I have nothing left. I have no money to buy myself out of here. I have no friends who could help. I have no safe space where I could hide. I still have the tablet I am writing on, but no way to recharge it. Once the battery runs out, I won’t even have light. I’ll be trapped down here in the dark, listening to the thing behind the metal door as it tries to force its way out. Claws scraping over metal - howling and shrieking - those will be the last sounds I hear in this world.
I have nothing left, but I still have hope.
I still have hope, and that’s the most terrifying thing of them all.
-
I bought hope in early summer from the fortune teller at a local fair. I was in a foul mood that day. I hadn’t wanted to go to the fair in general, nor had I wanted to enter the fortune teller’s tent in particular, but my friends had forced me along, and the old woman running the tent had promised me my money back should I be dissatisfied by her service.
It was probably this last part that convinced me to give in. She’d jump through all kinds of hoops to put up some show and impress me, and I would demand my money back anyway. Maybe screwing the old carny out of her pay like this would somehow lighten my spirits. It was a cruel and sadistic thought, but that was the state of mind I was in at the time.
She directed me to sit at the other end of a small table. Cheap glow-in the dark stickers adorned the tablecloth. Her fingers brushed over the tarot cards lying front of her.
“Hmm. Let’s see. Let me see…. Ah… There it is… Your destiny…” She flipped the first card. “The ace of pentacles. Wealth - money - opportunity… The picture is becoming clearer. Yes - You have just graduated business school - top of your class - and you have worked out a foolproof plan to make money. It will make you rich. It will lead you right to the top.” She flipped the next card.
“The tower… Danger - change - disruption. You are at the crossroads of your life - about to embark into the real world. Success and failure are so close together. Ah! I can see it -… you are planning something. Something big… You need money… You are about to meet people - wealthy people - people you need to convince to invest in your plans, and you are worried…”
She glanced up at me, to gauge my reaction. I just rolled my eyes. She had been absolutely correct with her entire prediction, which would have been very impressive if it wasn’t for the fact that one of my drunken college buddies had been in here right before me. He had probably spent the entire time complaining about my sour mood, inadvertently feeding this old trickster all of this information. Maybe she had hoped to impress me with this little parlor trick. Maybe that was the reason she had promised me my money back. It wasn’t working though. I was far from being impressed
She swiped the cards from the table with a swift motion. Her face remained neutral.
“You are afraid,” she said, and leaned closer. “You are worried you might not be able to convince these people. You are worried you might fail - something that has never happened to you before. I can help though. You already have everything you need. You are only lacking one thing. One single thing. - Hope!” She twirled her hand, and when her fingers unfolded, a single box of matches was suddenly resting on her palm. “You just need a little push - something to give your confidence a boost. Hope will do that. Hope…”
“Right,” I said, drawing out the world. I rolled my eyes again. The woman motioned for me to take the matchbox. It felt light. I slid it open. Empty. - “Wow,” I said. “How impressive.”
“There’s nothing in it yet,” she said. “We need to fill it with hope. Just keep looking into the box. Now picture the meeting with your investors. Imagine yourself successful and convincing. Really paint a mental picture of the scene.”
“Uh hu,” I said, taking a huge annoyed breath.
“No. Really picture it in your head. Describe the scene. Tell me exactly what you see. What kind of clothes are the people you’re talking to wearing? What kinds of expressions are they making? What are they saying? What does the room smell like? …”
It went on like this for at least twenty minutes. I’d imagine the scene, and the fortune teller made me describe every little detail. We went through this whole exercise dozens of times.
Finally she stopped. Her gaze focused on the matchbox. Her hand darted forward. She snatched it from me, quickly enclosing it in her fist, while whispering some sort of chant. She held it close to her mouth for a moment, while her whispers took on more and more of a steady rhythm. After half a minute she unfolded her fingers once more. The matchbox was resting on her palm. It appeared unchanged.
“There. Now it is full. Full of hope. Take a look, but don’t open it all the way. Just a crack. We don’t want all the hope to just slip out again, right?”
“No. Of course not. That would be such a terrible tragedy.” I took the matchbox. It felt just as light as it had the first time. I opened it. Empty.
“Oh Wow! Would you look at that… - Nothing! Very impressive. So… are we finally done with-”
I stopped mid-sentence. Something was happening. The matchbox was empty and ordinary and utterly unremarkable, but the longer I stared into it, the more I could feel a scene forming before my inner eyes. It was the very same scene the old woman had made me picture over and over again. I had done it so often, that merely looking into the box made me imagine it automatically.
