Grandma had the strangest book.
I got my hands on it once as a kid, just some simple little leatherbound thing with no obvious title. I never got the chance to read it back then, grandma Lucy found it in my room and took it away the moment she realized it was missing. I never thought much of it back then. Had I known then what I know now…
That was ten years ago. Things were simple back then. Lucy was an amazing foster parent, just the kindest lady in the world. At least she was, right up until I came out as gay and tried to introduce my girlfriend Elizabeth. She locked me in a closet for a whole day. A whole day! She apologized later, for what it’s worth, but I’ve had claustrophobia ever since. It was never the same after that, and I should have seen it coming. If her hateful church wouldn’t accept me and Liz, then I needed nothing to do with them.
So we left. Together.
I don’t know if I believe in god. For a while I was a staunch atheist, perhaps to spite my grandmother. Now… now I know there’s something out there.
We were happy. Poor as shit, living in a cramped studio apartment during the pandemic, subsisting mostly on the government handouts, deferring our rent, etc. But happy. Liz studied online. I mostly just played video games.
But it was blissful. We had each other.
Then one day, the letter came. I remember it like it was yesterday.
Grandma Lucy had died. A stroke, it said. And in spite of our falling out towards the end, that kind lady must have still been in there. Because to my absolute shock, she’d left everything to me in her will. Everything. The house I grew up in. Her old car. Her cat Keebler. 32,000 dollars in a checking account. 247,000 dollars in an investment fund. And a letter, apparently.
Her old lawyer helped us sort out all the paperwork. We paid off our debts. We moved back into that old country house. And we were happy again. For a while, at least. That letter the lawyer had passed along got lost somewhere, and I never got the chance to read it. Now, I think I know what it might have said.
I remember when we found that little book again, hidden in an obscure crack inside a wall after I cut out a section to mess with some faulty wiring a rat had chewed through. Just a simple, brown leather thing. It brought back memories. When I flipped through it for the first time, I couldn’t make heads or tails of it: it was written in a language I couldn’t read but recognized as Latin. And there were pictures, old style illuminations like you might find in a medieval grimoire. Mostly, they depicted gruesome scenes of what looked like demons, hell. And there were diagrams too, circles, pentagrams, arcane esoterica.
That night, cuddling with Liz on the couch, we pulled up Google Translate.
“We should try it,” Liz suggested. “For fun. Maybe invite Brandon and Mike, they’d probably get a kick out of it.”
God, she was beautiful, short blonde hair hung over one eye and a tantalizing grin. I kissed her, and she returned it, tongues intertwined.
“Absolutely,” I replied through a pant as we parted. “But how about just you and me?” As nice as my friend and his husband were, I just wanted to be with the love of my life that night. “I’ll go fetch the candles.” I grinned. “For atmosphere. But should we recite in English, or try to do it Latin?”
“Latin, definitely. For atmosphere.” She winked, and my heart fluttered.
It always did.
One thing about the ritual is that it specified a demand must be made of the Devil before performing it, written down, then burned. So we set everything up according to the diagrams, drew the circles with chalk on the hardwood floor.
“What do we wish for?” she asked.
I wasn’t sure. “More money,” I suggested. “Can’t have enough.”
She let out a single laugh. “We can be more ambitious than that. How about…” She paused. “I want to live with you, here, like this. Forever.” And she gave me the most heartwarming smile. Then a peck on the lips. She gave the Vulcan salute from Star Trek, fingers splayed. “May you live long and prosper.”
“Hah. Wouldn’t that be something?” I replied.
“It’s worth a try, don’t you think?”
So it was settled. We both wrote on two scraps of paper:
Immortality. We threw them in the fireplace together.
Then we performed the so-called ‘ritual’, giggling like schoolgirls and taking pictures to share online, exchanging affections and drinking red wine. I’ll admit, it was a lovely evening. Just lovely.
Nothing happened, of course.
We laughed about the absurdity of it afterward, shared those pics, made sandwiches, had sex, laid in bed speculating about why my grandmother even had that book, then fell asleep. And that ought to have been the end of it. If only.
