A girl walked alone beside a thin metal railing; her sweater’s zipper banging it, causing a short ringing sound to echo through the empty fields. She was at an old soccer field, the change rooms were below her and no one ever came here anymore. This field was the spot of quiet left in the town, which was slowly turning into a city.
The girl continued walking down the bleachers, humming slightly to the mysterious tune in her head. But then she heard something.
I am trapped
in locker 139.
I was wearing ragged
jeans that clung to me—
they caught an edge
ripping a hole
just below my left knee—
and a striped white-black
T-shirt.
It didn’t matter
how fast
I ran
IT
found
me.
The girl stopped walking, turning slightly to face the light breeze that blew through her hair and skin. There was no one else there. But it felt like a person had whispered the words into her ear, their cool breath on her skin.
She shivered at the thought of someone being that close to her, but not being there now. Quickly, the girl turned back to walking along the bleachers, no longer feeling alone and trying to shake the words the now echoed in her head.
I am trapped in locker 139.
The sound of footsteps followed after her, loud against the afternoon sky. She stopped; the footsteps didn’t. They got louder, thumping on the ground steps below her. And then a sound, which sounded like a dog growling at an intruder; or a wolf growling at its prey.
The girl ran, throwing herself down the steps of the bleachers toward the abandoned locker room. She darted across the field that was now muddy from the winter rain, and slammed her weight into the blue rusted metal door of the locker room. Her hand fumbled on the door handle, her face pressed against the small window, and once it was open, she ran inside.
The girl didn’t know what she was running from, but her instincts told her one thing: run. She darted in between the long rows of lockers, heading in the direction of the changing stalls. The growling behind her was closing in, causing her to add a burst of speed.
She saw it then: a changing stall that was open and she quickly made her way to it. The lockers and the changing stalls were all numbered, but she didn’t have the time to look for anything else.
Her Converse thumped loudly as she drove into the stall, slamming the door behind her. But the door was odd, for there was no lock but three lock spots. In a panic, the girl pushed all her weight on the door to keep it shut, hoping that her follower would not have the strength to open the door.
Silence was filled with her heavy breathing, the footsteps fading quietly. Could it have been possible that the person following her did not see her come this way? The girl could only hope.
Then another sound filled the air, cutting into her ragged breathing: the sound of someone turning the lockers; the sound of the bars falling into place, closing off the door to the outside world; closing off the door to the stall and the rest of the locker room.
Realization hit the girl, causing her to panic and throw herself at the door of the stall. The stall simple rattled slightly but stayed. She tried again, and again, and again, until her shoulder hurt. Then she sank to the floor, her back to the door, and closed her eyes letting the tears that had build up, flow.
***
The girl opened her eyes, the tears having dried on to the sleeve of her sweater. She was going to need to get out of this stall; that was the first thing that crossed her mind now that she was calmer. Hitting the door had made her hurt, so she was going to have to wait to try anything like slamming the door, but that did not stop her from thinking about climbing over, or under, to the next stall or the other side of the door.
The girl stood up, ignoring the ache in her shoulder, and looked back at the door. Or rather, she looked at the crack underneath the door.
The crack was just big enough to fit her hand under, not including her arm let alone the rest of her. She looked at the other cracks at the bottom of the walls that enclosed her: they were all the same as the door.
With a sigh, the girl looked up at the top of the door and walls: they all almost reached the concrete ceiling, leaving a small two inch crack at the top. What type of stall is this? The girl couldn’t help but wonder and tried to ignore the feeling of being stuck.
If she was going to be here for a while, then she better understand where she was. And so, the teenage girl looked around the stall, taking in every detail.
The walls to the stall were probably about an inch thick, made of grey-green metal that covered what was most likely thick wood. The floor was covered with dirt and something dark, almost like dried old blood, and was tiled with grey tiles. Now the walls to the actual locker room and the ceiling were all concrete; stained with water and mud. There was also a small wooden bench that was bolted to the back concrete wall.
And scratches. The entire room was covered with scratches, like someone trying to escape or an animal trying to claw its way through the stall. The girl traced the left wall, which was part of the stall considering the concrete wall was the back one, and all of the scratches that followed, but something stopped her. It was too dark to see clearly yet but her fingers were not mistaken; it was a number, a three digit number: 139.
