Waking Up

Sam awoke aching all over his body, in particular a throbbing at the base of his skull that made his eyes hurt. Opening his eyes, it took him a minute to focus. He was lying on a bed, bed being a generous term as it was hard and unyielding and about as comfortable as a mortician’s slab. The room was Spartan, the only furniture being the bed. Faded patterned wallpaper decorated the walls and the ceiling was an off white. There were no light fixtures and the only illumination seeped in between slatted windows.

Sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, his vision swam and his stomach rolled, threatening to empty. Putting his hands to either side of him, he steadied himself a moment.

What the hell happened? What did Elayne do? Why the fuck am I naked? He looked down at the wounds in his side. He frowned. Instead of a still relatively fresh injury, both entry and exit points showed a vivid pink scar. How long have I been asleep?

Getting up, he moved slowly. The floor under his feet was covered in what felt like plastic indoor outdoor faded orange carpet. Crossing the room, he grabbed the knob to the door, but it didn’t turn, not that it was locked, instead, it looked like it was just an ornament of the featureless plastic door.

He frowned. Pulling the handle, the door opened to a hallway beyond.

There was a ten inch gap that ran down the center of the hallway floor, allowing him to look into the floor below and the attic above.

“Weird,” he murmured, stepping into the hall. He paused to listen, trying to detect other sounds in the house.

He could hear indistinct voices, masculine sounding from another room down the hall.  He took a couple steps in that direction, stopping at a painting in the hall. He scowled. Putting his fingers on the illustration, it was actually part of the wall, almost like a large sticker. Shaking his head, he crossed the opening in the floor and peered into one of the rooms on the wall opposite. Similar to his the one where he had found himself, the room contained only a simple bed. George lay on the bed, naked, face bearing the marks of his pugilistic encounter with the deceptively dangerous Elayne. Wyatt stood beside the bed, arms crossed, also bereft of clothing.

“Sam,” George said, seeing him at the door and pushing him into a seated position

“What the hell is going on?” asked Wyatt, eyes frightened and body language skittish.

Sam shook his head. “Woke up in another room,” he said, jerking a thumb back the way he had come.

“Me too,” added Wyatt, “I found George here.”

“This is like the shittiest hotel room I’ve ever seen,” commented George, swivel his head and evaluating the room.

Sam shook his head. “This is no hotel room. It’s like a giant version of some child’s dollhouse. Furniture is cheap plastic, door knobs are glued on, pictures are stickers and there’s a big split down the middle of the house,” he said.

“What does that mean?” inquired Wyatt, scanning the room.

Sam shrugged, “Don’t know yet, we need to take a look around,” he suggested.

“Why the fuck are we naked?” George asked.

“Chalk it up as another mystery,” Sam replied.

George pointed at Sam’s side, “Those look healed,” he said.

Sam nodded, touching his hands to the healed but scarred flesh, “Tender, but otherwise good as new,” he said.

Wyatt looked puzzled, shifting his gaze back and forth between the two other men in the room. “What happened?”

“Took one in the side,” Sam replied gruffly.

“But?” Wyatt started.

Sam nodded, “Exactly, they’re healed over. We been here awhile.”

Wyatt shook his head, “This is so fucked!” he stated.

“It’s so something,” answered Sam. Looking to George, “Why don’t you get up, let’s give this place the once over.”

George nodded, pausing and shaking his head. “Feel fucking queasy,” he mumbled before pushing himself to standing.

The trio explored the floor they found themselves on. At either end of the hall was a set of stairs, one up, the other down, three doors along each wall.

None of the windows in any of the rooms opened or even actually allowed them to look at the environment outside. In the bathroom, there was a plastic sink, a waterless plastic toilet, and plastic tub and none of the silver faucets turned. Like the painting in the hall, the mirror over the sink was nothing more than a reflective sticker.

The attic was a wide open space, a chimney at the far end. Although from a distance it resembled brick, it, like everything else they had encountered, was constructed of molded plastic.

“You’re right about the whole dollhouse feel. Like some cheap little child’s toy except made normal size,” George commented.

“Who would do that?” bleated Wyatt.

Sam frowned and shook his head. The gap ran lengthwise through the house, but where the end walls were, the spilt was sealed up tight, again preventing them from seeing beyond the confines of their environment.

Collectively moving back down the narrow flight of stairs, the group descended to the ground floor.

The main floor was more of the same. Kitchen, plastic refrigerator that didn’t open, stove with four circular spiral stickers atop the range. Living room, plastic television set, no screen, sticker of a nature scene, plastic couch and chair. Walking to what would normally pass as the front door of a house, Sam found it was like many other things in the house, not quite what it appeared to be, just another sticker representing a door.

There was also another bedroom on the main floor and this is where they found the unconscious form of Cameron, lying on the bed, appearance disheveled and features marked up like George’s.

“It’s Cameron,” said George, a confused expression on his face. “How?”

Wyatt shook his head.

Turning to Wyatt, Sam chuckled. “He disappeared on us, just vanished into thin air, and now, like Elayne said, we meet again.”

“That doesn’t make any kind of sense,” commented Wyatt.

“Exactly,” replied Sam, pushing into the room and sitting on the bed beside Cameron. Grabbing the unconscious man by the shoulders, Sam shook him gently, hoping to rouse him, maybe find out where the hell he disappeared to.

Half smile on his face, “Morning merry sunshine,” Sam welcomed.

Cameron’s eyes fluttered open. Seeing Sam, relief visibly washed over his features. Reaching out, he grabbed Sam by the arm, “Oh my god!” he exclaimed.

“Easy,” encouraged Sam, “I need you to help us understand what’s happening here,” he said slowly, calmly.

“It’s the girl, the one from the bank,” blurted Cameron.

Sam smiled, “That much we’ve already been able to ascertain. How about you tell us what the fuck happened to you at the bank?” he said, eyes dangerous.