Neve Emek: Room 102 - Part 13 of ?

13

The main hall smelled of rot as always, as I set foot past the doorway and started for the signs painted onto the peeling walls. Most of the lettering had faded, but I could still make out some of the numbers and arrows that once must have guided visitors through the place. Room 102, from what I could tell, should have been on the ground floor of the right wing, and so I advanced.

I had no doubt in my mind at that point that the key I found did not open the chamber in the wall. There were no doors to that room. Thus, I memorised my current position as well as the exact corridor Room 102 should be located in. Bad idea, I know. But the uncertainty of it all, coupled with my sleep deprivation, led to this reckless decision.

Each corridor I entered, however, looped back on itself in a way that made no sense. In my mind, I knew exactly where to go, which turns to take to find the right wing. But whenever I followed the map etched in my head, the building found a way to confuse me. It was almost as if it didn’t want me to find it, that room. But I didn’t give up, and so the building eventually caved in.

When I found the double-panelled door marked with a battered plate that read Right Wing – Level 1, my first thought was that I had beaten the odds and won against this place trying to stop me. However, I didn’t once question why it was trying to stop me. In hindsight, I understood. Perhaps my grandfather himself was trying to protect me. But I didn’t know that at the time, and so I pressed on.

The handle gave under my gentle grip, but only slightly, to my surprise – as well as dismay. A steel bar had been fixed across from the other side, firmly bolted to make sure no one entered. Or left. Beyond the doors, through the tainted glasses, I could make out the faint glow of the emergency lamps, as well as an accessible passage, albeit unusually tight and narrow from the look of it. Next to the handle hung a rusted keypad box, which was cracked open, but seemed functional with four blinking red lights pulsing on and off. Was the keypad connected to the steel bar?

I pressed the keys randomly at first, wishing upon the stars for a miracle, starting with the digits I remembered from the caretaker’s hut. But, once again, my memory failed me, and the double doors remained shut. I tried to push the door open a few times after that, frustrated, then threw in the towel. Dejected, to say the least. After what felt like ages going in circles, I had finally managed to find a passage to the right wing, and this was what I got in return? Yeah, fuck me.

I returned to the entrance, tracing my way to the blueprint map of the building in search of another route leading to the right wing. That was when I noticed something missing – perhaps another passage. The markings looped around the bolted glass-panelled doors and seemed to lead… nowhere. Or rather, that was as far as the blueprint revealed. But from what I could recall, I did notice a door smaller than the others while navigating the building moments earlier. Judging by its position and by what the blueprint suggested, it could be the mysterious passage. The question was whether I dared follow it into the unknown.

I took my chances, however slim.

The smaller door stood at the end of a narrow service corridor. The colour had dulled to a yellowish shade, and the handle was worn smooth by the passage of time. When I turned the handle, it yielded without resistance, spilling into a passage so tight it forced me to turn sideways to enter.

The corridor beyond sloped slightly downwards, or rather, enough that I only noticed it after several steps, and the air plummeted and grew cooler within seconds. Even the walls pressed closer it seemed to me, lined with exposed piping that leaked a foul-smelling liquid as I squeezed through. I tried to keep track of my turns, calculating the distance by instinct, but the building refused to make sense of itself. Once again, the passage curved where it should have been straight, forked where no fork was marked, and doubled back in ways that left me uncertain whether I was moving forwards or merely circling deeper into its interior.

At last, the ceiling lowered, forcing me to duck, and the floor beneath my feet changed from stone to concrete. A metal door waited at the end of the passage. When I pushed it open, the space beyond confirmed what I already feared at that point. The passage did not lead to – or through – the right wing after all, but to another place somewhere beneath it. It might have been a storage room or perhaps the basement. It was difficult to tell at first, but as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, the truth became clearer. This was the basement, or at least a section of it. My suspicion was further confirmed when I caught a glimpse of a faded sign mounted on one of the walls: Basement Level 1 – Staff Only.

Beyond the storage boxes and service shelves, another corridor opened along the far wall, narrower and more poorly lit, as if it had been added much later to the construction of the basement. I followed it cautiously, well aware that I was moving farther away from the main building and deeper into the underground basement. Still, this insight did nothing to stop me.

I had to find out where the basement ended, where it led to.

The passage sloped downwards more noticeably now, interrupted by short flights of concrete stairs that descended in uneven intervals. Deeper and deeper. I passed several junctions that led nowhere as well, sealed doors with no markings, and alcoves filled with equipment whose purpose I could not guess even if I so wanted. None of it appeared on the blueprint I had studied, nor did they look remotely modern.

Eventually, the ceiling rose again, and the walls widened just enough to suggest I was no longer beneath the main structure as I suspected. That was the strangest of it all, though. How could I have ventured outside the main building by descending deeper?

Then, the passage curved abruptly, ending at a heavy utility door streaked with peeling paint and water damage. When I opened it, cold air rushed in, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of soil and wet leaves. I frowned. Wait. Was I actually outside? But it didn’t make sense! I could swear I was going deeper, that the corridor kept sloping downwards, so how did I end up outside?