“Huh…” I said to myself. I closed the matchbox, then opened it again. The same thing happened. Close. Open. Close. Open. It happened every time. I scratched my head. “Oh! I get it. It’s like some sort of hypnotic trigger. Okay. Gotta admit: That’s a nice little trick.”
“You can call it whatever you like,“ she said. “A trick, an illusion, real magic… But it’s hope. Something we all need. Too much of anything is a bad thing of course, even too much hope. You need to keep them realistic and grounded. If you let them get to big, this -” and here she gestured at the matchbox. “- will really start messing with your head. You can keep it for free, if you are satisfied with my services. Or would you rather have your money back?”
-
Even if it had been nothing but a little mental trick, the old fortune teller turned out to be right about one thing: I had only needed a little boost in confidence, and the matchbox provided me with just that. One look inside, and I would relive the scene of my success, standing between the smiling faces of my new business partners, shaking their hands as they competed to be the first to sign with me.
The actual meeting didn’t end up going as smooth and effortless as that dreamlike vision of course. Quite a few of my potential backers had some worries about the soundness of my plans, but just when it felt like they might back out I pulled out the matchbox beneath the table, and peeked inside. Instantly a renewed mental strength bloomed within my mind. I knew what I had to do to convince them. I sketched out a bright future. I painted a lavish fantasy of wealth. I promised them even higher returns. There was not a trace of doubt in my words, and this show of resolve was the last push needed to get them on my side.
When the meeting ended I had secured half a million dollars in seed money. Enough to get me started.
Why stop there though? The more I could get, the higher the winnings. I scheduled another meeting, using my dad’s business contacts to invite other potential backers. The first hurdle had already been cleared. It would be easy to convince even more people now. I just had to slightly overexaggerate the profit margin, while downplaying the risks. I wasn’t even stepping too far from the truth. My initial projection had been rather conservative after all. I probably had a very good chance to exceed the most lofty goals.
Was there some risk of failure? Of course. There always is. Nobody gets ahead by playing things entirely safe. You have to take a little gamble here and there, and that’s just what I did. I took a little gamble.
-
It went on like this for two months. New money flowed in every day. My venture grew. So did my funds. I had cracked seven figures by now, and was expanding at a rapid pace. Everything was perfect. Everything except for the little fact that my measly earnings lagged behind my promises. I was making money, sure, but it was far less than what my investors were expecting. Would they start withdrawing their funds? Once that started happening my profits would shrink even more, which would trigger the next batch of backers to jump off. The entire business was in danger of failing in its infancy.
My sour mood was back. I kept relying more and more heavily on the matchbox to keep going, but it got harder and harder to do so. Every evening I would sit on my desk and crunch the numbers, and when they didn’t come up right once again, I’d take out the box and peek inside until my dark thoughts dispersed.
The box felt heavier now. Its cardboard walls were bulging outward, as if something inside was slowly gaining size. It was as empty as ever of course. There was nothing in there - nothing except those luring fantasies. The visions were just as strong as in the beginning, but they just weren’t enough to lift my spirit. I had more pressing problems now. I had bigger concerns. I needed something more. I needed something stronger. I needed more hope to get me through this.
More hope…
More hope than could fit into a little matchbox…
And so - on one fateful evening - I took a metal tin of cookies, dumped its content onto the desk, then threw the opened matchbox inside before quickly slamming the lid shut. There! Now my hope would have more room to grow.
It was a purely symbolic act of course. There wasn’t actually anything in that matchbox. It was all just a little mental trick. That’s what I told myself at least. On some level I must have already believed that the box box wasn’t empty at all - that there was something in there - something that was getting bigger - something alive…
I peeked into the cookie tin the very next morning. Empty - just as expected. The matchbox was lying on its side in the far corner. It had somehow slid open completely. Before I could wonder how that might have happened, a shadow slithered within the darkness. For a split second the box stopped being empty. Something long and twitching writhed within the narrow confines of the tin.
A thousand little legs trashed along a wormlike body, twisted around on itself with seemingly no beginning or end - a sickening mix of a centipede and a möbius strip. A deep feeling of disgust and wrongness washed over me. Then the terrible shadow disappeared, and I was struck by another dreamlike vision, stronger than any I had experienced before.
