The severance game, p.11
The Severance Game, page 11
The atmosphere went from terrifying and eerie to terrifying and confusing as we began to pass shelves built into the cave’s walls. It wasn’t so much the shelves themselves that raised our eyebrows (the craftsmanship wasn’t that bad). But the contents that sat upon them were weird. There were ballet shoes, wigs, musical instruments, and a bunch of other strange junk.
What, did they just eat a theatre troupe for breakfast and an orchestra for lunch?
It wasn’t long before we entered an immense round room, no doubt the center of the tunnel system. It was lit from every angle by torches and had a high roof that converged into a point like a pyramid. Tree roots from the outside world poked through—some gripping the ceiling tightly, others dangling out as if reaching for us.
Built into the front of the room was an impressive stage. It was elevated at least fifteen feet above the floor and was adorned with meaty red velvet curtains.
What really caught my attention, though, were the people in the room. They were hammering, painting, dancing. Many seemed perfectly content. But maybe fifty or sixty of them were working with balls and chains shackled to their ankles.
I felt like I wanted to ask a question, but I couldn’t think of the right one to pose. It was all so random. Before I could form the words, the wolves herded us into the center of the room and circled us like prey.
Seriously, is this how it ends—eaten by wolves in an underground community theater?
I was truly expecting them to lunge at us, and I slipped my hand into my satchel in preparation, ready to go down fighting. But instead of attacking, each wolf was abruptly consumed by an emerald tornado.
The vortexes appeared out of nowhere and expanded rapidly—shrouding the theater in a thick cloud. After a few seconds the smoke faded away. In place of the colossal wolves were ordinary-looking people, all of whom were dressed up and possessed glowing green eyes.
A man emerged on the stage behind them. He had orangey hair, a suspicious mole, and wore a petticoat with matching teal tights.
Yes, you read that correctly. Teal tights.
He descended the stage and bowed to us formally. “Welcome, children,” he said. “I am Gustaf Pepperjack.”
As he bowed, a chain around his neck dangled forward and I caught a glimpse of the big ring that was hanging from it. It was gold and tacky, like a cross between a prize from a cereal box and a promise ring a teenaged boy might give to a steady girlfriend. The stone set into the ring was as bright and deeply green as the eyes of Mr. Pepperjack’s colleagues.
Daniel raised his eyebrows. “Werewolves? Really? That’s kind of predictable isn’t it?”
A girl at my twelve o’clock with big curls and bigger eyebrows crossed her arms. “We are not Werewolves,” she said. “We are Therewolves.”
Now it was my turn to raise an eyebrow. “I’m sorry. What now?”
“Therewolves,” Pepperjack repeated. “The ‘th’ is an abbreviation of Thespian.”
“Is that kind of like a windsurfer?” Jason asked.
“Thespians are actors,” I whispered to him.
Pepperjack shrugged. “We prefer Performance Artists or Stage Masters or—”
“Scripted Chameleons,” another Therewolf added.
“Sydney, we vetoed that name at our last table read. Let it go, man,” Pepperjack growled.
The two continued arguing, and I took advantage of the distraction as best I could.
Looking around, I knew there was still no way we could fight them all and win. But after seeing the imprisoned workers, I got the feeling that whatever they had in store for us didn’t involve a quick execution. Which meant there would be time to think of an escape plan later. In the meantime, since these creatures were humans as much as they were wolves, I didn’t want them to discover my wand and find out about my magic. I had to camouflage it, fast.
I subtly dipped my hand into my satchel, grasping the wand tightly.
Okay, don’t transform it into anything too fancy. Just pick something commonplace.
Pepperjack suddenly removed his glove and slapped Sydney across the face with it before throwing it to the ground.
Snap! I have never seen anyone literally and figuratively throw down the gauntlet. I guess I can check witnessing the fulfillment of an age-old idiom off my bucket list.