That night, something stood in the corner of our room.
I blinked a few times, uncertain if I was just having night terrors again, but it lingered. Hard to describe… a shadow against the wall. I might have dismissed it were it not for those two beady, human eyes, wide and bloodshot. They moved with it around the room in an unsettling, haunting way.
“Hey, wake up!” I shook Liz.
She groaned, then pushed her short blonde hair out of her face. “What is it?”
“Do you see that?” Those creepy eyes watched. “…What the hell is that!”
Liz looked up through groggy eyes. She screamed and backed against the headboard frantically. Which could only mean one thing:
It was real.
I grabbed her and held her tight, then eyed the window. I could open it. We could crawl out. It was the second story, yes, but it wasn’t that far of a drop.
“What the fuck is that thing!” she whispered.
The shadow took dreadful steps about the room. But its eyes never left us. They looked crazed, like some serial killer from a movie. That they were disembodied… that was far more disturbing. The shadow that carried them wore something of a human shape, and what might have been a hand gestured toward our walk in closet. It let out the most horrific, indescribable groan: fingernails on a chalkboard, grating metal, children screaming. Fire. Hate. Hurt.
The phantom stood, placid. Inviting. I knew it was inviting us.
Into the closet.
“We’ll go out the window,” I said. Then I scrambled off the bed and tried to open it as quickly as I could. It was painted shut. Maybe I could break it.
“It wants us to go in the closet,” Liz whispered. Our eyes met.
“Hand me the lamp, I’m going to smash the glass!” I replied.
“It’s real,” Liz said. “Is it real?” She rose and slowly approached the dark thing. It did not react.
“Elizabeth!” I shouted. “Don’t!”
But in spite of her initial shock, she had always been the fearless one. Her very solemn steps stole the silence of the moonlit room. Each pace, dire. She touched it. She actually touched it! It did not react.
“What… are you?” she asked.
It did not react. But its hand still pointed to that closet door.
So Liz grabbed the handle before I could protest. She opened it. And what I saw inside was not what I expected. Not at all. Just an empty room where our closet should have been. Just an empty, concrete room. And I knew… I knew that Liz was the type of person who would go in, if only to satisfy her curiosity.
“Elizabeth, don’t. Let’s talk about this!”
But she’d already crossed the threshold. I gripped the leg of the bed, uncertain what to do. It was hard to keep my eyes off the disturbing gaze of that strange shade. It now looked to me. An invitation.
“It’s just an empty room,” Liz said. How could she be so calm? “We wished for immortality.” She looked to me. “What if it’s possible?”
“I’m not going in there!” I yelled. “Please come out, you’re scaring me.”
But she beckoned. She seemed fine. “Come here,” she said.
“No!”
“You’re such a coward. It isn’t hurting us.”
“I said no!”
She stuck out her tongue, then grinned. I caught my breath, then rolled my eyes at her childish display. I closed my eyes. Maybe she’s right. “Fine,” I replied. I mustered my courage. “Just for a second. Then we’re getting the hell out of here.”
I stood. And ever so cautiously, I tiptoed past the threshold. That strange shadow never stopped watching. My bare feet found cold concrete.
I looked around.
“There’s nothing here,” I whispered. “Let’s go.”
When I grabbed her hand and turned to leave…
“Oh god,” I whimpered. I remember this moment so well. My whole reality crashed down on me, all my concerns, fears, terrors made manifest. “What…? What the fuck? Elizabeth, what the actual fuck!”
She turned as well. She froze.
The door was gone. And where it had been, a message was painted on the otherwise blank surface of the wall:
You will never die. You will never die. You will never die. You will never die.
This dark, concrete room suddenly seemed so tiny. There was some light, but it was sourceless. Claustrophobia set in immediately. I frantically ran the edges of the room, banging on walls, trying desperately to find something. What? I had no idea. Anything at all. Anything.
Liz stood still as a stone as I panicked.
There was nothing to be found. It was just a box, and we were inside.
Inside. A box.