The market was turning. The economic drought ended. Red numbers turned green. Arrows went upward. Each and every single one of my stale financial assets suddenly unleashed its true potential. A torrent of money flooded my bank account. I saw myself sitting amidst my investors at a grand feast celebrating my success. I raised a glass into the air, as they all cheered and clapped, and then they started chanting my name - again, and again, and louder and louder…
It was about to happen. Of course it was about to happen. It all seemed so obvious all of the sudden. Success and happiness and wealth and money and respect and admiration - it was all there. All my worry was blown away. Of course… How could I have not seen it before? The market always fluctuates. There’s ups and downs. Currently we were stuck in a little downward slide, and even then my genius investment strategy was making money. That meant I’d be making even more once the market turned in my favor. I could see it happening. I would make more than I had ever dared to dream of.
The terrible sight of the squirming creature had completely vanished from my conscious mind. There was nothing left of the horror I had felt. There was only a glorious elation. This beautiful vision was about to come true. It would happen any day now. The vision made me feel absolutely certain. I just needed to make sure my current investors wouldn’t jump ship before it all came to pass. I just needed to pretend that the earnings were already this high.
I could trick them. It would be easy. I still had a constant influx of fresh cash from new clients. I could take some of their money, cook the books a little, then present it as profit instead of actually investing it. Not exactly legal, of course, but that didn’t matter. Once the market turned, I could easily patch up any discrepancies. Nobody would even notice. Everybody would be happy in the end.
It was a lot more risky than anything I had done before. If my plan failed, I wouldn’t just go bankrupt, I would face serious criminal charges. This was all part of the game though. That’s what you need to do to make it big. If things get though, you bend the rules. You gamble big. That’s how all those millionaires got to where they are now.
I looked into the cookie tin once more. I took in the vision, and then I took a gamble.
-
Things shifted for the better, things shifted for the worse, and when things went really bad, I funneled even more money to hide my losses. I took credits from the bank. I convinced my father to invest most of the family fortune into my business. It would all work out in the end. I was certain. The market would turn in my favor. Any day now. It was about to happen any day…
Hope continued to grow. By now there was no denying that it was more than some illusion. Hope was real. The fortune teller had actually caught something, and trapped it for me, and now it was quickly gaining size. The cookie tin was heavy, as if filled with stones. The metal walls were dented in dozens of places. More dents appeared every day. I had to wrap duct tape around the lid, to keep it from being pushed open. The current container was reaching its limits.
My business was reaching its limits as well. I had strayed further and further along the trajectory of fraud and embezzlement, fueled by the hope that some sudden change in the market would turn the tides, and clean the whole mess up. That was becoming increasingly unlikely.
Barely any money was actually invested into anything any more. I needed all of it to keep my little web of deception from falling apart, constantly shifting it back and forth to patch up holes, only to tear even bigger ones in the process. If I had more, I could make some more daring investments - high risk, high return - but there wasn’t even enough for this kind of desperate measure. It wasn’t enough. I needed more. More. More. More money. More hope.
I bought a large travel suitcase, and wrapped it in iron chains. This would be Hope’s new home. Maybe if it was able to grow larger, the visions would grow strong enough to clear my head of all the worries. That’s really all I needed. A clear head to think things through. Just a day without all this mental stress. If I could have that, I could find a way out.
The moment I trapped the cookie tin within the suitcase it began shaking and trembling. The sound of cracking and crunching and screeching accompanied each tremble. I paced through the room, flinching and trembling whenever another explosion of noise came from within the suitcase. Fear rose in those moments. My neck was damp from cold sweat. My arms shivered uncontrollably. My fingernails dug into the palms of my hands.
I couldn’t tell where those feelings of fear and panic came from. Something inside my stomach urged me to flee. I did not. I could not. Soon I couldn’t move at all anymore. I could only squeeze myself into the furthest corner of the room, completely frozen, while the suitcase rocked back and forth. Hours went by.