Sadly, Sydney did not accept the challenge. He looked like he wanted to at first, but Pepperjack’s daggering stare stole whatever courage he’d been mustering. He simply rubbed his bruised cheek, sucked in his equally injured pride, and stepped back subserviently to join the other Therewolves.
I hurriedly concentrated on the first weapon that came to mind and morphed my wand into a kitchen knife.
“As I was saying,” Pepperjack continued as he readdressed us. “To use the peasant and overly colloquial term—we are actors. To be precise, we are a race of hyper-talented actors that transform into giant, hyper-intelligent wolves.”
Jason scratched his head, trying to understand the strange revelation. “So . . . what do you weirdos want with us exactly?” he asked.
“Jason, do not be a moron,” SJ said. “They obviously want to eat us.”
“They come anywhere near me and I’m stabbing them in the sternum and making a break for it,” he replied bluntly. “The way I see it, I don’t have to outrun them; I just have to outrun a few of you.”
“Will you shut it?” SJ huffed. “Just because you can only think of yourself now does not mean you have to say every awful thing that comes into your simpleton head.”
“Says the princess donning a new heart of darkness,” Jason responded. “You can’t speak without it being an insult. Right now you have more in common with your witchy step-grandma than you do with your own mother.”
“Take that back,” SJ barked.
“Make me,” he responded.
I saw SJ reach for her slingshot, but I rushed between her and Jason before she could shoot any potions at him. If she opened fire now these Therewolves would kill us first and ask questions later. We needed time.
Surprisingly, Daniel also stepped in. He pried Jason farther away from SJ and told him to cool it. Even more surprisingly, Jason listened.
As the Therewolves snickered at us, I delicately put my hand over SJ’s, which was holding her slingshot. “Not now,” I muttered under my breath. She tensed at first but thankfully released her grip on the weapon.
Geez, that was close. That tiny witch in the Valley had been right; it was easy for people to turn on each other when they weren’t themselves. I almost just witnessed two of my best friends—and two of the nicest people I’ve ever met—get into an all-out brawl.
Pepperjack cleared his throat, calling everyone’s attention back to him. “Well now, that was . . . spirited,” he said. “I guess we will have to assign you children to different groups.”
“Groups?” Daniel repeated.
“Yes,” Pepperjack replied. “You will all be assigned to different work groups to help out our troupe.”
“So you’re not going to eat us then?” Blue stammered.
Pepperjack chuckled. “Oh no, we’re definitely going to eat you, but not until after the show. You see, we Therewolves roam the Forbidden Forest hunting travelers for three reasons. First and foremost, we like to have audiences for our theatrical productions, even if they are being held against their will. Second, good stagehands are hard to find and the free labor our prisoners provide helps us mount the most lavish of shows.”
“And the third reason?” I asked, although I had a pretty good idea of the answer.
“Naturally,” Pepperjack mused, “so we can have food at the after-party. Now come, opening night is in two weeks and we’re dreadfully behind with costume design.”
The Light Bulb Moment
ays one and two of Therewolf captivity consisted of sewing sequins onto gender-neutral leotards within the confinement of my solitary cell.
Since we were new recruits, the Therewolves didn’t trust us with any important stage crew work, or to be in close contact with one another yet. Separated from my friends and Daniel for a couple of days, I found myself constantly wondering how they were doing. Had they also been driven within an inch of their sanity from so much sewing? Or had they been forced to perform other, equally monotonous tasks like highlighting lines in scripts or shining shoes with smelly polish?
Throughout the ordeal I’d been racking my brain trying to think of a way to escape. But my prison, like that of the others I was sure, lacked much to work with.
Since we were underground, there were no windows. And when they’d shoved me in here, I’d noticed the absolute heftiest of padlocks clinging to the outside of my cell’s solid steel door. The walls were also without weak spot. Plus, I had to contend with an enormous ball and chain clasped around my right ankle, which weighed close to thirty pounds.