I collapsed on my knees. I trembled. “No. No. No. I need to get out.”
After another moment, Liz snapped to and embraced me from behind. “Shh, calm down. We don’t know what’s happening yet. Just be patient.”
“I can’t be in a box. I can’t be in a box.” I’d never dealt well with tight spaces. Feeling trapped. Helpless. “I can’t be in a box.”
She squeezed tighter. “It’s going to be ok. Just take deep breaths.”
“I can’t be in a box.”
I can’t be in a box.
I don’t know how many years passed.
But those words remained on the wall the whole time, to remind us of what we’d wished for. You will never die. So foolish, in retrospect.
We passed the time as best we could. We quickly discovered we didn’t need to eat, though we hungered. We learned we didn’t need to drink, though we thirsted. We clung to each other, the only world we had left, but even that became bereft as time dragged on. Nails on a chalkboard. Spoiled meat.
You will never die. Time moved on. Ever onward. Ever.
Ever. Ever. Ever.
To say I came to resent Liz would be an understatement. I hated her.
We huddled in opposite corners of our prison, never speaking for what might have been months at a time. When we did, it was usually to scream at each other. But if anyone tried to bridge the gap, it was Liz. Always sweet Liz. Oh, Elizabeth.
“I wrote a new poem,” she said one day. She hadn’t spoken in ages.
I said nothing.
“I have a big table,” she started. “For all my many friends.”
I closed my eyes and covered my ears.
“And despite my great efforts, no one attends.”
“Stop.”
“I have food for plenty, now just you and me.”
“Stop!”
“And yet we eat silence… for eternity.”
“I said fucking stop!”
She quieted. We didn’t speak again for a very long time.
We’d tried killing each other, so many times. It was impossible. Pain, possible, but no injury would stick. No, it was more than that. Punches left no bruises, and gouging out eyes? No. I can’t tell you how many times I begged Liz to strangle me again, just in case it might work this time. And to her credit, she always did what I asked. I know she still loved me, but my hate hadn’t abated.
She cried often. So often. All I ever did was glower.
It was clear now that we were not aging. Not even our hair or nails grew. I once tried to pull out that pretty blonde hair of hers in some fit of rage, and all I accomplished was dragging her around the room. She never fought back. But I know she hurt. I know she felt everything. Every hit, every spiteful word…
Time wore on me, yet I couldn’t even sleep.
What came next was inevitable.
It was just another timeless moment, a sequence of so many.
“I give up,” Liz said. Nothing more.
I looked at her. She stared at the ceiling. I said nothing.
“I tried,” she continued after what might have been weeks. “I really did. I tried so hard. I’m so scared. And now I’m even more frightened. I thought… maybe, if I had to spend eternity in a box, at least it was with you.”
I stared at my feet.
“I was fooling myself,” she said. “Now I’m trapped here with you. You.”
You.
“I despise you,” she whispered. “So very much.”
I jumped to my feet and screamed. “This is all your fault! You fucking bitch, piece of shit! This was all your idea! I’d kill you if I could!”
We fought. Again. We beat the ever living shit out of each other. Physical weariness no longer existed, so we went at for what might have been months, pounding as much pain into one another as we could manage. I discovered if I got her into an armlock, I could make her suffer for a very, very long time. She begged. Wept. She tried to appeal to my love for her. I hurt her. How I hurt her. But mental weariness… that still existed. Eventually I got bored.
She took her turn, locking me in the same horrible position. I screamed and cried for uncountable moments as she took her retribution. I cursed her name, her family for even birthing her. How I hated her.
Liz stopped eventually. She rolled onto her back. And she laughed.
I took the opportunity to punch her right in the nose, and she winced, but she had no fight left in her. She just laughed. And laughed. And laughed.
Laughter…
And as I recall, I laughed too. Tears and laughter, intermixed in a manner so improbable as to defy logic. What was logic, even? I rolled on my back as well.
We laughed at nothing. At everything. Together.
Elizabeth grabbed my hand and squeezed. Maybe she still loved me. After all, we only had each other, and this empty little room.