Even after the commotion stopped I didn’t dare to move for a while. I took a few minutes for my terror to seep away. My heart rate slowed. My breathing found a calm rhythm. My muscles relaxed. By now all my fear felt like some silly overreaction. Nothing had happened. Why had I been so afraid? Nothing had happened, and nothing would happen. I took a step towards the suitcase. No reaction. I reached out, touched it with the tips of my fingers. Nothing. I took hold of the large metal clasps keeping it closed. Nothing. I opened it…
Instantly the lids were flung apart. Only the chains kept them from opening completely. The iron links grew taut from the internal pressure. An angry scream roared out at me. A trashing mass of intertwined limbs flung itself against the opening. There was that thing again - that horrible shadow that I had seen all those weeks ago. It wasn’t just larger now. It was more concrete, more real. This wasn’t just a fleeting shadow, gone in a flash.
The creature looked like a twisted centipede, but instead of insectile legs it had human arms - all of them contorted and wrong, each in its own way. Joints bent the wrong way. There were too many fingers, or too few. Some had skin so pale and thin you could see the raw mass of meat underneath, blue veins running across it like a spiderweb. Pustules and bulbous growths stained the flesh everywhere. Fingernails were missing, or extended into needle-like claws…
The hands hammered against the walls of their tiny prison. An intense screeching scream cut into my eardrums like a knife. And then…
Silence.
The thing was gone.
All that was left was an empty suitcase.
I had flung myself backwards, and was now clinging to the side of my desk. My heart was beating like crazy. I didn’t know what had happened, but my inner voice was screaming at me to run. There was something else though. The suitcase stood open, empty and harmless. A sweet gentle light seemed to shimmer within. It might have been nothing but a stray ray of sunlight, reflected back by the metal clasps, but it was beckoning me to step closer.
I let out a laugh. It came out with a tremble at first, but then I took another breath, and laughed again, this time deep and genuine. There was no way I could have seen any of this. There was no way I could have seen all of those horrifying details. How could I have possibly made out all those details in the darkness of the suitcase - through that tiny crack, and all the way from across the room? My mind had made it up. That was it. My mind had made it all up.
I had seen the suitcase shake violently. I had seen some sort of shadow move inside. That was it though Everything else had been a product of my stressed out imagination. There was nothing dangerous in there, and even if there was, it was clearly unable to get out. I shook my head. How absurd of me to get this startled over a little shadow.
The misty light flashed once more from past the crack. I moved closer, and leaned towards the opening.
Empty.
The suitcase was empty. Of course it was empty. I let out another laugh. The only thing in there were the twisted remnants of the cookie tin - now barely recognizable - just a chunk of metal seemingly crushed and ripped apart - its surface gleaming in the darkness - and…
-
I was sitting in the backseat of a luxurious car. My body swayed slightly as the driver wove through the dense traffic. My right hand was resting on the cool dark leather seat to steady myself.
“We’ll be there in another ten minutes, sir,” the driver said.
“Huh?” I answered, and looked up from the issue of Fortune magazine I held in my left hand. It was hard to focus on anything else right now. A glossy photo of myself smiled back from the front cover. The main article lauded me as the next big thing, telling the rousing story of how I overcame certain bankruptcy through pure tenacity, and inborn skill. I had faced down hardship, and came out as a multi-millionaire.
‘I never doubted in my success for a single second,’’ I was quoted by the interviewer. ‘This has always been my destiny.’
-
The scene faded slowly. I was back in my study, lying flat on the carpet, staring up at the ceiling with a dazed expression. Drool stained the corner of my mouth. There was a huge smile plastered on my face, and a lightness in my mind I hadn’t felt in weeks. Any thoughts about the terrible thing inside the suitcase were gone. Everything felt like it would be alright in the end. Things were looking grim now, but that just meant I needed to make some risky plays, and trust that my abilities would get me through. I had always been the best of the best back in college. I could do it.
All the visionary leaders who had risen to glory from nothing had faced moments of struggle and uncertainty. Those were the moments that separated the chosen ones from the rest. I could back down, accept my punishment like a cowardly criminal, or I could double-down, and dare for something greater. The vision was still playing in front of my eyes. I knew what I had to choose. I was destined for greatness. Eventually I would succeed.
I just needed some fresh cash. I already had taken several credits from the major banks. Taking any more of them might lead to some awkward questions. Somebody might decide to take a closer look at my books. I couldn’t allow that to happen. Luckily there were a lot of other places you could turn to for credit - places that were a lot less reputable, and a lot more ruthless when it came to collecting.
I didn’t care about any of that. I could accept their crushing interest rates. I only needed the money to kick-start my business back to life. One or two weeks down the line, and I would have made enough to pay them back with ease. It was a gamble for sure, but I had already taken some major gambles.
