen: Due to shortage of food, one of you die. Note: beggars can be choosers.
I sat there for a while in the petrified darkness, attempting to calm down. I thought calm thoughts and silenced the rage that was messing my mind. I thought of the empty streets at night, so calm. I thought of Lily and her blue eyes. Was she alright?
The old hag let herself in. Her eyes met mine for what felt longer than a second. She held a bottle in her hand. ?Beggars can be choosers,? she said with a hint of misery. ?The man upstairs must?ve given everyone the same message.? She stared at me wide-eyed, noticed me trembling. ?Oh, poor poor soul. Beggars can be choosers means he doesn?t care who of us goes.? She wiggled the bottle between her fingers. ?It?s cyanide. He gave me the option to pick.?
The air was thick with moisture. I felt dizzy. The walls closing in. I lost my posture, barely holding balance using my bedside cabinet, as I knocked down a cup. Tea spilled onto my feet. It was still hot.
A cup? Of ? tea?
A moment of clarity struck me. The cup of tea that fell, she offered to me, not months ago, not weeks ago. That happened earlier today. She took the moral high ground and left the kid alone. Neil was granted a lock for his door. I was the only one left. It was simply a process of elimination. What did the man upstairs give me? How is this fair? This stupid device isn?t doing any good. I wasn?t ready to meet my end. If anyone, it should be her; she already had one foot in the grave. The man upstairs said one of us had to die. I hoped he kept his words.
I grabbed her before she could run, swung her onto my bed, my hands grasping her throat. She clawed my fingers, gasping for air, kicking her legs, dangling like a fish. Her eyes burned with emptiness. I stared blankly at the back of my shivering hands. My hands were all... wrinkled. Her heart beat slower, familiar tears trickled down her cheek, her silver necklace snapped in two, a small silver name plate with four letters engraved on it: Lily.
Then a piercing scream came from the shower.


Source.