Stuck in Nightmare and Fun SchoolChapter 2: Lessons in Mortality
The phantom chill of the ghost's touch still clung to Aaron's skin as he stepped through the dark wooden doorway for the fifth time. But this time, the terror was overlaid with a layer of ice-cold focus. The panic hadn't vanished, but it was contained, channeled. Listen. Hide. Run. Remember. The mantra looped in his head. He wasn't just prey anymore; he was learning the terrain, the timings. He was becoming a strategist in this lethal game.
He moved swiftly, melting into the shadows of the first alcove just as the faint, polite cough echoed down the corridor. He held his breath, heart hammering, but his mind was clear, mapping the ghost's patrol route from his previous failures. He waited until the gliding silence passed, then slipped out, darting down the passage he knew led away from the pressure plate trap.
He repeated the process twice more, using crumbling pillars and deep niches, the rhythm of hide-and-seek becoming terrifyingly familiar. Each successful evasion sent a small, sharp thrill through him. He was deeper now, in a section of winding tunnels he hadn't reached before. Triumph flickered.
Then he rounded a corner into a wider, cavern-like space littered with what looked disturbingly like gnawed bones. And it was there.
It wasn't the silent, gliding ghost. This creature was unnervingly thin, almost skeletal, its limbs too long, its grey skin stretched tight over sharp bones. It moved with a jerky, unpredictable bounce, almost like a stop-motion animation figure. A rictus grin stretched its jaw impossibly wide, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth. And it was making a sound – a soft, continuous chuckling hum, a sound of pure, unadulterated glee that scraped against Aaron's nerves far worse than any scream. A Wendigo, his horror-soaked brain supplied, though it looked somehow more… joyful than the legends described.
Aaron froze, every instinct screaming. This was new data. Terrifying, unexpected data. The Wendigo's head snapped towards him, its empty sockets seeming to fix on his position. The humming intensified, pitching slightly higher.
Before Aaron could react, it launched itself across the cavern, not gliding, but bounding with savage, joyous speed. There was a blur of motion, a flash of teeth, and blinding, tearing agony. He felt a detached sense of surprise at the creature's sheer, chilling happiness as it ripped into him. Then, blackness.
He gasped back into existence in the auditorium, shaking violently, the phantom sensation of being torn apart lingering horribly. The floor felt unsteady beneath him. Two of them, the realization hit him with cold certainty. The Ghost and… the Grinning Thing. This labyrinth wasn't just one predator; it was a hunting ground.
His mental map adjusted, factoring in two mobile threats. He remembered glimpsing a narrow side passage during his third attempt, one he'd avoided because it looked like a dead end. Maybe it wasn't. It was worth a try.
He entered the labyrinth again, the cold, damp air a familiar shock. He moved with practiced stealth, heart pounding, listening intently. He heard the ghost's faint approach and dove into the nearest deep shadow, pressing himself against the cold stone. He wasn't alone.
A muffled yelp sounded beside him. He flinched, looking down. Crammed into the same narrow space was a tiny figure, barely waist-high, covered in soot, with wide, terrified eyes peering out from under a heavy brow. He clutched a small, chipped pickaxe like a security blanket. A dwarf.
"Shh!" Aaron hissed instinctively.
"Did you see the Smiler?" the dwarf whispered back frantically, his voice raspy. "Went that way! Always patrols this loop first hour."
Smiler. A fitting name for the ghost. "Yeah," Aaron whispered back. "There's another one. Fast. Skeletal. Grinning."
The dwarf's eyes widened further. "The Hunger? Blast it, thought he stuck to the lower levels!" They exchanged rapid-fire, hushed information – ghost patrol timings here, usual Wendigo hunting grounds deeper in, a floor trap near the third junction. The dwarf, whose name was Borin, seemed agitated but knowledgeable, like this wasn't his first deadly rodeo.
The ghost glided past their hiding spot. Aaron tensed, ready to move. "Okay, the Hunger usually circles back through the Ossuary tunnels around now," Borin muttered, already edging towards a minuscule crack in the wall Aaron hadn't even noticed. "Avoid that area."
Using Borin's tip about the Wendigo's likely location, Aaron bolted in the opposite direction as soon as the ghost was clear. He heard Borin yelp, "Every dwarf for himself!" followed by the scrape of stone as the dwarf vanished into the crack. Aaron sprinted, heart pounding, dodging the floor trap Borin had mentioned. He was making incredible time, deeper than ever before… until he rounded a corner into an unfamiliar section and found himself face-to-face with the pale, smiling ghost, apparently doubling back on an unexpected route. Cornered. Cold. Pain. Blackness.
