I backtracked through the fortress as far as I could, trying to notice any difference, something that would hint at my way out. I knew how things were – if I didn't move, I'd starve. What chances were there of finding anything edible if I just remained in the same space? I went through the reception area, the chairs still dismantled, and the door that had rotted off to pieces. I kept going: dark hallway, empty barracks. I checked their sheets for hidden papers or items – nothing.

  I went upstairs; still, half the building was blocked off by the collapsed dirt. The commander's room was quiet. I ruffled my hair and scratched my chin; my head was throbbing, and my leg hurt from running around. I sat on the bed. Think, John.

  I couldn't stay put in a panic and quickly dashed to the cave's entrance to see if the rubble had mysteriously disappeared, giving way to some other horrible land.

  Nothing – stillness.

  I collapsed again and grabbed my head. I just had to jinx it, didn't I? What if this place had a way to read into your thoughts, and I just gave it the fuel it needed to torment me further?

  I tried to dig up information from all the horror media I'd consumed over the years, but none of it was really applicable – no blood trails to follow, no locked doors with contrived opening mechanisms, nor strangely positioned clocks that would open a secret passage at a certain time. Wait, that's it! Secret passages!

  If my memory serves me right, these types of fortresses and all medieval castles were infamous for having secret passages that, under the pretense of a safe getaway, were used to smuggle. I just had to look properly.

  I thought the most reasonable place to build a secret passage was definitely the captain's chamber. So, I headed there and started running my hands through the walls. As I felt the patches of dirt stuck to the stone bricks, I dreaded that the earth had swallowed the secret passages as well, and that I would discover yet another dead end. Perhaps there were no secret passages at all.

  I searched around for a bookcase but found none; these men weren't fans of literature, as fate would have it. Perhaps it would be too obvious to have that one red book oddly shining, which, when pulled, would open the mechanism. I tried the torch stands, another trope of secret passages, but instead of turning, they just collapsed to the floor – a broken, rusty mess.

  A part of me thought that the key to solving this whole mystery lay with the never-ending stairs, but it could also be a dead end. The fact that I'd gone down for ten minutes straight without any notable difference was enough for me to surmise that there wouldn't be any changes ever. Especially since I went back, and the entrance was right here, mere seconds away. Perhaps it was some space loop where the end of the stairs was linked to the beginning, but whatever caused it to behave so strangely could also be the answer to getting out of here.

  Finally, when nothing else seemed to work, I instinctively searched underneath the bed and saw that one of the legs was slightly paler than the rest. I wouldn't have noticed it unless I was right in front of it, as I was now. I felt around the leg, and my suspicions were confirmed – it was hollow. I tried to lift the bed, but to no avail. I doubted I'd be able to lift a normal bed, and this one seemed to weigh two tons. I would have to break the leg to see what was inside.

  After trying to kick it open, more out of frustration than expecting results, I resigned myself to the fate that I'd have to search for a tool to do the job. My mind immediately went to a hammer, preferably a demolition hammer with a ten-pound head, but I knew that life, especially in this place, wasn't so easy.

  I went down again and almost slipped on the steps for a second time. I could swear that someone had made them extra slippery to cause lethal accidents!

  As I entered the dungeon, I realized that the shadows were thicker than in the rest of the fortress, which I hadn't noticed before due to the accident. I had simply attributed it to the change in candlelight. I didn't know what it meant, but I ignored it. If a wraith were to jump on my face, I'm sure the sudden drop in temperature would be enough to warn me.

  I carefully examined the torture utensils, discarding those that were too frail or thin and focusing on the blunt, finger-smashing implements. The closest thing I found to a hammer was a club-like tool with a bent, star-shaped metal end. It wasn't very durable, but it would do. Returning to my task, I dutifully ignored the dreadful feeling of impending doom.

  I smashed the bed leg and barely dented it. I repeatedly smashed it, again and again, the sound reverberating like a pebble hopping on still water. The tool bent and eventually broke under the brute force – not its intended use – as I pummeled the leg. My efforts were rewarded; inside the leg, attached to the floor, I found a small iron switch. As I pulled it, the entire bed frame moved to the side – floor included – to reveal yet another staircase that spiraled beyond sight.

  I scratched my head. It was progress, but I was expecting something more along the lines of a treasure room filled with gold and delicacies. Though I suppose gold isn't of much use here.

  As I descended, I pondered how long I'd be trapped in here. Without thinking too hard about how this place worked – I didn't want any nasty surprises – I started making deductions, thinking of some sort of linearity or thread that connected the places I went through. While some of them had a certain visual similarity, in the end, they weren't really connected or at least not in the typical sense of the word.

  There was no guarantee that after visiting a certain number of sites, I'd find an exit, as would be the case in a video game where the hero enters a dungeon that, no matter how long, would eventually end. This was different.

  I could become trapped for the rest of eternity, for all I know.

  Was there some kind of time dilation magic surrounding the place? Would I age as time passed? Even if the logical side of my brain prompted the question, "Would I even be able to survive long enough to reach old age?" the thought that the longer I was in here, the more of my life would be affected, haunted me greatly.

