The Game – A Short Story

It wouldn’t be Halloween month without a bit of a twisted tale would it?

Those of you who have read my short story collection, Twisted tales 2, might recognise this story. Those of you who haven’t – if you like this story, you can grab it here for more dark stories with a twist.

Here goes:

The Game

I sit down in the chair, keeping a close eye on the man who may or may not be dead. I pinch myself. Obviously, this is a dream.

It hurts, but nothing else happens. Great, I think. This again.

Ever since I tried to run away when I was twelve, my father has alternated between making a huge effort to be a good dad, and this.

The game.

He’s a good dad. Really he is. And he’s normal. But every so often, he changes. He withdraws from me, leaving me to mostly fend for myself. That’s why I ran away in the first place. After he found me, he told me I was ready to be a part of the game.

And now I am. Sometimes, he withdraws and nothing happens. He just returns to his usual self one day. But other times, he goes missing for a couple of hours.

And that’s when I end up in a room somewhere. It could be anywhere, the location matters little to him. He just needs it be deserted enough that no one can hear me yelling.

The first time, yelling was pretty much all I did. I thought I’d been abducted, was going to die. I yelled and cursed, until eventually, my dad came and let me out. He told me he was preparing me for the game. I had no idea what he meant, but I was pretty sure I didn’t want to play his game anymore.

That was a week after I’d attempted to run away. Four years ago.

Now, I’m used to it. I don’t waste my time yelling. I view it as a sort of challenge. I make it my mission to escape the room and be gone when he gets here to let me out. I wonder how he would react if I did? Of course, it’s never happened so I don’t know. It’s not an easy game.

There’s always some bizarre props, the purpose of which I can never work out. I often wonder whether if I could just work out what the props are for I could do it. I could win.

My father likes to see if I can escape, knowing full well I won’t be able to. I should stop playing really. Just sit here until he gets bored. But we both know I won’t. Maybe once I escape, the game will end.

The man is a new development. I don’t even want to consider who he is or what my father did to him.

I approach the man and poke at his feet with my toes. He doesn’t stir. I remember the wheelchair. Maybe it’s his and his legs are paralysed?

I prod him in the ribs instead and he moans. I take a step back.

“Hello?” I say.

The man groans. I glance over him. He doesn’t seem to be hurt.

“Hello?” I say again.

The man drags himself into a sitting position.

“Who the hell are you?” he says. “What happened? Why are you in my house?”

“I’m Natalie,” I say. “And the rest? I was hoping you could tell me.”

The man is quiet for a moment. “I don’t remember much. A man burst in. He told me I was going to die. That because of me, his daughter would win. I think he was crazy. And then nothing. Until now. He must have thought I was dead. How did you end up here?”

I shrug. “Something similar to you,” I lie.

Now I know why the man is here. I know what I must do. My father always told me there was more to the game. That I must learn how to play before I could move on to the next level. He told me it wasn’t about escaping, but about winning.

I thought escaping was winning. Now I know better.

The earlier rooms. They were just preparation, so when the real game started, I knew what to expect. This is the game. And winning means being the last one standing.

I back up slowly and reach for the knife. I approach the man. I see his eyes widen with fear. Somehow, he knows what I am going to do. I guess the knife pointing at him is a major clue.

I smile. “It’s ok,” I tell him. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

Somehow, I know my father is watching through the window behind me. I lean down and in one quick movement, I slash the man’s throat. I watch calmly as he bleeds to death in front of me, his eyes glazing over as the blood leaves him.

The door opens. I turn and my father stands there, a smile of pride on his face. I smile back.

I did it. I won. The game is over.

“You did it,” he says. He walks over and hugs me, seemingly oblivious to the blood on my front. “I’m so proud of you. Natalie, welcome to the game.”

My smiles fades. The truth hits me. That wasn’t the end. It was the beginning.

What did you think? Let me know in the comments 🙂

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