At least if I’d had my wand there would have been some possibility of finding a way out—its unbreakable nature would’ve easily allowed me to hack through the chains and maybe even the door too. But the Therewolves had confiscated it and our other weapons. Now the only thing I had in my corner were my lock-picking skills.
After fiddling with it in between guard patrols, I’d managed to pick the lock on my ball and chain with my sewing needle.
This was definitely a win. However, since the lock to my cell was on the other side of the door and I had no way of reaching it, for the time being the small victory served no purpose. As a result, I’d decided to keep the ball and chain around my ankle and the lock-picking option in my back pocket until I had a follow-up move for escape.
On the third morning of captivity I was sewing my ten thousandth sequin when a very plump Therewolf wearing a tight corset appeared in my doorway.
“You, combat boots,” she said as she unlocked my cell, her arm fat waggling as she jiggled the rusty bronze key. “Come on, you’ve been reassigned to wardrobe and set design.”
She and another Therewolf led me through a series of torch-lined tunnels to a huge area that housed every kind of design material you could fathom. It was so big and winding I had no way of ascertaining just how far back it extended. Craning my neck, I saw that the space twisted into a myriad of extensions like a maze.
The ceiling here was high like in the main theater; it had to be to accommodate the storage of so many massive set fronts. Tables bearing everything from spray paint to chicken wire covered the floor, causing me to up my agility in order to avoid bumping into them. Costume racks provided rows and rows of color.
It was pretty packed, but I immediately smiled with relief when I spotted Blue and SJ. They were busy cutting fabric at a table in the corner—balls and chains clasped around their ankles as well. I was instructed to go over to them and gladly did so.
The second she saw me, Blue smiled too—unlike SJ. The cold shoulder she gave me sent shivers up my spine as I approached them.
“Crisa, I’m so happy to see you,” Blue whispered as I sat down beside her.
“Back ’atcha.” I nodded. “How long have you guys been here?”
“Since yesterday,” she responded. “I’m scared. They’ve been giving us weird looks.”
“Sure they have. We’re their groceries,” I said as jokingly as I could in order to try and ease her nerves.
Blue shook her head worriedly. “No, I mean besides that. They keep coming by to sniff my cloak and ask questions about where we’re from. It’s really freaking me out.”
I made sure no one was within hearing distance and then leaned in close to her. “Do you know what happened to our stuff?” I asked.
“I . . .” Blue stiffened as a Therewolf on the other side of the room glared suspiciously in our direction. He went back to his business a moment later, and I put my hand on Blue’s arm to calm her.
“It’s okay. We’re fine. What were you gonna say?”
“I . . . I heard one of them say they keep all confiscated supplies in the props closet over there in case they want to use any of it in their play,” she said, gesturing to a door. “But, Crisa, I still can’t get over what’s happening here. I mean, actors that morph into wolves? This doesn’t make any sense.”
“Yeah, well I pretty much gave up on sense when I almost got barbequed by a daffodil the other day.”
Suddenly SJ threw down her fabric. “Are you really making jokes right now?”
I raised my eyebrows. “You have a problem with that?”
“Yes, I have a problem with that,” she growled. “I do not know if it has escaped your notice, Crisa, but we are in serious trouble here. And it is all your—”
A Therewolf wearing a black leotard, suede kilt, and purple boa flounced around his neck came over to our station and interrupted SJ before she could finish. “The director has some questions for the two of you,” he said, nodding to Blue and SJ.
Blue’s face paled and panic filled her eyes. I squeezed her hand for reassurance. It was strange; usually she was the last person that needed any such comfort. But now fear was running wild inside of her and I realized that she had no experience with how to handle it.
“You’ll be okay,” I tried to convince her as she got up to leave with SJ.
After they’d left, I repeated the statement aloud once more—this time to convince myself.
Over the next few days it was all I could do not to punch Jason in the face.