I squeezed back.
“That was fun,” she whispered. She cried yet again. “Don’t you think?”
How to reply?
“Fuck you.”
She laughed harder, to spite her tears. “Fuck you too.” Then she rolled over and kissed me on the lips, pinning me to the floor. “I’ve missed you so much.”
Liz was as beautiful as the day we’d met. How had I forgotten?
Yet I couldn’t reconcile my love and my hate. How could I? This woman had trapped me in a box for all of time. This lovely, loving, compassionate, kind, amazing, irreplaceable woman…
We’d wanted to live together, forever.
Isn’t that what we’d gotten?
“I still hate you,” I replied. Then I kissed her in return.
Things grew better in the years since we’d made amends. We’d talked. A lot. Come to terms with our feelings. Our predicament. Come to slowly, painfully accept that we would never leave this room. But I wasn’t alone, and neither was she. We conjured up stories and told them to each other. We sang songs, old or invented. We cuddled. We confided. We made love, best as we could. Like we’d fallen in love all over again. Those were the good times.
The good times.
Then the door appeared. It changed everything.
One moment, of one uncountable day, out of nowhere. Right where those mocking words had been: You will never die.
A red door, and new words. They were… worrying. Yet welcome in the most desperate of ways. Liz ran her fingers across it.
Whoever opens this door is free. The other always stays with me.
Our eyes met. She was closest to the handle. I knew she would open it.
I knew. I’d been too cruel. She had no reason to stay here with me. She could escape this hell and return to a normal life, and I’d be trapped here forever, now truly alone. Truly. Alone. Claustrophobia choked.
“Please…” I begged. “Don’t leave me here.” I sobbed. “I beg you. I beg you. I beg you. Please don’t leave me by myself.” I wondered if I could charge her and get to the handle first. Unlikely. “I’m begging you.”
Her hand moved for the handle. But she hesitated.
“If I don’t,” she started. “How do I know you won’t?”
It was the most difficult question I’d ever been confronted with. Impossible to answer… perhaps for the worst of reasons. I honestly had every intention of getting to that door the moment I could. But Liz couldn’t be allowed to know that.
So I lied.
“Let’s just stay here together,” I said. “It may be eternity in a box, but at least it’s with you. I wouldn’t share eternity with anyone else.”
Her hand hovered over that handle for a painfully drawn out moment.
“I would spend eternity with you,” Liz finally said. She smiled. She cried. “It’s what I wished for, after all. Even if it’s in a box.” She ran over and embraced me, and I hugged her back. “I never stopped loving you, despite it all,” she said through a sob. “Never. If I had a box with one thing in it, it would be you.”
We kissed.
“Together,” she said.
“Forever,” I replied.
But that door tempted. How it tempted. Only the Devil himself could have contrived such a cruel trap, and I knew, I knew that someday, during a fight or scuffle, during some argument borne from our growing insanity…
One of us would open that door.
And she had to be thinking the same thing. I know she was. And thus the ‘good times’ ended, every moment a game of chicken. We played at commitment for a long time, and I feared ever angering her, lest she leave me here forever.
Forever. What a horrifying concept. I would never have known.
But as much as we both tried to hide it, the tension of that door weighed so very, very heavy. I often saw her staring at it. Longing for it. And to her credit, I know I did the same. Was she really worth this hell? We were being tortured.
When I thought of hell as a child, I thought of fire, blood, pain. People skinned alive or thrown in lakes of lava, only to linger there forever. Never in my wildest dreams had I realized just how cruel hell could really be.
If this was even hell. In truth, I still have no idea where we were.
We spent a lot of time doting on each other, smiling, telling each other just how much we loved one another. The subversive caresses, fingerings obliged out of fear, stories told with themes meant to remind us both that we held each other’s fates in our trust. But she never opened that door. I began to wonder.
I began to wonder if she was sincere. If she would actually choose to stay with me here, until the end of time, despite everything I’d said and done to her.
I didn’t believe her.
