No one enters, no one leaves. It’s our motto, if you’re unlucky enough to be a resident of the small town of Raybrook. Many have tried, driven at the highest speeds towards the main road, sprinted towards the exit sign in the strongest winds, but none have been successful.
The moment that they reach the invisible forcefield that surrounds the town, they freeze. They don’t die, don’t disappear, just stop. They are suspended in motion, lined around the edges of the town, where the road doesn’t quite reach.
Twenty years ago, the first person tried to escape, tried to get away from the living hell of this town. The moment that she reached the very edge of the town, she stopped. Paused in time, widened eyes and an expression of horror on her face, almost like she knew what would happen to her, in her last seconds.
As the years passed, countless others have tried, and all have failed, each one stood frozen around the town’s border, like a freak show of horrifying statues.
Now, almost every resident of the town is frozen, stopped in shock at the very outskirts of the town. There are very few of us left, those who have been smart enough, been brave enough not to try and escape.
The last person to try was my brother. He thought he was different, spent hours pouring over scientific textbooks, trying to understand the inevitability of our situation. He made a theory, followed it through to the nearest point, thinking that he’d be the first to succeed.
Now, he stands, paused in terror, at the very edge of the road that leads out of Raybrook. Just like every other idiot before him who thought that they could do the same.
He failed. They all failed.
They’re all frozen at the town’s border, with no indication of ever returning to normal.
The more optimistic residents of the town like to believe that they will one day wake up, but I have always considered myself a realist. I know that they won’t. I know that once they become frozen, they will never unfreeze, just like that unfortunate man twenty years ago, and just like my brother, mere days ago.
There are only about fifteen of us remaining. People talk about leaving all the time, in hushed whispers, staying out of each other’s way. They would rather be frozen in time than exist in this nightmare.
Perhaps being frozen has its benefits. It’s certainly a lot better than being alone, staying out of the way of fourteen people who are all individual ticking time bombs, about to go off.
I’ve heard people talking about it, how they want to go. They don’t want to live this way anymore, or just morbid curiosity leads them to wonder what is beyond the dangerous, invisible forcefield.
I have been feeling a certain pull recently, almost like a magnetic feeling, to go and attempt to leave. I know that it’s just a feeling, that I won’t really go, no matter how much it feels like my mind is being taken over by a darker force.
Before my best friend tried to leave, I saw something dark behind her eyes. We were running to the border hand in hands, just kids who were determined to defy the odds together. Moments before we reached the edge, she looked into my eyes, and I could see that hers were almost black, filled with a sort of terrifying darkness. I pulled away before it was too late, and watch my friend become suspended in time.
I visit her from time to time. She isn’t living, but she is still there, with those dark eyes, widened in a terrifying image. I’ve looked into the eyes of the others too, and I see the same expression, those exact same eyes, so dark that they’re almost black.
That’s what makes me believe that there is something bigger behind this, a dark all-consuming force. That would explain why I am beginning to lose control.
I zone out for large portions of the day, forget where I am, or who I am. I’ll close my eyes while standing in my own driveway, and find myself inches away from the border, always waking up before it’s too late.
When I sleep at night, my dreams always repeat the same scenario over and over again. Me, walking towards the border, but before I reach it, I manage to wake myself up every time.
All of my spare thoughts are consumed by the border. I think about it, I mention it in the rare conversations that I have. I’ve even taken to reading my brother’s many notebooks and research pages on it. Some might say that I’m obsessed, but there’s a part of me that can’t help it.
I’ll be walking along in the early morning, and all of a sudden, I’ll end up at the border, my legs taking me towards the edge of the town before my mind can realise what is going on.
I can’t help it. I can’t control it, either, the thoughts are getting harder to suppress, the urges to run straight to the border are getting harder to block out of my mind.
I am standing in front of the border now, inches away from being frozen for all of eternity. I don’t want to, but I can’t turn back. I feel the darkness, I feel it. I wonder if this is how my brother felt before he froze.
If I reach out, I would be touching the border. I am centimetres away from being frozen, yet I feel calm. Not afraid, not upset, not even frustrated by my predicament.
Perhaps a far-off part of my brain, one that is still under my own control, is screaming, but I cannot hear it. The border is consuming me. The darkness from the edge of the town is pulling me in, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
I have to give in to the border.
It’s just like I said at the start of this all.
They all failed. We all failed.
I failed.
Now, I have to let the border take me.