Back in the auditorium. Aaron glanced at the clock: 9 HOURS REMAINING. Three hours gone. He felt a strange mix of emotions. The terror was still sharp, a raw nerve exposed with every death. But the adrenaline, the progress, the feeling of learning this impossible place… it was becoming addictive. He remembered a line from an old movie: "There's a thin line between being brave and being an idiot." Was he being courageous, pushing through the fear? Or just reckless, throwing himself back into the meat grinder? He noticed the queue for the door was much shorter now. Maybe only a couple hundred students remained. Had the others passed? Or given up?
Confidence, fueled by his last run's progress, surged through him. He entered the labyrinth again, moving with newfound assurance. He dodged the ghost's initial patrol, sidestepped the Wendigo's known territory using Borin's intel, and navigated the corridors with a speed that surprised him. He felt faster, his senses sharper, attuned to the subtle shifts in temperature and the faintest distant sounds. Pride swelled in his chest. He was getting good at this.
Too good. He saw a narrow shortcut, a crumbling passage he hadn't fully scouted before but looked like it bypassed a tricky section. Feeling cocky, he took it, sprinting through the dusty tunnel… and ran almost headlong into the female ghost as she drifted silently out of an intersecting corridor he hadn't anticipated. There wasn't even time for surprise. Cold. Pain. Blackness. Respawning this time felt infuriatingly stupid. Carelessness had cost him.
The auditorium felt different this time. Starkly emptier. Aaron scanned the vast space – maybe a hundred students remained, scattered across the seats, looking grim or exhausted. The echoing silence was more pronounced. Principal Alistair and her unnerving staff were gone from the stage. The energy had shifted from chaotic eagerness to tense attrition.
A genuine chill that had nothing to do with phantom pains crawled up his spine. Where had everyone gone? He clung to the idea that they'd passed the test, reached the finish line. But doubt gnawed at him. Had they simply given up? Been expelled mid-attempt? Or had something else… happened to them? He shook the thoughts away. Focus. The test was all that mattered.
He entered the basement again. The reduced number of participants made the corridors feel even eerier, his footsteps echoing unnervingly loud. He made good time, pushing into sections he'd only glimpsed before, his mental map growing more complex. He found a series of interconnected chambers filled with bizarre, pulsing fungi that cast an unsettling blue light. Deeper still… until the gleeful humming echoed from ahead. He tried to retreat, but the Wendigo burst from a side passage, seemingly patrolling a wider area now, or perhaps he'd stumbled into its lair. It pounced before he could even turn. Tearing. Agony. Blackness.
Attempt Nine became part of the grind. He pushed deeper, focusing on the environment. He noticed disturbing graffiti carved into the stone walls – symbols he didn't recognize, frantic warnings, names crossed out. He learned the faint smell of ozone often preceded the ghost's appearance near certain junctions. He noted strange, localized drops in temperature that had no obvious source. He could now distinguish the faint, airy sigh of the ghost's passage from the Wendigo's distant, unnerving humming. He died again, trapped between both threats in a narrow corridor due to a tactical miscalculation.
Attempt Ten. He respawned, groaning, expecting the usual wave of disorientation and phantom pain. He stretched, feeling the familiar aches… but something was different. His clothes felt… looser. Considerably so. He glanced down at his hands – they looked leaner, the knuckles more defined. He caught his reflection in a dark puddle on the auditorium floor. The change was undeniable. The pudgy, slightly overweight frame he'd started with was rapidly streamlining. Defined muscle now showed beneath his tattered shirt. The constant sprinting, the adrenaline, the sheer metabolic burn of dying and reviving… it was reshaping him. It's burning away the old me… literally, he thought, feeling both deeply weirded out and oddly empowered.
He checked the clock: 7 HOURS REMAINING. Time was slipping away fast.
He entered the labyrinth, fueled by this strange physical transformation. He was faster. His stamina felt significantly improved, recovering quicker from sprints. He navigated a complex series of switchbacks and narrow ledges, feeling a surge of confidence. He even attempted to vault over a low, crumbling wall to bypass a known patrol route – something he wouldn't have dreamed of attempting hours ago. He cleared it! But his landing was clumsy, sending loose stones skittering. The sound attracted the ghost. He scrambled, but it was too close. Cold. Pain. Blackness.
Attempt Eleven. Demoralized but resolute, Aaron tried a new tactic. He remembered a section where the ceiling looked dangerously unstable, littered with loose debris. If he could lure the Wendigo there… He found a loose rock, hefted it. He crept towards the Wendigo's territory, making just enough noise. The gleeful humming grew closer. He saw the skeletal figure bounding into the unstable area. With a grunt, Aaron hurled the rock upwards, striking a key support beam. Dust and stone showered down! A small section of the ceiling collapsed right where the Wendigo stood. Aaron grinned, triumphant—
The Wendigo emerged from the dust cloud, shaking off chunks of rock like annoying flies. Its impossibly wide grin seemed even wider, almost mocking. It launched itself at him with renewed ferocity. The kill felt almost contemptuous. Brutal tearing. Blackness. Lesson learned: Major threats were tough. Basic traps wouldn't cut it.
