The Blank Room

“Remember,” a stern voice echoes over the intercom, “There is only one rule.”

I straighten my posture on the uncomfortable metal chair, and the male voice continues.

“No matter what you think you hear, no matter what you think you see, you cannot leave this room. Do you understand?”

I nod my head slightly, trying to ignore the unease thrumming alongside my heartbeat.

“If you understand, look at the camera and reply with a yes,” the man persists.

I exhale anxiously and shift my eyes to the camera in the left corner of the room.

“Yes,” I state firmly.

“Good,” the voice commends, “We will reconnect in 24 hours.”

Then, the intercom falls silent, leaving deafening stillness in its wake. I smooth out my pastel purple, knee-length dress and snort at the out-of-place clothing.

“Why did I choose to wear a dress today?” I murmur to myself, “I don’t even like dresses.”

I lean back in the stiff chair and stretch my arms to the ceiling.

The room is small. There is no decor, no human touch, just a white ceiling with white walls. The vinyl floors vary slightly with their light gray hue. However, the tone evokes no sense of warmth. There is no furniture in the room, save for the metal chair situated directly at its center, which I am presently sitting on. The chair faces a single metal door and—perhaps the room’s most unsettling feature—a large floor-to-ceiling window that spans the entire wall. Through the window, I can see every inch of the adjoining room, and appearance-wise, it is nearly the same, down to the empty metal chair in the center. The only difference is the presence of another metal door on the wall opposite of the window.

“Creepy,” I whisper playfully, unsuccessfully distracting myself from the unnerving scene.

At least I’ll be five grand richer soon. I saw the ad for the program last week on Instagram. I was skeptical at first, but after doing my due diligence I found that the offer was legit. It’s simple really. All I have to do is sit in a room for 24 hours. The research facility wants to study participants’ reactions to isolation, imprisonment, and to a lesser extent, claustrophobia. In fact, I had to abstain from drinking and eating the past 24 hours since the “blank room,” as the scientists call it, has no bathroom. Although I am extremely hungry and thirsty, I am willing to sacrifice my comfort for the $5,000 compensation. I am now a single mother with two young daughters and a soon-to-be ex-husband.

“Bastard,” I cannot help but mutter before shaking my head at the unwelcome thoughts.

I instinctively reach for my phone to check the time, but of course, the scientists confiscated it before I entered the blank room. Maybe this experiment should be a study about boredom instead.

A few hours pass by—I think—and nothing happens. Nothing at all. Soon, the monotonous environment, paired with my nutrient-deprived body, causes my eyelids to droop. I internally run through the experiment’s requirements, but there is only one rule. Don’t leave the room. So sleeping is fine, I guess. Plus, it’ll make the time go by faster. Satisfied with my reasoning, I nestle into the inflexible chair and pray for a long nap.

However, moments later—perhaps minutes or hours, I am not sure—something abruptly pulls me from unconsciousness. I sit up hastily and grimace at the soreness that blooms across my back from the rigid chair. Prompted by my body’s sudden influx of adrenaline, I hurriedly examine my surroundings. Why did I wake up?

Then, I see it. Through the window, the door on the opposite side of the adjacent room is moving. No, not the door. The door handle. It is moving up and down, slowly, methodically. Not like someone is trying to enter the room. No, it’s like someone is playing with the metal handle.

“That’s weird,” I laugh nervously.

While the scene is obviously creepy, I expected this kind of mischief. Why would the scientists give me full view of an empty room and then not display anything? They probably want to study how I react to the events.

Abruptly, the handle stops moving with its tip pointing to the ceiling, and somehow, that frozen position is even scarier. Anxiously, I laugh out loud again.

“Nice one,” I say directly to the camera.

Wide awake now, I decide to stand and stretch my cramped body. I present my back to the window for a moment, but the sense of vulnerability makes me quickly turn around again. The door handle is now back in its original position.

I frown and focus on myself instead and regrettably catch sight of my engagement ring. Blinding fury lights up my eyes.

“Why the fuck am I wearing this?” I hiss.

The small diamond sparkles, unaware of the tarnished relationship it now symbolizes.

“Infidelity,” I say coldly, “That’s all this tiny rock represents.”

Before my mind has time to pull me down that well-trodden spiral path, a thunderous boom whisks me back to reality. This time, it’s not the door handle that’s moving. It’s the door. And unlike the slow playful nature of the previous event, the door slams open, and in the entryway, stands a woman.

She has medium-length, wavy brown hair and light skin with an average build and average height. My heart skips a beat as I notice her outfit. Just like me, she is wearing a light purple dress.

I examine the stranger more thoroughly and then gasp as I come to a jarring conclusion. The person on the other side of the glass is not just a woman. She is… me.

I am barely breathing when the woman—or me, I don’t know—sprints to the window. Panic stretches her features as she slams both hands against the glass.

“Listen,” she speaks in a desperate tone, “This “experiment” is not what you think it is. I know you’re confused, but I don’t have a lot of time to explain. You just have to trust me, okay?”