What did I really have to lose?
Just another gamble…
–
I fell short in my first attempt to get out of the hole I had dug for myself into. The money I had borrowed was gone in an instant. It didn’t matter. There were other loan sharks out there. I could just try again, and again, and again…
It was easy to ignore the angry letters.
It was easy to ignore the phone calls, and the death treats and the screaming creditors trying to chase me down.
It was easy to ignore everything, until I woke up one morning to the stench of gasoline and fire. Thick smoke drifted through my bedroom window. A burning wreck of metal stood in my driveway. Somebody had climbed the fence to my home, and set fire to my brand new Mercedes.
As I watched the firemen douse the flickering flames, I felt reality slowly catch up with me. I was deeper in debt than ever, and the people I owed money to would not be content with merely suing me. These were the kind of people who didn’t bother with lawyers. These were the kind of people who would break my kneecaps, harvest my organs, then toss me from a bridge with a pair of cement shoes.
I ran up to my office, pulled out every ledger, scattered documents all over the floor, searching for any asset I could turn into cash. Five million. If I let go of everything I could still scrape together five million. That would have been a staggering sum of money a few months ago. By now it wasn’t even enough to pay back my worst debts.
What options did I even have anymore? I could take the money, get a fake passport, flee the country, try to rebuild my life somewhere far away. What kind of life would that be though? A life of constant fear. A life on the run from both the police and the mob. A life without prospects. A life in which I’d be forever barred from living up to my potential. How long until those five million would run out? What would I do then?
I suddenly found myself down in the cellar standing in front of the entrance to the old boiler room. My subconsciousness had led me down here all on its own. A thick iron door was blocking my path. I had just installed it. The suitcase had grown too small for Hope. This was where it lived now.
It moved behind the walls as if reacting to my presence. My hair stood on edge. My steps wavered back and forth, unable to decide in what direction to move. I had been coming down here a lot, just pacing in tight circles, glancing towards the door, but I had never actually dared to look through the spy hole into the room beyond. Every single one of my senses screamed danger when I stepped close, and yet I could not keep myself from returning.
I was frozen by indecision. The voice of reason in my head told me to head back upstairs, but then what? Should I spend the evening staring at the smoldering wreckage of my car? Should I spend another hour rifling through stacks of unpaid bills? I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t go on like this. I needed something to steady myself. I needed hope…
I had already taken a step forward. Something shifted behind the door - the whisper of a thousand fingers sliding across the walls inside. I took a deep breath, like one would take before diving into a deep ocean, and squeezed my eye against the spy hole, and…
-
I nearly spilled my glass of wine. The red liquid sloshed back and forth, and I struggled to keep it contained. What had just happened? What was going on? My head snapped back and forth.
I was sitting on a sofa in a stylish apartment. The entire left side of the room was one large window, allowing a staggering view down at the rest of the city. It looked so small and insignificant from up here, but this was one of New York’s tallest skyscrapers after all. Soft lounge music played from invisible speakers. A group of people was smoking cigars somewhere behind me, and the bitter fragrance hung faintly in the air.
“Is everything alright?” Somebody asked. A group of people was surrounding me. Young men and women, young, and beautiful, and perfectly styled. They were all smiling, and looking at me with deep fascination.
“Yes. Sorry,” I answered. “Just got caught up in a memory. Where was I?”
“You were just telling us about the day the mob came after you.”
“Right. Right. That day. That was the closest I had ever gotten to complete ruin. And it was only two years ago. Two years. Can you believe it? From the absolute bottom to one of the richest people on the globe - in just two years…”
“But how did you do it?” They leaned closer, their eyes wide, and sparkling with excitement. Some were holding their breath. I just smiled and raised the glass to my lips. My companions begged me to continue, but I let them hang for a few seconds longer, sampling both the sweet wine, and their adoring stares.
If only I could reach back and time and tell my younger self that everything was about to work out perfectly fine. I had been so damned scared back then. I closed my eyes and tried to order the memories of that day. My car had burned, and then I had gone to look at Hope, and I had listened to its visions, and then…
-
My eyes opened. The brightness of the fancy apartment was gone. The air was chilly and dark and damp. I could still feel the taste of wine on my tongue, could still make out the faint scent of cologne and cigars in my nostrils. Where was I? What had happened? Had I gotten too drunk at the party? Or had I… Was this… What year was it again?