I’d eventually been reassigned from the wardrobe and set design department to work with him and a half dozen other prisoners backstage on the physical set construction. The work was hard, but it was the least of my worries considering what Jason put me through.
My friend, whom I now realized really had always put others before himself, had transformed into the ultimate selfish twit.
Whenever a Therewolf came round with a new task to be done, he volunteered my services instead of his own. And he did so even more speedily if the assignment happened to involve any hard labor or potential danger. Then if he screwed up, he pinned it on me and I had to deal with whatever punishment our captors dished out in return. Usually this involved treating blisters on the feet of the troupe’s director, Mr. Pepperjack.
Ugh, you would’ve thought the man was a triathlete by the number of disgusting sores around his toes. They were almost as green and bulbous as that ridiculous piece of costume jewelry he constantly had hanging from his neck.
All this was nothing in comparison to some of Jason’s other antics though. For example, on day five of our captivity one of the sets we’d made—a wooden front for a cottage—came crashing down. Only I hadn’t seen it coming because I was busy building a trapdoor in the stage floor. Jason, however, had seen it coming. Except instead of warning me, he just took off. By the time I saw what was happening it was too late and I got totally squashed.
Many similar scenarios continued throughout the week, including mishaps with buckets of paint, falling curtains, and a nail gun that almost took me out arrow-through-an-apple style.
Overall, let’s just say it was a good thing that the Therewolves had first aid kits and fire safety equipment backstage. Otherwise they would’ve had to revise the sign in their lounge that read: “This troupe has gone 273 days without injury.”
To put it mildly, my patience with Jason was wearing thin. But I restrained myself from losing it with him since his current state (like SJ’s, Blue’s, and Daniel’s) was on me. Yes, the watering can had made them like this. But it was my ideas about finding the Author that had led us to the Forbidden Forest in the first place. SJ may not have been able to finish her comment the other day, but she didn’t need to. I knew this was my fault.
By day seven of captivity, Jason and I had different shifts. He was working on lighting backstage while I’d been relocated to work in the audience section of the theater. This safe distance was a small comfort, though, as I was becoming fairly preoccupied with concern for the others. I hadn’t seen SJ and Blue since my brief time with them in wardrobe and set design. And other than having spotted Daniel once in passing a few days ago, I hadn’t run into him either.
Needless to say that as the days went by I was growing increasingly worried about them. It was almost to the point where, if I didn’t know any better, I would’ve said I felt myself becoming a little . . . afraid.
My whole body cringed with defiance at the thought. I hated even sort of admitting that.
I hastily swallowed down the feeling like a spoonful of the vilest vinegar. The clock was ticking. Opening night was one week away, and I needed to think of a plan to get us out of here.
This proved to be a difficult task when the four other members of my group were nowhere to be found. Not having SJ and Blue around meant that I was missing the sounding board of my usual co-conspirators.
Yes, normally I took charge of developing our elaborate plots. But it was Blue and SJ who I’d always considered the geniuses behind their success. The combination of Blue’s daring with SJ’s sound judgment gave our plans balance and made them work.
Then again, even if I’d had my friends with me it probably wouldn’t have helped. Blue was a terrified mess and SJ’s head was clouded with meanness. Right now I was the only one who was able to think clearly, the only person whose inherent qualities could be relied upon. Which meant I had to ask myself, what did I actually bring to the table on our various adventures?
I found myself dwelling on this as I scrubbed blood spots from the Therewolves’ shirts and tried to avoid wondering where the stains had come from. Hopefully it was just fake blood from the make-up department, not the vestiges of a human snack. I assumed the odds of this were good given that only about ten of the Therewolves could physically transform into their wolf halves at any particular moment.
Evidently they were all on different cycles with the moon and could only morph into monsters if it was their time of the month.
I shook my head and tried to concentrate on something else. On stage, the troupe’s members were undertaking their first full dress rehearsal. It was an adaptation of Little Red Riding Hood of all things.
