Jack,

 

Where are you? Why have you abandoned me? Why, Jack? Why? You promised you would never leave me … that you would never hurt me. Help me, Jack. I’m scared! I can’t remember how I got here. I’m in that place again, the place I spent my last days. But it’s different. It’s dark, always dark, not as I remember it at all. I’m in pain, Jack! A pain you cannot understand. I don’t know how or why I’m here. Please help me. Please come take me home!

 

I love you, Jack

FAA Chloe

 

At the end of every letter Chloe sent Jack, she wrote FAA – Forever and Always – before her name. It was their little peace of mind, their little piece of trust. To anyone who read the correspondence, which passed between the couple, it may have seemed over the top, but to Jack it meant the world. He used to spend half the year working in Africa, so to him, FAA meant Chloe was waiting for him, that she was faithful and devoted. Perhaps it was because Jack secretly felt a little insecure. FAA gave him the reassurance he needed, especially when so far away from home.

 

However, Chloe had stopped writing to Jack six years ago, so this was bizarre. He could not explain it. The strangest thing about this particular letter wasn’t the bloody fingerprint stains, or the fact that it was written in Chloe’s handwriting, but the date on which he had received it: June 6, 1999. Exactly six years since her death.

 

====================

 

Jack opened his eyes to find himself gazing into a large, old, dirty cracked mirror, in a rundown, dilapidated public toilet. His dry hands grasped the sides of a rusty metal sink beneath him. The slight haze in his eyes cleared, revealing a dim light flickering above his head. There was a faint cold breeze, causing the light to swing from side to side. Jack looked deeper into his reflection, ignoring all the imperfections in the mirror, and the strange substance smeared all over it. In a trance, he stroked drops of water, slowly dripping from the tap below, cupping his hands to catch as much moisture as he could. He straightened up and sighed, pale blue eyes continuing to lock into the tattered mirror.

 

He stared deep into his reflection, as if he were searching for his missing soul. He was not aware of where he was or how he had got there. Nor was he aware of the stench of stale urine that permeated his nostrils. Jack could only think of one thing: the letter. He constantly went over it in his head, character for character, word for word, as if Chloe herself were speaking to him.

 

He reached into his inside pocket and carefully removed the envelope. Taking care to avoid the dark red fingerprint stains, Jack, apprehensively, removed the letter, unfolding it slowly. Purposefully, he diverted his eyes from the mirror to the piece of paper in his hands. He read the letter repeatedly. This time, his eyes focused on just one sentence: I’m in that place again, the place I spent my last days.

 

Jack’s mind began to wander. He saw a vision of his dead wife, smiling and dancing playfully, as he used a Hi8 camcorder to video her. Without warning, she stopped smiling, and tears of blood started to pour from her eyes. She began to scream. Her voice became demonic, and the air around him filled with loud, piercing laughter. In horror, he dropped the camcorder. As it lay on the ground, it continued to film, and Jack now saw everything from its perspective.

 

There were bloody footprints all over the earthen surface. Amongst a pair of prints lay a set of antique keys. As the camcorder zoomed in towards them, Jack saw that attached to the keys, was a gold plated key ring. Also attached, was a rectangular metal fob, with words engraved on its surface: CYRUS LODGE 006

 

Suddenly, there was a loud knock. Jack, disoriented, broke from his trance, and looked around him. The relentless knocking made his ears twitch with every repetition. The noise was coming from somewhere behind but the dull flickering light made it hard for him to see. As his eyes began to adjust, he clocked the exact location of the noise – a cubicle from behind a door that was slightly ajar. As Jack strained to see, he heard a voice whispering loudly.

 

‘Help me, Jack.’