My thoughts moved painfully slow, as they tried to separate reality from the dreamlike vision. Just a dream. I had been nothing but a dream, and yet my panic was gone. It had been so much more than a mere fantasy. It had felt like an omen, a sign from the gods themselves. Everything would be okay. I was once more filled with the unwavering determination that had gotten me this far. Everything would be okay. I knew exactly what to do. I could have all the money I needed - all in a single day.
All it would take was one more gamble.
One more gamble…
-
Two hours later I stepped out of the rented limo, clutching a briefcase tightly to my chest. It contained what remained of my money - the entire five million. I swallowed, gathered my strength, and entered the casino with my head held high, and a confident smile on my face.
I headed straight to the roulette table. No need to delay the inevitable. This was it. All on red. Everything on this one lucky toss. The wheel spun. The little ball danced across the surface, clicking and rolling. I could focus on nothing else. This ball was my entire world right now. All my senses were completely focused on its erratic motions. Up and down and jumping back and forth from one color to the other - red - black - red - black… The wheel was slowing down. The moment of truth came closer and closer. Red - black - red - black… RED!
I doubled forward. Red. Red. RED! I had won. This would be enough. It wouldn’t be enough to pay back everyone, but enough to get the loan sharks off my back. I wouldn’t get stabbed to death by a bunch of mobsters after all… but I would still go to prison… My whole fraudulent venture would collapse, and they’d drag me to court, and I’d be convicted…
My life was still effectively over. Sure - I’d be living and breathing and walking around, but that bright future I had dared to imagine would never come to pass. I needed something better. I needed more. Maybe I could… If I bet it all again…All on red… If I managed to win one more time… What did I really have to lose? I had to do it. Another gamble. I had to.
Another gamble.
All on red.
The wheel spun. The ball danced. I was clutching the rim of the table. It was the only way I could remain standing upright. Everything was spinning. Dark dots seemed to dance in front of my eyes. I couldn’t breathe. I could barely even see what was going on. My entire world was reduced to two colors. Red - black - red - black -… RED! RED!!! RED!!!!!
I was screaming in triumph, jumping up and down, my hands held up into the air, unable to contain the powerful rush of dopamine flooding my brain. I had won. This was enough. I’d be able to take care of my bad credits, and then there would still be enough to give my investors their money back - not as much as I had promised them, but they’d all at least break even. It would be enough to keep people from looking too closely at what had been going on. It would be enough to keep them from suing me.
I’d still be personally bankrupt of course. I had lost most of the family fortune during this whole scheme after all. I still had an excellent degree though. I could easily get a well-paying job. It wasn’t what I had dreamed of, but it was something.
I had wanted to make it all on my own. I had wanted to prove myself. Back in college I had always been so much better than those other idiots. Now they would sneer at me crawling back to beg for their table scraps. So shameful. So humiliating. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. I was so much better than all of them. I deserved so much better.
And yet this was how it had to happen. I had no other option. Unless…
I licked my lips. The dopamine was still lingering in my mind, causing a warm prickling feeling to spread through my entire body. My eyes darted down at the roulette table. If I got lucky just one more time, I could have everything I ever wanted and more. I would prove to them all how great I was.
Hope’s vision still danced fresh in my mind. I could still hear the laughter of the fancy party, could still feel the attentive eyes resting on me, could still taste the wine on my tongue. I just needed to get lucky one more time. It had been more than just a dream. It had been a message from the future. Just once more. One more gamble…
One more gamble…
One more gamble…
-
When the men broke down the door to my apartment, I was already hiding in the cellar. I could hear them stomp through the rooms above. Glass shattered. Wood broke. They were wrecking everything, searching for any hints to my current whereabouts. The brutal noises were a frightening reminder of what they would do once they found me. There was an even more terrifying sound though. Hope was shifting behind the metal door.
It seemed to have grown rapidly over the course of a single night. Its massive form slammed against the barrier between us. Caws and teeth dug into the metal. Something hissed sharply, and then it started screaming.
Those screams…
Those screams were the worst part of it all. They sounded like a thousand voices twined together, shouting out in agony and death. Not just any voices. Each of them was my voice. Each of them belonged to another version of me, endlessly tortured.