  I imagined myself, aged forty, returning to the real world, crazed and by no means fit for a cubicle job, too unstable for a tranquil life, and too fearful for high-risk jobs like joining the army. I imagined that my parents would already be long dead, and our house would be confiscated by the government due to no one paying taxes. Perhaps it got taken by squatters, but the result was the same: me, frail and crazy (what other state would living years on the edge leave you in?) – homeless, helpless, alone.

  Then, yet another harrowing thought crossed my mind: what if time moved faster in here? What if, after barely a year of moving through nightmares, I'd become an adult, and yet another year or two,

  I'd be elderly? Then the problem would fast-forward, as I couldn't really picture myself as a senior running away from bloodthirsty monsters.

  I slapped myself back to reality – or well, the current situation – thinking that no matter what thoughts haunted my mind, the result was the same: I had to escape, as soon as possible, no matter the cost.

  I reached the bottom of the staircase. Unfortunately, the light didn't extend throughout the whole room. I could feel that this place was different; it was made with a much smoother material, like marble, and its size was at least three times larger than the commander's room. I walked around, looking for something I could use – mostly cookies or a turkey sandwich. PJ would do too; I wasn't feeling picky at this moment. Yet, I found nothing but a plain, polished floor.

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  A rattling chain sounded behind my back. I turned, trying to see what had caused it. A man covered in a black shroud, chained to the walls, emaciated – shrunken by starvation – knelt on the floor. I couldn't see his face as he was looking down. I approached carefully, lest I wanted him to suddenly reveal a head that was nothing but teeth underneath the hood, and having walked too closely, it snapped at me, it crushed my bones, and devoured my arm or leg.

  Due to nervousness, I misstepped and revealed my position. The chains rattled again...

  "Who... Who are you?" I demanded. It could be a monster for all I knew. Perhaps it had been chained because it was evil, and now I was here, about to break whatever magic circle was keeping him confined. Talk about having a monster under your bed, Commander.

  Or perhaps it was some manner of genie that would promise to return me to the real world, only to backstab me as I released him. Characters never question why the genie was imprisoned in the first place, no – the only thing they think about is themselves. Well, I suppose I'm thinking about myself too, about not being devoured and all.

  The figure began speaking, its dry voice echoing through the chamber.

  "Another seeker, or yet another lost soul. Leave this chamber, cursed one. My flesh isn't fit for consumption."

  I had so many questions that I could barely fit them into a sentence.

  "Seeker of what? I don't want to eat you. What are you doing here? Who are you?" Perhaps it did fit in a sentence. The figure looked up, but the cowl made it impossible to discern any features. My earliest suspicion still stood.

  "Another seeker, or yet another lost soul, I perceive," it said. "Begone, cursed one! Trouble me not. My flesh, though wretched and gaunt, is not fit for consumption." Then, it fell silent.

  The first person (tentative) I spoke to, apparently, was not in the mood for chat. An intrusive thought came to mind. If his flesh is wretched and gaunt, why would he need to clarify that it wasn't fit for consumption?

  I half-wanted to kick him to make him speak, and half-wanted to give him something to drink, but I had nothing. I decided to take a kinder approach.

  "Why did they lock you in here? I'm sorry, but I don't have any water to help you speak. I promise that if you answer my questions, I'll fetch you some from the shore, though I still have to figure out how to get back there."

  The figure shuffled in its place.

  "A kind soul? 'Tis a novelty, indeed." He sighed. "I was confined to this cell due to my complicated lineage. As the illegitimate son of His Majesty, I posed a threat to his reign. They dared not take my life, for I possess certain... documents, safely hidden away. They intended to extract this information from me through torment and starvation."

  I tried to process the information. So, my theory about this place responding to royalty was correct, but how could he possibly have survived hundreds of years locked in here? I became suspicious once again.

  "What king? Where are we? What's your name?"

  The figure made a prolonged silence, which I understood as disbelief.

  "How could you possibly be ignorant of these facts? Have you fallen from the heavens themselves?"

  "Sort of. I swear I don't know."

  Sighing again, the figure responded, "I am William, son of King George III. We find ourselves on a small, forsaken isle, situated to the southwest of England. 'Tis a place of exile, a prison, if you will."

  Couldn't believe it, plain and simple. This man, who called himself William, claimed we were somewhere near England. He spoke of George III, but I recalled something about Queen Elizabeth II.

  Certainly, there was no George, and they wouldn't have imprisoned him for being illegitimate. They would have silenced him with money or publicly discredited him.

  A man cannot live for centuries, which left me with three options:

  ? William was lying, and neither his name nor his origin was genuine.

  ? This place existed outside of time; William had crossed over from his cell, just as I had.

  ? I had time-traveled, and this was the past.

  I dismissed the third option due to the presence of acid storms, which I'd never heard of in history classes.

  "My name is John, from North America, 2020," I said. "I've been teleported here after getting lost in the city. I suspect something similar happened to you."