Though conflicted and visibly confused, I cracked the door open and stepped out, only to find myself surrounded by dense thickets and uprooted, gnarly trees. My first thought was: “Where am I?” Then I scanned the forested area until my eyes landed on the trail leading out of the woods, towards the burial ground and the main building looming in the distance through the wilted treetops, though its outline was unfamiliar from this angle.

Only then did I realise that I was standing at the edge of the burial ground, near the adjacent woods I had noticed upon my arrival, now several days ago. The damp soil beneath my feet was uneven, and the trail was swallowed by moss and roots. But my bewilderment did not last long. From this location and angle, I could see straight into the caretaker’s hut through the thickets, where the door gaped wide, much to my surprise.

My feet moved before my mind caught up, and before long, I found myself back inside the hut, at the entranceway where the antique desk awaited me. I did not wait a second, did not take the risk of being caught by whatever thing I had encountered the last time, and rummaged through the drawers until I at last found the paper with the digits. 2907.

I had to remember it. I had to—

Somewhere down the hallway, a door opened. The one that had been locked before. But I didn’t linger enough to see what came next; instead, I retraced my steps back to the mysterious passing, through the basement, past the dripping walls, back to the sealed keypad door.

For a moment, nothing happened. Nothing at all. Nothing that would suggest the steel bar had dislodged and the glass-panelled doors unlocked. So long in fact that beads of cold sweat trickled from my brows and along my bare neck from the stress and anticipation.

Then… the bar on the other side gave a shift, and the doors opened inwards, revealing yet another pitch-black corridor. It took me a moment to adjust to the dark and enter. I didn’t know what to expect once I passed the threshold of whatever this was and… I was afraid. Though I wasn’t sure why that was the case. Was it the fear of the unknown taking hold of me, or something else entirely? I couldn’t tell, and that uncertainty made me hesitate.

Besides, why had this part of the building been sealed off? To this extent, too? Also, why did the caretaker keep the code to the keypad in the open drawer and not the one locked? It was almost as though he wanted me to find this place, to unlock whatever the doors were designed to keep in. But what could be more dangerous than the creature that had haunted me in the left wing? I dared not speculate. But there was no going back now. Whether it was the caretaker’s intention or the twist of fate, I had to follow this through to the end and find out.

The part of the building was warmer than the basement, but definitely not brighter. I reached into my pocket and turned on my phone’s flashlight. The corridor was similar to the ones in the left wing, and nothing stood out to me. At first, that is. It was only when I passed the first few doors that I noticed something – let’s say – rather bizarre.

They were all odd numbered, the doors I mean.  Room 102 wasn’t and couldn’t be here. But this was the right wing, wasn’t it? I briefly looked away. Did I read the blueprint wrong? Right then, the caretaker’s words repeated in my mind on cue, telling me not to get lost in the maze, that this place was alive. But instead of returning or giving up, I advanced. Venturing deeper and farther than I should.

When I encountered yet another glass-panelled door leading to who knows where, a scratched sign on the wall caught my eye. It read: Rooms 100–110↓. Down? The only way forwards was straight ahead, through another corridor. Maybe the corridor led… down? I didn’t like this at all; now completely drained and annoyed by constantly moving downwards, where the air was stale and the temperature colder. Down, down, down. When did this ever end?

For each step I took, although I knew it shouldn’t be possible – not physically – it felt as though I had never left the underground basement. And I was only going deeper. No, wrong wording, the building took me deeper into its interior, to places not shown in the blueprint, not revealed in any signs on any walls. Where was it taking me? Or perhaps I was… Was I lost? Did I stray away too much, like the caretaker warned me not to, and was now—

A rattle.

Behind me, somewhere I had already passed.

No, something opening. A door? Or… the creature?

A shiver shot up my spine at the thought. Did it follow me to the left wing? Shit. I had to move! Now! Before it caught up!

Pushing through the door, I entered a broader corridor lined with doors. Even numbered. Thankfully! In a hurry and definitely not in the mood to get my head turned into mush by that thing, I ran my fingers over the nearest plate with the number 100 and tried to open it. It remained shut. I swore under my breath, my heart galloping out of control, my hands turning sticky with sweat from the panic rising within.

And the din, or whatever the heck it was, drew closer.

Only closer.

I tried another door, my movements more fumbled, more desperate. I wasn’t even looking for room 102 at this point; I just wanted a shelter, somewhere that could keep the creature at bay. And as though I wasn’t panicked enough, I realised belatedly that where the door to room 102 should be was a wall – just like back in the left wing. It was then that I pointed the beam of the flashlight further down and realised to my horror that I was no longer in the right wing. I was on the left. And beside the space was the guestroom. But I couldn’t even process the bewilderment, the impossibility of it, before the familiar scraping sound reached me.