Always there, in the back of my mind - that door. Freedom. That door. She eventually avoided looking at it, and I did as well. But she must have been thinking of it. I know I was.
It was as inevitable as the rains in spring.
There really wasn’t any choice, in the end.
I’d always known I’d be the one to do it. To wait for the right moment, when she was distracted, and creep to that red portal. To escape. I knew it was a betrayal beyond all imagination. I knew I deserved hell more than she did.
I knew.
I did it anyway.
Now, after much reflection, I believe she was sincere. I believe my own paranoia stole the most precious person I’ve ever met, lost to my own temptations.
The look on her eyes as I opened that door. I’d never once seen anything so tragic, and I still never have. Even as the realization hit her, she was beautiful. She broke down and cried. Now, she was the one who begged. She begged. Begged! It was impossible to stomach.
“I trusted you!” she screamed. She could barely speak. She choked on her own words. “I trusted you… Oh god, oh god.” She buried her face in her hands. But there it was. My bedroom. Exactly as I had left it.
As if no time had passed at all.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Surely you knew?”
“Knew?” She seemed confused. “No, oh fuck no. I can’t be here forever.” Liz was a storm of tears. “Not by myself. Not by myself. There’s nothing here. There’s nothing here.” She babbled. “What will I do with my time? What will I do?” She sobbed. She laughed. Silence. “Oh my god. You’re right, I did know.”
The absolute hurt and terror on her face hit me so hard I almost closed the door. But that bedroom had a gravity of its own. I could escape.
I could escape.
And she’d be alone here. Betrayed. Abandoned. Forever.
Forever.
“I did know,” she muttered to the empty space. “This is how it should be.”
What would happen to her? How would she deal with that absolute loneliness, the lack of stimuli, nothing to do, no one to talk to. Nothing. The love of my life. That sweet, trusting, caring girl. It makes me ill to think of it.
“Go on then,” she whispered. “I won’t stop you. Be happy.”
They were the most painful, toxic words I’d ever heard.
Be happy.
That doorway, irresistible. Yet Elizabeth made no attempt to stop me. We stared deep into each other’s souls. She smiled, cried, and gave the Vulcan salute from Star Trek, fingers splayed. “Live long and prosper.” She still loved me.
Still.
“If it was going to be one of us,” she said, gasping through tears, “I’m glad it was you. I would never have left you here. So go on. I’ll be fine.”
I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.
I clenched my eyes.
I walked through the threshold.
No time had passed while we were in that tomb of a room.
I hadn’t aged a day. Nor had the world. Life continued as normal, if ‘normal’ could even be said of a world which now lacked that beautiful soul. Every moment, Elizabeth was there, in the back of mind. Haunting me. There was no purging her, no exorcism that could make me forget what I’d done to her.
And the years passed in that lonely house, I knew I deserved each lornful moment. Every room, every little chore or activity, even just sleeping in that bed, a cavity where she should have been - her presence lingered on the edge of time.
But I had plenty of time to think.
Too much time. Because I still haven’t aged a day in the last three years. My hair doesn’t grow. I cannot hurt myself, no matter how hard I try. And it has occurred to me… the sun was born, and it will die. But I’ll still be here. Outliving everyone I ever loved. Millions of years would pass. Billions. I might burn alive in the center of an expanding star, or fall into a black hole. Even that won’t last. Even that.
Because even after the heat death of the universe, I’ll be here, in an abyss of my own making. Back in that box, blacker than ever, drifting alone.
Elizabeth, I’m so, so, so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.
I’m so sorry.
I love you so much. I love you. So much. I don’t know what’s happened to you since I left, but I’m so scared. I can’t live like this for a trillion years.
I should never have left. I should have trusted you.
I’m in pain.
Help me.
If you can see this, help me. I don’t know what to do.
I don’t know what to do.
I know you can’t see this. I know. You’re trapped in that box.
But I’ve been thinking. I’ve been thinking a lot. So much time to think.
I still have that book.
Maybe I can still get back to you.
It’s worth a try, don’t you think?
Don’t you think?