I am trapped in locker 139.
139 was not a locker, but a changing stall. The girl shook her head, it just didn’t make sense. But then again neither did the voice in her head telling these things. She was sad at the fact that she had not found an exit, and that she was not brave enough to follow to rest of the scratches on the walls.
Then another emotion flooded her: rage. Anger and rage at the person who locked her in this godforsaken stall; at the thought of being trapped in a place no one came to anymore; at the thought of being stupid enough to come down here in the first place.
The girl slammed herself again into the door in one last futile attempted to escape. But only this time something answered back.
On the other side of the door, someone, or something, whacked the door with such force that the girl stumbled back in surprise. The voice that followed that did not help either.
“Quiet down! Else I beat you with club,” a raspy voice yelled at her, its English broken. Another whack to the door came, and the girl assumed it was from the club. Carefully, she peered through the small crack between the wall and the door hinges, trying to see who this person was.
The girl almost jumped back in shock at the look of the person, or creature. It looked like its skin was torn off and then stitched together without care; it was bald with a scarred skull, and its mouth was twisted upward, revealing sharp crooked teeth. In its thin hand it held a thick rotting piece of wood, which, despite it being rotten, looked strong. The wood was very much like the creature who could have been once a man: it was twisted, rotten, and thin but it looked strong enough to kill her.
She retreated to the left wall, right underneath the scratched 139, and watched the creature walk away, dragging the piece of wood along with it.
***
The girl’s vision was now clear, having adjusted to the darkness of the locker room. She had nowhere to go; no one to see. So, she just leaned against the left wall and wondered; wondered if her parents were worried about her not coming home; wondered if she would get out of here; wondered if she would die here.
The girl had guessed that hours had passed since she first entered the locker room, meaning it was well into the night. She was thirsty and somewhat hungry, though she also really needed to go to the bathroom. But she wouldn’t; she would stay where she was on the dirt encrusted floor, curled up and waiting for something to happen. And it did.
My name is Ethan,
Ethan Williams,
I am ten,
and it was 2010 when
I came down here.
I am trapped
in locker 139.
I was wearing ragged
jeans that clung to me—
they caught an edge
ripping a hole
just below my left knee—
and a striped white-black
T-shirt.
It didn’t matter
how fast
I ran
IT
found
me.
The voice filled her head again, stopping at the same point. A boy named Ethan was down here before her, his fate was unknown to the girl. She held her head in her hands, back pressed to the wall, and waited; waited for the silence to stop; waited for someone to explain what locker 139 was.
But no one did. No one could. She was alone.
***
She had fallen asleep, her head resting on the wall. And she dreamed; dreamed about someone coming into the stall and saving her. She dreamed it was a handsome man who came and saved her, pulled her out of the concrete locker room and kissed her in the open air of the field.
But the dream changed and the man bit her. He bit her on the neck; blood gushed out and covered the ground. And the man smiled her blood on his lips and covering his straight teeth. She fell to the ground, slowly dying of the pain and the blood staining anything in its path.
The girl woke up. Sweat trained down her forehead, traveling to the softness of her neck. She gasped for breath, gulping in the air as if it were her last. The dream was something that she had never experienced before; it had felt like she was there and was slowly dying on the ground. It was unreal.
Footsteps echoed outside of the stall door, squeaking slightly on the tiled floor. They were not heavy like the other creatures, but light like someone who was too young to know what was going on. Could a child be here, the girl asked herself.
Giggling filled the silence of the room, confirming the girl’s guess of a child. The laughter was too light to be an adult or a teenager, meaning it had to be child.
Quickly, the girl scurried to the crack in the door, seeking out the source of the laughter. And she found it: it was a little girl. Or at least it looked like a little girl from behind.
“Hello,” she called out tensely to the child. The little girl turned to face her, causing her to recoil. The child’s mouth was spilt open wide, like someone had cut their mouth with a knife ear to ear. The little girl’s teeth were not sharp like the other creature but it did smile continuously at the door of 139.