Attempt Twelve. He respawned, feeling the weight of failure. As he waited for his turn at the door, he saw Borin again, huddled near the entrance, frantically sketching on a ragged piece of parchment with a charcoal stick. The dwarf looked exhausted, his eyes bloodshot.
"Still here?" Borin muttered without looking up, recognizing Aaron's footsteps perhaps. "Tougher than you look, human."
Aaron slumped down beside him for a moment. "Any luck?"
"Luck?" Borin snorted, sketching furiously. "Luck is for goblins playing dice with teeth. This is about patterns. Routes. My brothers are third years… say Ghostly Accounting is actual, literal torture… Sister's aiming for NU though… Nightmare University." He tapped the parchment. "Only the best, or the craziest, get into NU from here. Gotta pass this first." The snippets of conversation painted a picture of a whole bizarre world built around this lethal education system.
"Watch out!" Borin suddenly squeaked, eyes widening as he looked over Aaron's shoulder. The dwarf scrambled backwards, vanishing into another wall crack with astonishing speed. "Later!"
Aaron spun around. The pale, smiling ghost was gliding silently towards him, less than three feet away. It had approached while he was distracted. Cold. Pain. Anger. Blackness.
Frustration warred with exhaustion as Aaron reappeared. Thirteen deaths. He felt stripped raw, surviving on pure adrenaline and spite. He charged back into the labyrinth, fueled by anger. This time, he made a near-perfect run.
He moved like a wraith himself, using every scrap of knowledge gained through painful trial and error. He anticipated the ghost's path, detoured around the Wendigo's hunting ground, avoided the pressure plates and crumbling ceilings. His leaner body responded instantly, sprinting, ducking, hiding with an efficiency that felt instinctual now. He pushed deeper than ever before, into corridors slick with strange slime and echoing with faint, metallic reverberations.
And then he saw it. Ahead, breaking the oppressive gloom, was a steady, artificial light. White, clean light, pouring from what looked like an archway at the end of the corridor. The exit? The finish line leading to the park mentioned in the orientation? Hope surged, fierce and sudden, making his heart pound against his ribs like a trapped bird. He broke into a desperate sprint towards the light, towards salvation.
SCHKLICK-CHUNK!
The stone walls beside him exploded inwards. Not crumbling, but splitting cleanly open. Dozens of segmented, metallic arms tipped with razor-sharp claws erupted from hidden recesses, moving with blinding speed. They grabbed him, lifted him, and shredded him in an instant of shocking, intense, mechanical pain unlike anything he'd felt before. Utterly unexpected. This wasn't the ghost, not the Wendigo. The labyrinth itself had teeth. Sharp, metal teeth. Tearing metal. Shock. Blackness.
Aaron gasped back into existence, the phantom sensation of cold, sharp metal claws still digging into him. He instinctively looked at the clock: 6 HOURS REMAINING. Half the time gone. He scanned the auditorium. Barely fifty students remained. Fifty souls still trapped in this horrific cycle. The vast space felt like a tomb, the silence thick with palpable tension and despair.
His mind reeled from the shock of the wall trap. It was brutal, efficient, and utterly unforeseen. But as the immediate horror subsided, something else clicked. That light… it felt too obvious now. Too beckoning.
He thought back, forcing his exhausted brain to sift through the memories of his thirteen prior runs. Hadn't he glimpsed other possibilities in his peripheral vision? A narrow, spiraling staircase leading upwards into darkness during attempt six? A heavy, iron-bound door he'd ignored in a side chamber during attempt nine, dismissing it as decoration?
Multiple exits. The realization hit him like a physical blow. This wasn't necessarily a linear maze with one finish line. There might be several ways out, each likely guarded, each requiring a different approach.
The thought was simultaneously thrilling and terrifying. Choice! Strategy! Multiple potential solutions! But also… more variables, more potential dangers, more ways to die horribly. Exhaustion warred with a fresh surge of adrenaline. He felt stripped down to his core, changed utterly by the last six hours, focused solely on solving this insane, lethal puzzle.
He looked at the grim, determined faces of the few remaining students, their shared experience forging an unspoken, desperate camaraderie. He looked at the ominous wooden door, the gateway to his continued torment and potential salvation.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath that tasted of dust and ozone, Aaron walked towards the door for the fourteenth time, his mind racing, calculating, weighing the terrifying possibilities. The labyrinth wasn't just a path; it was a web. And he had six hours left to find the right strand.