But I didn’t seek refuge in the guestroom like the last time. Instead, I fixed my eyes on the space before me, pacing it carefully, fully convinced that a door had to be hidden somewhere inside the wall, a secret entrance to room 102. Thus, I set my shoulders against the wall where I suspected a door should be, drew in a deep breath, and forced my weight into the wooden surface, shoving repeatedly against it until my muscles trembled and ached. Then I heard it. A reluctant creak, something breaking apart. It worked. It worked! Inch by inch, the wall shifted as I shoved against it, slowly at first, then more visibly.

When the hidden door finally gave way, a cold draft seeped from the crack, carrying a faint, metallic odour that set my nerves on edge. A crooked smile then tugged at my lips, one laced with disbelief. I had found it. At last. But my excitement was short-lived.

Enter the creature.

Wide, rictus grin. The eye of the Khamsa locked onto me, unblinking. Its movements were stiff but as certain as could be – getting closer and closer. The blade scraped along the floor beside it, scraping against the floor, ready to slice my head off in a macabre act staged solely for its own grim satisfaction. What was this thing’s deal, anyway? Did it want me to pursue the truth of whatever this place hid, or did it want to claim my head? I couldn’t figure out which was the case, and so I reached for the key in my pocket and thrust it into the keyhole instead.

The door clicked open, and darkness stretched beyond the doorway, deeper than it should, swallowing the dim light from the corridor. I hesitated for a fraction of a second, then I stepped through, letting the uncertainty behind me fall away, if only for a moment, acutely aware that whatever lay ahead might not be what I expected. The moment I did so, something inside me stirred, and the alarm bells in my bleak mind rang. The proportions of the room didn’t make sense. Not at all. From the gap, it looked normal, yet the space itself stretched far deeper than the corridor behind me, almost as if it had been hollowed out on purpose.

My hand flew to the handle as soon as the first wave of startlement passed and made sure the door remained locked, which it did. I wasn’t even sure whether the creature tried to barge in or simply left me alone at that point. But I did not dwell on this. Instead, I let my gaze settle on the familiar bed I had watched numerous times through the gap, imagining the creature sitting there and watching my every move. The thought alone was enough to curdle my blood.

I advanced.

Against the far wall, a desk arrested me. I did not recall seeing it through the gap in the hole, which confused me, but I shook off the doubts as soon as they crossed my mind. Instead, I approached it.

There was some stuff on the desk, papers written entirely in Hebrew and what looked like a ledger book with a cracked spine. When I opened it, the handwriting inside was hurried and inconsistent. But it wasn’t the rushed handwriting that unsettled me most; it was the repetition of a timestamp scrawled in the margins: 6:12. Over and over, at every single page. Then it hit me. A reference to the bible, the Old Testament? I barely looked away when my eyes unwittingly drifted to the unmade bed, where an indentation appeared before me, one that I could swear wasn’t there earlier. I set the bedsheet aside, revealing the stained mattress. And there, covered in what I could only describe as dry blood, was a copy of the Old Testament.

I turned the thin pages until I found what I was looking for.

Deuteronomy 6:12:

“Be careful that you do not forget the Lord, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery.” The entire passage was meant for the descendants of Abraham, instructing them to love God with everything they had, follow His rules, and teach it to their children, and through that faithfulness, find the land promised.

It reminded me of another passage in the Qur’an my grandfather used to recite on his deathbed, dreaming of a world where Palestine was no longer occupied, where no child went to bed hungry and scared for tomorrow. I could hear it still, his soothing voice, the flood of tears he shed, as the words of his god comforted him where comfort was no more – only pain and agony.

Surah Al-Baqarah 2:40–2:42:

“O children of Israel! Remember My favours upon you. Fulfil your covenant and I will fulfil Mine, and stand in awe of Me alone. Believe in My revelations which confirm your Scriptures. Do not be the first to deny them or trade them for a fleeting gain. And be mindful of Me. Do not mix truth with falsehood or hide the truth knowingly.”

And then… another surah pressed in, letting itself be known, resurfacing deep down from my subconsciousness. Surah Al-Ma’idah—

Something cracked behind me.

I whipped around.

There, where moments before there had been only a wall, a door had appeared out of thin air. Slightly ajar, beckoning me to draw closer and explore it. I put away the Old Testament and reluctantly stepped closer, compelled and wary at the same time. Every instinct screamed at me to run, yet some menacing curiosity pulled me forwards.

I held my breath and pushed the door open.

Beyond was not another room, not even a corridor as I hoped, but a stairwell that descended at a sharper angle than what felt normal. Going downwards. Again. I took the first of several steps down against my will, trying to catch anything remotely that could tell me where the strange stairs led, but saw nothing but a faint light burning somewhere, like the glow of an oil lamp.

My throat tightened, and that, for good reasons. When was this nightmare going to end? I kept going down, deeper and deeper into the unknown, and yet I found myself going in circles where there should have been none. And yet, this place wasn’t just a labyrinth; it was as alive as I were this second, showing me only the things it wanted me to see.

Nothing more, nothing less…

I descended.

To be continued...