I twitch as my back comes in contact with the wall opposite of the window. I didn’t realize I had been walking backwards.

“W-what?” I stutter in a small voice.

She regards me with sympathetic eyes laced with impatience.

“We are both in unimaginable danger. The only way we can escape is together. However, I cannot enter your room. It’s locked from the inside. You have to leave,” she urges.

“No,” I state firmly, “I’m not leaving.”

She exhales roughly, tears collecting in her eyes.

“The…” she begins, but freezes when a low growl emanates from the doorway behind her. Her eyes widen in knowing horror. I open my mouth to ask what the hell that noise was, but she rushes on, speaking with increased urgency.

“The money’s fake. You’re not going to get anything.”

“You’re lying,” I answer with forced confidence, “You’re trying to trick me.”

She glances at the open door behind her, sighs deeply, and then continues in an even tone.

“Look at what you’re wearing. You—we—hate dresses. You don’t even own a purple dress, right? Isn’t that weird?”

I consider her words and investigate the garment more closely. Do I own a purple dress? I shake my head. I’ve been very stressed. Perhaps I bought the dress as a fresh start and forgot.

“Also, how did you arrive at the facility?” she asks, “Did you drive here? Did someone drop you off?”

I open my mouth to reply but answer in a breathy sigh. I drove myself here, right? I cannot think of another explanation. Why do I not remember driving though? I swallow shakily. In fact, I cannot even remember how I entered the blank room.

“See,” she says softly, noticing my silent epiphanies, “This whole situation doesn’t make sense. We need to leave.”

Adrenaline fuels my conflicting emotions, and I stand paralyzed by the warring thoughts. This whole situation is unreal. The woman must be a part of the experiment, and my lapses in memory must be a result of my starved and dehydrated mind.

“I don’t believe you,” I finally answer.

“Please, we…” she starts before a louder inhuman snarl interrupts her.

She fixes her pleading eyes on me.

“Please,” she sobs.

My eyes burn in response to her raw emotions, but I don’t risk movement. I cannot trust her. It is all a part of the experiment.

Then, I see it, and noticing my suddenly ghostly pallor, the woman turns around.

As if born from the shadows, a bony, humanoid form emerges from the darkened room beyond. The hairless creature stands over eight feet tall and has tight, colorless skin that seems too small for its bones. The stretched skin accentuates all its joints and skeletal divots. It is naked and has no genitalia. Each movement elicits bone-crunching cracks accompanied by the sound of nearly tearing flesh. It has a bulbous skull and a flat face with no eyes, ears, or a nose. The only feature on its profile is an overly wide mouth filled with square, human teeth.

I watch in disbelief, still not trusting my senses.

“It’s not real,” I breathe, “None of this is real.”

Despite the being’s lack of eyes, it looks directly at me and regards me with a grotesque smile.

“It’s not real,” I repeat in horror.

Its grin grows wider, as if it can hear my words, and then, it redirects its attention to the woman.

She remains still, crouched in a flight or fight stance.

“There’s still time,” she speaks softly without removing her eyes from the monster, “You can still open the door.”

I shake my head even though she cannot see me; however, my silence is answer enough.

“Just remember that I tried,” she replies, defeated.

The creature steps forward with saliva gathering in its gaping mouth. In one swift movement, the woman lunges for the chair in the center of the room and hurls it at the creature. It easily dodges her attempt and steps forward once, then twice, then three times, bridging the gap between them.

She dashes for the open door but is too slow, and the being easily snatches her by that dreadful purple dress. With its free hand, it clutches her torso. She struggles to break free, but her efforts are futile. I try to look away but cannot as the monster reels its hand back, fingers splayed, and slashes her face diagonally from forehead to chin. Her screams pierce the fear-polluted air, and my already unstable legs collapse beneath me.

The creature delicately lifts the woman with one hand around her neck and the other on her abdomen and walks to the window.

Like a child showing off its favorite doll, the monster holds up the woman—me—to the glass. I cringe at the brutal wound now marring her face. She looks at me with her only remaining eye.

“I guess we deserve this,” she chokes wetly.

I have no time to comprehend her words as the scene before me unfolds rapidly. In one fluid motion, the creature moves its hand to the woman’s shoulders and then viciously severs her head with the other. I double over and dry heave as the sounds of broken bones and torn sinew replay in my ears. Cold sweat dots my forehead as I hesitantly return my eyes to the window. I gasp.

The creature is gone. The woman is gone. There is no blood. There is no evidence that anyone was in that room.

“What?” I say weakly, still nauseated from the traumatic scene.

Suddenly, the sound of distant commotion reaches my ears. Moments later, a man crashes through the door in the adjoining room shouting,

“Police!”

Disoriented, I lock eyes with the officer, and he yells through the doorway,

“I found her!”

He rushes to the blank room’s door but is unable to open it.

“Ma’am,” the policeman says in a calm tone.

