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She knew she should have been feeling afraid or confused, but Freya had, for the first time in years, allowed excitement to course through her blood vessels; she desperately wanted to return the unexpected call from the man on the other end of the line. The kitchen phone no longer functioned; Freya assumed it was due to the horrific noise which had caused her eardrum to perforate, crushing her desire only briefly.

  She remembered the bedroom phone and threw herself into a full sprint up the stairs to her room. Her husband still slept, allowing her to grab the phone and exit the room again without any hassling questions. As she reached the landing, she began to punch a number into the receiver: 1471. ‘Please work...’ But nothing appeared to be happening. Still no dial tone. ‘That screech affected more than just the phone itself?’

  She took three small steps, descending the staircase, her mind still racing for an explanation. Then, as suddenly as the phone had rung, Freya’s eyes stopped seeing colour; the colours surrounding her had adapted to greyscale. Freya gasped, violently rubbing at her eyes. Opening them again revealed no change; her world had become black and white. Terrific rips formed in the air before her as if in the fabric of space itself, and a heavenly white light burst through the seams. Her eyes squinted and she held a hand to each side of her head, applying slight pressure to each temple. ‘What… the…’ “I’ve gone insane.” She spoke to herself with a surprising calmness in her voice. ‘Maybe I’m dying,’ she thought, her utter confusion somehow repressing any panic from rising inside her. Freya’s mind unexpectedly burst into speech: ‘Walk…’

  “What?” She replied, now more bewildered than ever. The depths of her mind seemed to have just spoken to her. “Who,” she hesitated, “Said…?” Her head began aching intensely, “Who the hell said that?” she shouted.

  ‘I’m sorry to have to do it this way, I really am.’ Her mind spoke again, ‘Please just listen carefully. You are not going insane. In fact, you’re far from it. But what I’m about to put you through will test everything you have. Just keep one thought in mind: You must escape. I cannot stress this enough. You must. Everything depends on your escape. Concentrate. Keep your mind focused. Don’t allow the others to trick you. They’re far more intelligent than the best of us first estimated. Please, escape.’

  “Escape?” She asked, wondering why was she humouring herself with a question, “Escape from what?” By now, Freya was feeling more than just distraught; she was having a conversation with someone’s thoughts which appeared to actually be her own. At least they were echoing around within her skull. ‘You will see.’ The voice said, ‘Just keep conscious.’ At this point her head flared up with an intense fiery pain. The black and white staircase started to fade more black than white. Her eyelids became unbelievably heavy and began to gradually close. ‘Don’t faint…’ This time she had her own thoughts back. ‘The stairs…’ She struggled with the infinitely appealing temptation to allow her eyes to shut. The voice in her head had warned her to stay conscious but the more immediate threat, even if she believed the voice was not some figment of her own cracking mind, was the staircase of which she would find herself lying, broken at the bottom if she were to pass out from her position three steps from the top.

  She could feel the darkness quickly washing over her as if she sank into a warm, relaxing bath. She wanted to allow it to take her more than anything, but her natural instinct to live continued the fight against her drooping eyelids.

  Freya’s right hand reached out for the banister as her weakening legs slowly gave up the battle to keep her body upright. She clenched her hand on nothingness. The shock temporarily gave her a boost of consciousness allowing her to focus her remaining energy to push herself backwards, hopefully just enough to stop herself falling to a painful fate at the bottom of the staircase. It was a long shot but there was little choice at this point.

  The warm blanket of unconsciousness felt increasingly more appealing to Freya’s fading mind. Her body fell, spine first towards the landing. The part of her mind still remotely alert braced itself for the pain of her back slamming against the wooden landing floor and the breathlessness proceeding.

  It happened in slow motion, taking forever for Freya’s body to reach the landing or what she believed would be the landing. By now her vision was black but she thought she could feel her t-shirt compressing against her vertebrae. Still, the collision still did not ensue. Another second seemed to drag by.

  Still nothing.

  Then, in a sudden, unexpected flash, a blinding brightness filled her eyes. Then a colour; a brilliant violet fading to a deeper purple at the edges of her periphery. Following this beautiful shower of colour came the incredible agony of her body cracking against what felt like concrete. She heard her spine fracture with a horrific, sickening crack. Red hot pain tore up her spinal cord and stopped at her neck, causing her to scream out. The pain continued to throb violently across her entire back. She cried out again. Tears began to gather between her eyelids. Her legs felt a contradictory, aching numbness and her feet already completely lacked all feeling. Each of the cries which escaped her lips sent another searing flow of agony. Agony which was intensifying with every passing second. She prayed for death or at least a silence to this unthinkable pain.

  She dared not move even slightly, lest her injuries and the agony worsened further. Concentrating all her thoughts on staying motionless, Freya tightened her lips, closed her eyes and tried to relax even slightly. Despite her best efforts, her muscles were continually spasming in her broken back. Her legs were totally numb now. Her waist was gradually losing feeling as well.

  She began to give up on keeping her body motionless. The warmth of unconsciousness had now wholly disappeared, leaving her without a choice of life or death. There was no choice but to lie in this cold, harsh reality.

 

  CHAPTER 3

  The Screech