“Hi,” a girly voice answered back. The girl was looking at the door with shock, but decided that she should see if the child would let her out. “My name is Emma. Can you play with me?”
The girl swallowed, despite her mouth being dry. “I’ll play with you if you can let me out. Can you let me out Emma?” Emma giggled.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because he would be mad if I did, and I would like to get some food too.”
“Food?” How could she have forgotten about food?
“Yeah, the best type of food.”
“Which is,” the girl asked Emma quietly. Emma’s smiled seemed to widen, if that were even possible.
“You,” Emma answered before going into a fit of giggles. The girl recoiled, backing into the low hanging bench attached to the concrete wall. The sound of someone skipping started to invade the silence, and then fade away from her prison of 139.
***
The girl was resting her head on the bench behind her. She was trying to build up the courage to look at the scratches on the walls. Hopefully they would provide information about what was going to happen in here, or rather, what was going to happen to her.
She picked herself up from her spot on the dirty floor, and took a step toward the left wall where the scratches were engraved into words and the dreadful number. Her fingers traced the wall until she found the three digits and continued down the length of the metal. It was about a half of an inch later until she found words.
My name is Ethan,
Ethan Williams,
I am fourteen,
and it was 2010 when
I came down here.
I am trapped
in locker 139.
I was wearing ragged
jeans that clung to me—
they caught an edge
ripping a hole
just below my left knee—
and a striped white-black
T-shirt.
It didn’t matter
how fast
I ran
IT
found
me.
To anyone who
comes down here and
into locker 139:
be warned that
they
are not
normal people.
Do not
talk
to the little
girl
or
the keeper
of the key.
The words ended there. It’s a little too late for that now, the girl thought, scolding herself for not following the words earlier. Though that seemed like the end of the message that trailed down the length of the wall, it wasn’t. Her fingers now followed the width of the wall toward the back cool concrete.
It has been two weeks since I have been put down here. I never meant to come down here, this field was simple a quiet place to think for me; a safe haven in a way. But then I heard someone following me, and I ran into the locker room to hide. Only that was the place it wanted me to go.
The words stopped and started again a little farther down the wall.
It has now been three months since I was down here; I have been scratching marks into the walls to keep track of the days with a small but sharp rock that is under the bench. The keeper gives me small amounts of food and some water, but I am cold.
A little girl found me one day. She seemed nice, and I thought she would let me out, but she didn’t. Instead she said that I was going to die here, alone in the dark…
Six months.
Ten months. I think I am done. I can’t stop shaking. It’s cold down here and I am starving. I am done. To anyone who is unfortunate enough to come down here and get stuck in 139: you will die down here in this prison, alone in the darkness.
My name is Ethan, Ethan Williams, and I am now fifteen, and I am dead…
Tears streamed down the girl’s face, falling to the floor of the stall. She leaned back against the right wall, which was covered in the scratches used to mark his days in here. And she cried; she cried for her parents; she cried for Ethan, an eleven year old boy; she cried at the thought of dying down here, alone.
***
Ten days. That’s how long she had been down here. She had found water hidden underneath the bench in an old water bottle, along with the rock used to carve the words into the walls, but there was no food. She was slowly starving to death.
The keeper had not come back over the days. Neither did Emma, the cruel little girl that had been down there for years. It was just her and the dark.
Ethan’s words still kept her awake at night; he would have been eighteen or nineteen by now, two years older than the girl. He had carved in to the words that she would not escape, she would never escape.
And the girl… she had been sitting with her back to the door for days now. Her muscles were cramped from lack of movement, and she was in pain. But she refused to move. To move that meant she was going to do something, but there was nothing to do in 139. Just slowly die in the dark.
***
On the twelve day of the girl’s imprisonment, she heard unfamiliar footsteps. They were light, but not like the little girl, they were heavy, but not like the keeper. They sounded like shoes on the tile, which the keeper and the little girl both did not have. And it gave her hope; hope that someone had finally found her and was going to save her.
“Hello, is someone in here?” A voice questioned. Their tone was soft and gentle; their voice was not broken or little, but somewhat deep.
“I’m here,” the girl called back. The footsteps stopped just before the door, and the girl turned around to see black shoes from under the crack.