I raise my hazy eyes.

“Can you open the door on your end?” he asks slowly.

I swallow. My eyes dart between the officer and the metal door. Images of the woman’s blood-stained face color my vision. The creature’s crooked grin insnares my mobility.

“It wasn’t real,” I murmur to myself as I drop my eyes to the floor, “None of this is real.”

I look up, half expecting the officer to disintegrate like an illusion, but he remains solid.

“Ma’am. I am here to help you. Your family has been looking for you for weeks,” the officer speaks compassionately.

“Weeks?” I echo in disbelief.

I rise on quivering legs.

“It’s okay. You’re safe now,” the officer says with a kind smile, “Help me help you.”

I look at the door. How long have I been in this room? Even if the woman wasn’t real, she was right. I don’t remember how I got here or why I am wearing this dress. Nothing makes sense.

I walk to the door and place my hand on the cold handle.

“That’s it,” the police officer reassures me on the other side, “You’re doing a great job."

I look behind me at the blank room, then at the camera positioned above my head.

“I don’t know what’s real anymore,” I say quietly.

Desperation guides my actions, and I watch as my hand opens the door. The caring-faced police officer greets me on the other side.

“You did wonderfully. Let’s get you home.”

He holds out a hand, and I cannot stop myself from accepting it and taking that step towards freedom. I release a heavy breath once I clear the threshold and turn to the officer with a grateful smile. However, my relief quickly shifts to horror as the man’s gentle face transitions into one dripping with evil intent. He blinks, revealing empty, pupil-less eyes. I stumble backwards, but he simply matches my action with a step forward.

“There is only one rule,” he speaks in an ominous tone, “And you broke it.”

“No, no, no,” I chant like a protective mantra.

He responds with a wicked smirk before harshly grabbing my wrist. Then, everything goes black.

I wake up on a metal chair, and, for a moment, I think I am back in the blank room.

“Good morning, sweetie,” a male voice oozes with false kindness, “I think you’ll want to see this.”

The sleazy voice grounds me in my surroundings. I am sitting beside the white-eyed man at a white desk with a single monitor and microphone. My heart stutters when I realize that the monitor is playing live footage of the blank room. I feel the man’s eyes on me, but I am unable to turn away from the screen as the creature from earlier enters the frame cradling the woman’s body and decapitated head.

Bile rises in my throat as I watch the monster viciously shove the woman’s head back onto her body. It washes her, mends her torn skin, and finally dresses her in a pristine purple dress. Denial rings in my ears as I watch her chest start to rise and fall. The creature smiles at the camera, at me, and then exits the room.

“Time for my favorite part,” the white-eyed man chimes.

On screen, the woman’s eyes flutter open and her slacken face adjusts slightly to reflect a disinterested one. I look at the man and he returns the favor with dark eyes. Then, he clears his throat.

“Remember,” he speaks in a professional manner, “There is only one rule.”

At those words, my mobility returns and I shoot up, clumsily moving backwards and tripping over the metal chair. From my position on the floor, the man finishes his introductory statement.

“If you understand, look at the camera and reply with a yes.”

A strangled cry emerges from my core as the woman looks at the camera and says “yes.”

The man ends the chat and turns his attention to me. My mind is a storm of emotions and questions, all fighting for release simultaneously.

“Where am I?” I eventually ask.

The man tilts his head.

“I thought that would be fairly obvious,” he replies.

My blank stare prompts him to continue.

“You’re in Hell, honey.”

“Hell,” I shake, “I-I don’t belong in Hell.”

“Oh, trust me. You do,” he responds nonchalantly as his eyes fall to my engagement ring.

I try to ignore the unclean feelings dancing beneath my skin.

“How long have I been here?” I ask instead.

The man abandons his chair and crouches beside me, caressing the nape of my neck.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to,” he whispers in my ear.

Before I have time to digest his words, he grabs my wrist and suddenly we are standing in front of a metal door.

“Have you figured out the game yet?” he inquires, “Here’s a hint.”

I watch as the white-eyed man places his hand on the door handle and slowly maneuvers it—up and down, up and down. Realization sharpens my foggy mind.

“I’m the woman on the other side of the blank room now,” I whisper.

“Yes,” the man drawls, “And the only way you can escape this infinite loop of torture is if you convince your other self to leave the blank room. You both must walk through this door together.”

I stare soundlessly in reply.

“Of course, you must accomplish your goal before my smiley friend joins the party,” he adds with a sinister half grin.

Unbridled despair and fear like I have never known before cascade through my body.

“W-who are you?” I quiver.

The white-eyed man smiles wildly.

“I think you know the answer to that,” he says simply before stepping away from the door, “See you soon.”

I glance at the door handle, then back to him, but he is gone.

Oppressive darkness taints my surroundings. So, with no other options, I heave the door open. And like some cruel version of deja vu, I sprint to the glass and meet my other self’s untrusting gaze.

“Please,” I begin, “You have to listen to me. We don’t have much time.”