 

As the voice reached his ears, Jack felt a shiver creep down his spine. Against his better judgment, he began to walk tentatively towards the cubicle. The décor inside the toilet was a patchy green and rustic-red. Many of the tiles on the filthy walls were broken. The equally grungy floor was soaked with syrupy black water, and all the metal urinals and sinks were dirty and rusty, with a foul-smelling, pungent odour emanating from each one. All the doors looked shabby; green paint peeling off in many places, revealing rotting wood beneath.

 

Jack’s heart was pounding. He was afraid of what lay behind the door but his curiosity was stronger than the beat of his heart. As he reached the decaying wooden door, he held out his left arm and tried to push it open. As his index finger made contact with the rotting wood, the door slammed shut with a thunderous bang. Panic-stricken, Jack lost his balance and fell onto the scruffy, slimy floor.

 

As he lay there, drenched, dirty, and confused, a childlike whimper came from beyond the door of the cubicle. Its shrill voice echoed all around the squalid, rundown public toilet. Jack felt a sudden burst of adrenalin and momentary rage. He lifted his leg and kicked the door as hard as he could. It flew open without any resistance. The cubicle was empty. There was nothing inside, except a dilapidated cistern. Jack was puzzled. As he stared at the empty space, a number of questions raced in his mind. Where the hell am I? What the fuck am I doing here? Whose voice was that?

 

The faint glow from the overhead light suddenly became brighter. At the same time, beams of daylight began to break through the cracked tiles on the walls, briefly brightening the area around him. A beam of light shone directly into the cubicle and as it did, a sparkle next to the broken cistern caught his eye. Jack felt his curiosity return. Despite being soaked from head to toe with squalid water, he managed to get to his feet and focus firmly on the cubicle in front. Without hesitation, he marched inside. As he looked down at the floor, he spotted the sparkling object that had caught his attention. To the left of the broken cistern, lay a pair of earrings. This can’t be possible! He reached forth with his right hand, picked them up, and held them tightly, falling to his knees. He began to cry, helplessly.

 

Before her premature death, the last present Jack had given Chloe was a pair of white gold earrings; the same earrings now grasped tightly in his hand. Jack recalled that he had been on his way to collect Chloe. It had been her last visit to hospital, where Chloe had received the news that the cancer was too aggressive and had spread to every vital organ in her body. She must prepare for the worst. Jack remembered her doctor’s words. “She probably doesn’t have long.”

 

He gradually began to unravel his fingers from around the earrings. Jack had known Chloe’s fate before she related the devastating details. When he had walked past the jewellers, and saw the 18-carat white gold earrings she had desired for their sixth wedding anniversary, he didn’t think twice. Jack knew they would not ease her suffering, but thought they might soften the blow. I want to wake up! This must be a dream. It must be! Tears began to run down his face. In his mind, he heard screaming fill the empty space, and the visceral sensation of burning anguish filled every ounce of his tormented soul. It cannot be! I buried you Chloe. Dead people cannot write letters! This must be a dream. I BURIED you with these earrings!

 

Jack quickly jumped to his feet and ran towards the exit. As the door thundered open, an intense beam of bright light shone directly into his eyes, blinding him briefly. He lifted his arms to shield himself from the glare. Moments later, the light began to ease and in front of him, was a road. On the opposite side facing away from him, stood a signpost. He cautiously edged towards it. As his feet touched the asphalt surface, he heard the sound of a lone vehicle in the distance.

 

As Jack reached the sign, he walked past then turned round to face it. His eyes drank in three words, in large, bold type:

 

Welcome to Darkview

 

Jack stopped in his tracks as if he had just seen a ghost. He stood still with his arms by his side. Suddenly a loud noise consumed his ears, but he was so mesmerised by the sign, the sound didn’t register. He woke from his trance, but it was too late. He turned to see a rusty brown Datsun pickup truck, just feet away, blasting its horn. There was no time to react. He felt himself flying backwards, hitting the ground with a heavy thud. For a brief moment, Jack saw a face looking down on him. Then, as quickly as the face appeared, it vanished, disintegrating like dust.

 

It was the last thing he remembered.