I am back in the maze. It’s still cold. As I sit myself back up, I realize something: I do not remember anything. I do not remember my name. I do not remember my memories. It’s as if I was at the moment when the monster was about to kill me and was immediately brought to where I am now.

I need to stay calm. It’s hard to do that when the touch of the cold onto my skin makes me shiver. I need to understand my surroundings, as mysterious as they are.

I walk the premises. I am scared, but I want to live. Even though this place could be a dream, it feels too real. So real, that I don’t think that dying here is fatal. It is so real that I know that dying here is fatal.

There is another body in front of me. But what piques my interest isn’t the fact that he’s fresh. It’s the fact that there is a hole in his chest. That might not mean anything to an idiot, but that means that whatever killed him, it was far different from what the monster I encountered was.

On the body, to my surprise is a puffy jacket, a journal, and a pistol. The barrel of the gun is still warm as I pick it up and pull the hammer. I’m not exactly a gun expert, but Hollywood and videogames did well in educating me. Not only that, but the jacket is a good fit.

It’s the journal which piques my interest as it contains some of the only clues to this place. As I open it, my mind is barraged with words, sentences, and phrases which make little to no sense. Random words like “escape”, “run”, “monster”, and “survive” make a good amount of entries. Whoever this author was, they were definitely either in a hurry, or were just crazy. But with me as the new owner of this journal, it’s up to me to make some sense into it.

But for now, I have to keep moving. Besides, whatever killed this man must still be around. I have to be careful. I can’t trust anything about this place. So I get back to walking.

After a good amount of distance later, I come across something stranger than the body: three lockers. They line together like a row of soldiers: standing by and awaiting for someone to open them. With my pistol close and my ears twitching, I oblige.

Locker one has nothing. It was just a shell; it was there just to be there. Locker two has a pack of gum and an energy drink. They might be useful, though I don’t feel hungry or thirsty at all. But locker three has something that’s usable: a backpack.

The backpack was brand new, as if it had come fresh from a factory. Even the smell gave it away as the nice smell of velcro tipped my nose. It was at least better than the usual smell of this place which was dusty and empty. I place my journal and food inside. Then, I hear something.

“Hey! Is anyone out there?” someone yells. “Where am I?” The voice sounds human. It has concern inside, something I doubt even a monster could mimic. This is a person who might actually need my help. Besides, it’s not like I like being alone here.

Though I keep my mouth shut, I make my way to the voice. I hear it get louder as I get closer and closer. “Come on! Is anyone there?” I want to answer with a “yes! I’m here!” but I’m sure that something else would find me. So for now, I keep quietly walking.

“Hey! I’m here!” a female voice answers. Good, there are others. If there are enough people, we could try to make sense of what’s happening. Once we do, maybe then we’d have a fighting chance.

But my hope shatters as soon as I make it to the voice. It is not human at all. It takes the shape of a person, but only in the way a wolf would wear wool to devour sheep. Coming from every one of its pore is a long, tendril-like hair which extends as long as half of an arm. The voice itself comes from the skin of the monster.

“Is anyone there?” the creature continues. The girl who had mistakenly come to the monster was being killed right in front of me. Hairs held onto her throat, keeping her quiet, as other hairs stabbed into her skin. Her eyes roll back in terror and pain as more and more hairs begin to circle around her. Before I know it, she’s wrapped in a cocoon of hair, one which gets smaller and smaller until, finally, it disappears altogether. The monster had eaten her.

I keep myself still. I refuse to look at the monster where I think its eyes would be. It continues to siren for more victims. “It’s dark! Can someone help me?” I hope to god it never even catches my sight.

But it never sees me. Despite me being so close, it does not react to my presence, let alone attempt to eat me. It doesn’t know I am here. Why? Why am I being spared?

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That’s it. The monster is using its hairs to navigate its senses. In the human ear, there are an innumerable amount of hairs which detect and send sound into the brain. Though human logic and physics may not apply here, this could still hold true. The monster, with its calls, is using a crude version of echolocation. It can’t detect me, who’s far enough away, but it sure as hell can detect someone who just makes it to them.