“I thought that monster might have brought someone else here,” the voice said more to himself than to her.
“Well, you’re right.”
“My name is Kane, Kane Conner.” The girl thought about answering with her name, and decided that she didn’t have anything to lose.
“My name is Lia, Lia Campbell.” She heard a soft thump behind her, causing her to turn around again. Lia saw the edge of a dark coat, the material like that of an overcoat.
“I would say that it is nice to meet you, but in these conditions it isn’t so nice.” Lia, despite herself, laughed.
“Sadly that’s true, but it’s nice to talk to someone,” she responded. Kane chuckled lightly.
To Lia, Kane did not seem like one of the monsters that roamed the locker room. He seemed friendly and kind, rather than cruel, and he did not seem like he wanted to kill her like Emma.
The sound of a door clicking shut echoed through the locker room and Kane stood abruptly. Lia stood up as well, facing the door to the stall.
“I have to go, but I promise I’ll come back.” And he was gone.
***
Kane came back for four more days after that, and to Lia, he was a friend. He made her laugh and forget about where she was, and he brought her water and food to survive, but she forgot to ask him if he could let her go. So, when Kane came back on eighteenth day of her being in 139, she decided that she was going to ask.
“Hey,” she started off. “I have a question for you.”
There was the sound of someone shifting to lean against the door, before Kane answered.
“Okay, what is it?”
“Can you let me out?”
Silence devoured her question. It was so quiet that Lia almost thought Kane might have left to avoid answering. But, he soon answered.
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because the – the thing that put you in here, it has the key to the locks. And if I tried to get the keys he would kill me and you.”
“Oh.” Lia was disappointed; she had thought that for once since she was put in this prison that she might have had a way out.
Kane seemed to sense the atmosphere and her disappointment, and tried to change the subject.
“How old are you Lia?” She looked at the door, walked over to it, and leaned against it.
“I’m sixteen. You?”
“I’m eighteen.”
Then Lia thought of the voice that had first led her down into the locker room, and wondered about the carving in the walls.
“Kane, did you ever know someone named Ethan who was down here?”
“No, I didn’t sorry,” he replied through the door. She nodded slightly, even though he couldn’t see her.
“Do you have a marker?”
“Like a Sharpie™?”
“Yeah,” Lia said.
Movement made the door shake as Kane reached into his pocket. The sound of a plastic rolling on the tiled floor echoed through the dark silence. Lia looked down at the dirty floor and watched the black marker roll toward the cool concrete wall.
She bent down to pick up the marker, and then placed it on the small bench within easy reach.
“What’s the marker for?”
Lia smiled sadly. “It’s for the people who will get stuck in here like me.”
The two of them didn’t speak for the rest of the time Kane was leaning against the door.
***
When she woke up that day she knew. She knew that it was time. Kane was already there, leaning against the door like before. But she was weaker; she felt that if she moved she would break into tiny pieces that scattered the floor.
But she moved to the door, leaning against it and trying to talk.
“It’s time. I can feel it,” she said, her voice weak.
“Okay,” Kane hummed.
Lia pushed herself towards the bench on the end wall, reaching for the marker. She bit the cap off with her teeth, and started to write one of the only blank spaces the wall had to offer.
My name is Lia,
Lia Campbell,
I am sixteen
and it was 2014
when I followed
a voice
down here.
I was trapped in
locker
139.
And to anyone
who comes down here
I warn you
that he will keep you here
for as long as he wants.
But you’re not
alone
in the darkness;
find whoever
you need—find
your
light.
Lia placed the cap on the pen, and fell against the door. Her breathing was uneven and pain was breaking through all the cracks that had appeared within her. But she spoke.
“Will you stay,” she whispered.
“I’ll stay Lia,” Kane replied. “Good bye.”
“No, not good bye, but see you later.”
Kane smiled slightly. “See you later Lia Campbell.”
Lia smiled too. “See you later Kane Connor. You were my light in this place.”
“You were my light Lia,” Kane said softly.
The girl took one last breath, closed her eyes, and released the breath falling into an eternal sleep that would never be disturbed by voices or darkness again. And she finally realized that she was not alone.
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