I liked games as a kid.
Not sports or anything. I hated going outside; hell, I still do. I preferred staying indoors, watching tv, and drawing, but most of all, I loved games.
Remember those sleepover games? That was it. Bloody Mary, Three Kings, Charlie Charlie… I was obsessed. I invited friends over all the time to play with. Everyone I knew had chickened out at least once, but not me. Nothing was too scary for me. I never screamed when Oujia boards answered. I didn’t flinch during Concentrate. I was the brave one. I tried to get scared.
One night, it worked.
Someone else found the game this time. For the sake of anonymity, I’ll call her Anne. I was at her house, celebrating her birthday with some friends. I was in her basement, sitting on a bedroll. My friends were scattered around the room. We talked. We laughed. We ate junk food. Looking back, I feel regret.
That was the last time I’d be happy.
At about eleven, the birthday girl came downstairs. She carried a bag of chips. Her eyes were sparkling with a look I knew well.
She had a game to play.
I sat up on the mattress. Anne scurried down the stairs and sat on a blanket. She bit down on a smile, and I felt a thrill of anticipation. The other girls quieted. It was time for our favourite part of the night.
“Have you guys ever played The Witch and the Maid?”
I snorted. “What kind of a name is that?”
“Seriously, it’s really cool.” Anne put down the bag of chips. “We should play it.”
“Alright, so how do we play?” another girl asked.
Anne smiled, loving the attention. I don’t blame her; I’d been in her shoes more than once. She closed her eyes. After a dramatic pause, Anne pointed to me with a shaking finger.
“You,” she whispered.
I rolled my eyes, but I came over and sat down. Anne pulled my head down to her lap.
“Oh?” I looked up at her and grinned. “Wow, Anne, I didn’t know you felt that way-“
“Oh my god, stop,” Anne groaned, but she was smiling. “You’re killing the mood!”
I settled my head back down. “Whatever you say…”
“Alright.” Anne’s legs moved as she cleared her throat. “Here’s how we play.”
The game requires a minimum of two people. It’s preferable that they’re women, but it works for others as well. One, the “witch”, covers the “maid’s” ears. The “witch” then has to say their biggest secret out loud. Obviously, the “maid” wouldn’t normally hear it. However, the game lets them hear certain syllables. Those syllables form part of a demon’s name.
I yawned, cutting Anne off. “And then we die, right?”
“Not exactly,” she said. “It’s a time limit on when you die.”
I raised my eyebrows. This was new.
“The more of the name you hear, the less time you have.” Anne shifted her legs, getting more comfortable. “For example, one syllable is a million steps.”
I craned my neck to look up at her. “And the whole name?”
Anne giggled. “Then you just die on the spot.”
“Ooh, sounds fun.” I settled my head onto her lap. “Let’s go.”
I could almost feel Anne’s eyes roll. “Well, jeez, fine…”
Her hands went over my ears.
At first, there was nothing. Just indistinct mumbling. I was about to call bullshit.
Ta-
I almost sat up. Fucking what? It was as clear as if she’d spoken in my ear. I looked up, suspecting a trick. All I saw was Anne’s chin moving. I settled back down. Her hand must’ve slipped.
Wa-
Okay, so it did work. I didn’t move anymore. I was satisfied that some kind of weird science was in this. There always was. Hallucination in Bloody Mary, wind in Charlie Charlie. It was simple. I relaxed, waiting for the next syllables.
Ki-Se-Dai
And then, her hands were off of my ears. I sat up. Anne watched me eagerly.
“Well?” she asked. I shrugged.
“Five, I guess?” I stretched my neck. “How much time, Doctor?”
Anne sighed. “Not time, steps. Anyways,” she thought for a second, “you have twenty steps.”
I put my hand to my chest in mock horror. “Oh no! Looks like I need a wheelchair.”
“Aw, shut up,” Anne snorted. “Anyhow, who’s next?”
Everyone was eager to participate. Respectively, they got fifty, eighty, and twenty. The last one gave me a fist-bump over having the same number. Then, it was Anne’s turn.
“Okay, I gotta try this,” I said, patting my lap. “C’mere.”
Anne groaned. “I don’t wanna get up…”
“You’re not the one with twenty steps left,” I mocked. Anne laughed and came over. Once we were all settled, I covered her ears. Right. A secret.
“Well, when I was eight, I wanted a cookie,” I started. The girls laughed. “They were on a shelf, so I TA-“
That made me stop. When I’d said ta, it hadn’t sounded like me. I looked up. Nobody seemed to have noticed. I swallowed but kept going.
“I tackled the shelf, which WA-ahem, wasn’t a good idea. It fell, and it nearly KI-killed me.” I stopped again. The girls watched me. “Go on,” one said.
“Aha, right,” I said. “Um, I started crying and SE-said ‘Mom, help, I’m gonna DAI-die,” I took a second to clear my throat. I’d reached the limit of my syllables.
“She came RUH-running, and I was so SCAred because I thought she’d KIll me…” I winced. I was hitting a lot of syllables. “SO I pretended to be DEad when she SAW me.”
The girls started laughing. “Oh no, you poor baby!” one said. I smiled weakly. Anne sat up, taking my hands from her ears. She grinned.
“Wow, ten syllables…” She counted, then threw up her hands. “Whoop! I’m gonna die.”
The other girls immediately clamoured. “Wait, how many steps?” I asked. Dread was growing in my stomach. I’d guessed the number of syllables correctly.
“Five. If I have to pee, I’m doomed,” Anne laughed.
I went white. “Anne, I don’t think-“
Her face lit up. “Oh, am I gonna die?” She stood up and dramatically took a step. “Look, I’m throwing my life away!” She took three more steps. I grabbed her leg.
“Anne, stop it,” I pleaded. I’d never been that scared. “This isn’t fun anymore.”
She kicked my hand, laughing. “Not for you, maybe.” She pivoted one foot. Lifted the other.
Step.
Blood spewed from her mouth.
Within seconds, we were all covered. It was still warm. Metallic. Red. Someone screamed.
We were all marked for death.
The girl I’d fist-bumped earlier, the one with twenty, used her steps running upstairs for help. Her blood poured back down like a river. The one with fifty made it upstairs, but she only managed to scare Anne’s mother before her steps were up. That poor woman got covered. Eighty was smarter. She saved her steps for the walk to the cop car. Sadly, she didn’t make it much farther than that.
Me?
The cops found me crying downstairs, covered in blood and refusing to walk. I had to be carried to the cruiser. As a matter of fact, I had to be carried everywhere. The baffled doctors put it down to shock. They explained the others’ deaths as sudden illnesses. I didn’t tell them the truth.
Now, I really do have a wheelchair. Twenty years have passed. In that time, I’ve taken eighteen accidental steps. I’ve spent the rest scrupulously avoiding walking. Over time, I’ve gotten used to it. Still, there’s one thing I can’t adjust to.
I can’t accept the fear.
I don’t want to live like this anymore.
Consider this a suicide note. I don’t have anyone to miss me, so all should be well. I just hope my legs can still support me. Still, before I go, you have to promise me something.
Count your steps.