  William rattled his chains, attempting to gesture.

  "A time traveler, you say? Preposterous! Yet intriguing." He said, "Release me from these fetters, and we shall make haste for fairer climes – perhaps the New World?"

  I kinda hate this guy. Is that wrong? It's wrong, isn't it?

  "I'm not sure I can trust you," I replied.

  "Do you think I'll kill you the moment you release me?" William asked.

  "Tell me more about these seekers and lost souls," I demanded.

  "Mere fantasies, I assure you," William said with a sly grin. "We're all chasing somethin'. You, your kin; me, liberty."

  "I haven't mentioned my family," I said suspiciously.

  "You're naught but a youngster, likely here by mischance. Allow me to lend a hand, lad."

  Part of me wanted to believe him, but something was off. When I mentioned the seekers, a shadowy, ghostly figure superimposed over William.

  "You're lying! How do I get out of here? Answer me, or I'll attack you with this!" I threatened, lifting the broken torture tool.

  "Steady on, lad... this wretched place is addling your brain. I'm in the same boat, tryin' to make a break..." William trailed off.

  "No! Stop! You're one of them!" I exclaimed.

  William fell silent, then attempted to pounce like a wild beast, still restrained. His cowl fell, revealing a grotesque visage: a vertical mouth, three bulging blue eyes, and no nose. He gasped loudly through his maw.

  "Release me! Let me out!" he screamed, his accent nowhere to be found.

  I retreated hastily, climbing quickly to escape the forsaken place, leaving with more questions than answers.

  I tried to grab a respite after closing the chamber, but soon a dreaded sound came from the depths - the chains had broken. It made sense, them being centuries old and having been tasked with containing the desperation of that man, no, that thing.

  I hastened out of the room and considered my options: hiding in one of the barracks, where I'd be defenseless if found, trying to dig out of this place, hoping to make it out on time while the thing searched the prison, but I thought the chances were against me; most likely, I would not make it out.

  I made up my mind, descended through the staircase, getting a good grip on the wall to avoid any mishaps, and headed towards the dungeon. On my way down, I grabbed another piece of wood with an idea already in mind - like the men of yore who repelled beasts with fire, so would I make a torch of my own.

  Already in the torture chamber, I closed the metal doors to at least halt the advance of the thing, whose footsteps I could hear rushing down. Getting the broad-tipped knife, barely the size of my hand,

  I started carving the tip to fit the fuel inside. I would need it well-attached after all.

  A loud bang on the cell's metal door distracted me from my task: it was here.

  "You want to know how I ended up here? I'll tell you," the thing said, shoulder-smashing against the door as he spoke. "I was the captain of this wretched place; they sent us here because we were too ambitious, and the seniors didn't like that. They were afraid of change, but I'm smart. I would not be trapped in this place forever!" As he spoke, he seemed to gain vigor with each passing word. "So I made a deal with her. She who begat it all, and who'll consume us too. When the others saw me coming back from our communion, they didn't respect my authority and locked me up, but shadows precede the light; we're just intruders in her world - fireflies that promptly die."

  I scraped some of the wood on the sides, creating a handle and using the residue as tinder to light the torch. I dug through my pockets but couldn't find my matches. I checked my back pockets and also the shirt, but still, nothing. The thing gloated on its story.

  "And so they did. I heard, chained to that cursed room, the noise, screams as the earth swallowed the fort, and creatures of ten heads and sharp needle teeth feasted on the soldiers - my soldiers, who betrayed me, and heard them firing their carbines vainly, refusing to accept their fate. The sound of their flesh giving way into the creatures' stomachs as they choked on their own blood, eaten alive, still accompanies me, and has done so for very, very long. You think you can escape her? If you're still alive, it's because she wants you to be. Never forget that. But your luck has run out today, when you waltzed into my chambers, with your stench and those vibrant colors that burn the eye. Give up. There's no escape, there's no salvation."

  I found the matches that had fallen onto the floor as I dug through my pockets (the disadvantage of having clothes three times your size) and lit one, closing it to the torch. The cell door busted, and the thing prepared to pounce on me, savoring my fear. The torch lit just as the thing attacked me, and the side-swing deviated its route enough to avoid the hit. It seemed enraged by my attempts at self-defense and swiped at me like a feral cougar, as I tried to sidestep and block its blows. Finding an opening, I jabbed at its chest, and the linen clothing easily caught fire. It screamed in despair and rolled on the floor, asking for the darkness to put out the flames. Taking advantage, I pummeled it hysterically as it tried to extinguish the flames - I knew I wouldn't be getting another opportunity.

  Its movements slowed down, and then more, as the fire consumed its life. After a few minutes had passed, it lay inert, unmoving, as kindles were the only remaining things of the fire. A stench of burnt hair and carbonized meat flooded the room, but I didn't care. I had vanquished the thing hunting me for the first time. It was an exhilarating feeling of power, and for a few moments, I felt like nothing could take me down. Then I remembered I still had to find my way out, and the feeling subsided.