I can get away, but I have to be silent. My heart is pounding as quickly and loudly as a train engine, but if I keep my breathing calm and quiet, then I can make it out of here. I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.

I’m almost away, but as soon as I turn around, I see a girl close to the monster. “Hey! I can help you out!” she chirps before realizing the voice was merely a trap. I watch the hairs lunge for her. She’s going to be devoured if I don’t do something about it!

I fire my pistol. I did it without a second thought. The gunshot is loud enough for virtually every monster to hear. I just revealed my location to a world of pain. What the fuck is wrong with me?

At the very least, the bullet hit the target as black bile oozes from the wound. The girl, using the distraction, is already more than long gone. Good. At least I didn’t die for nothing.

The monster screams. What’s worse is that the screams are not only loud, but they sound human. It almost fools me into thinking that what I’m hurting is truly a person. But I can’t doubt myself. I have to run.

I make a mad dash away from the monster, hoping that I don’t accidentally bump into another. The screams get farther as I continue to pant and move. Then finally, I make myself far from the danger. God that was fucking terrifying.

I keep moving. That’s all I can do: keep moving and hope that things change. As I turn the corridor, I see another locker. It’s by itself. Whatever. It better be something good.

I go over to the locker, pistol still close, and touch the handle. But it doesn’t feel like metal. It feels like flesh. I jump back as soon as I can, but the locker throws itself open, throwing a tongue as long as rope.

The tongue wraps around my waist and pulls me close. It’s strong. I point my pistol at the tongue and pull the trigger. But it clicks instead. I’m out of ammo. This is the end.

Suddenly, like a miracle, the tongue is cut. I am grabbed by someone who brings me away from the cursed locker. I can’t see or process much, but I can tell that I’ve been rescued by an old man. Not old as ash, but as old as a reliable tool. After running a safe distance away, he finally places me down.

“Jesus kid. You okay?” he asks. His voice is like the humming of a rustic truck which manages to run even when repairing the old thing is more expensive than buying a new car. “Thank you,” I answer. “I could’ve died there.”

I manage to pick up my breath as I sit my back against the wall. The old man remains vigilant as he turns his head left and right, making sure that I can rest with safety. I’m glad that the first person I actually meet is someone who cares for my being.

“Who are you?” I ask.

“Can’t answer that, I’m afraid,” he answers. “Not because I don’t trust ya. But it’s because I just don’t know.”

“You too, huh?”

He sighs with a breath as large as a melon. I can even see his chest expand as the air exits from his bearded face. “It’s everyone. And I’m sorry to say, but things aren’t gonna get much better.”

“Wait, do you know anything about this place?” I frantically ask.

“Keep it down,” he says. “But yes. I know a few things.”

Immediately, I bring out my journal. Then I realize I don’t have a pen or a pencil. Luckily the old man, with a light smile, hands me one. “Smart,” he remarks. “Good to understand your environment.” Then I ask my first question.

“What is this place?”

“Well, that’s a tricky question,” he responds, “but I think this place is a dream. A nightmare, really. It’s a nightmare where we wake up in a maze and have to find a way out while trying to survive the creatures it houses.” I jot down the answer as I move on.

“Does the maze stay the same?” I ask.

“No. After a random duration of time, sometimes a short hour to a long lifetime, you’ll feel like you woke up. Then, you’ll find that the maze has just restructured itself.” Damn. I was hoping that I could map out the place and use it to my advantage.

“How scarce is food and water?”

“You never get hungry. You never get thirsty. You never get tired. Physiological restraints do not at all apply here. The only thing which affects your survival are the monsters.” Well, that’s some good news.

“One more question. Why us?” I ask. “Why are we stuck in this place?” Distant screaming roars as I ask this. And with a frown on his face, the old man answers. “I don’t know. I just know that we have to fight through every night.”

“And we can die?”

“I don’t know,” he states. “But I’m not willing to find out.”

I finish jotting down my notes. Once I finish, I put the journal in my backpack. “I’ll still have my stuff when I wake up, right?” I ask. “Yep,” he answers. “When you come back, it’ll feel like you teleported.” And, coincidentally, I wake up.