I curled into a shivering ball, mouth dry, sobbing. My muscles clenched up from the fear until I could barely even take a breath, and Hope kept screaming and screaming. I almost felt like I could see it through the walls - a shapeless mass of distorted humanoid arms, woven together into one singular monstrous being - pulsing like a heart - rippling like waves on a murderous ocean - all of them reaching out to pull me into their center, to swallow me up until I was gone from this world.
The walls shook from its attempts to break free. Any moment now the men upstairs would hear the sounds, and they would follow them down here to my hiding place. It was only a matter of seconds.
They didn’t come. They didn’t even seem to notice. None of the flimsy shelves surrounding me seemed to react either. They weren’t rattling, or wobbling, or collapsing. They stood perfectly still, as if my mind was the only thing in this entire universe that could feel the massive quake.
At some point the sounds died down. Hope stopped its struggles, and the men above stopped trashing my apartment. A sudden pull in my chest made me rise. Something was calling me. Something from beyond the iron door. It was pure madness to approach it after what I had just experienced, yet I took a step forward. For nearly a year I had responded to every threat - every danger, every challenge - in the exact same way, by turning to Hope. It was the same now. I was more scared than I had ever been - scared of Hope itself - but this very fear made me crave another vision so bad.
‘Why not take a look?’ Some part of me whispered in my mind. ‘Maybe what you see will help you, and you’re just as safe or unsafe in front of the door, as you are three feet away. Why not get closer, and have a look?’
I could already feel my limbs give in to the suggestion. I was unable to stand, so I began crawling - closer and closer. Just one look. One little look. Maybe it would help… - I was already halfway there, when I managed to stop myself.
“No,” I said, half to myself, half to the thing behind the door. “N-no… You lied to me. No. You lied. You…” - My words were little more than the ramblings of a scared little kid. That was the state I had been reduced to.
As if able to sense my resistance, Hope raised the cacophonous chorus of its voices, and slammed against the walls. I curled back into the dirt. It didn’t matter how tightly I squeezed my hands against my ears. Nothing could blot out the sound. A thousand versions of my own voice screaming in agony…
There wasn’t enough strength in me to resist anymore. I needed help. I needed something to ward off the terrors in my mind, and the only thing that could do that was Hope itself. I needed a vision, just a little one, just one to grant me enough strength to move again. The moment Hope stopped I began crawling forward again. Before I was even aware of what I was doing. I was kneeling in front of the metal door - like an acolyte cowering before the altar of an angry God. I squeezed my eye against the spy hole.
There was nothing to be afraid of. There never had been. Those screams, they hadn’t been my screams. They were the screams of my enemies. I could see them scramble in panic, running, and cowering, and trying to hide. Hope was walking amongst them, constantly shifting its form. One moment it was a majestic eagle with ebony talons, the next it was a black dog with gleaming rubies for eyes, then it was a hairless giant with skin of gold - and it took anybody who had ever dared to oppose me, and it sliced them open, and it ripped them apart, and it crushed them to a pulp of meat and bones, and I was standing next to the scene on a pile of their corpses - untouchable - victorious - god-like…
I was vaguely aware of my hand reaching for the door knob. I could already feel its smooth cold shape against my fingertips. At the last second I pulled away, shocked by what I had nearly done. Once more Hope sensed my hesitation. Once more it started screaming, and I flung myself as far away as the tiny room allowed, and it kept screaming and screaming and hammering and clawing and screaming, and then it fell silent all of the sudden, and through the silence that whispering desire rose once more.
‘Come closer to the door,’ it said. ‘Just one look. Just one more look. Just to be certain about what you have seen. Just one more look. How could this hurt…?’
-
It has happened again and again over those last few hours. There are those bursts of rage and violence, followed by a luring sweet silence. Even as I am composing what might be my last message to the world, it keeps going on and on. Sometimes I manage to resist. Other times my mind caves in, and I crawl closer, and I am always rewarded with the same dream.
‘It doesn’t need to be a dream,’ the voice inside me whispers. ‘It could be reality. It would be so easy. All you need to do is to open the door. Just open the door, and let Hope out, so it may walk by your side, and protect you, and serve you… It could all be so easy…’
I have nothing left. I have no money to buy myself out of here. I have no friends who could help. I have no safe space where I could hide.
I have nothing left.
But I still have hope.
I still have hope, and I have the key to its prison.
…
One last gamble…