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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
A cold chill creeps up my spine causing a quick series of shivers to over come me...

Submitted: September 21, 2011

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 21, 2011




A cold wind creeps up my spine causing a quick series of shivers to overcome me. I look around; pure darkness... nothing else. Where am I? Who am I? What happened to me? These questions come flooding into my mind, but I can remember almost nothing. The only thing in my memory; a scene playing over and over in my head.

I stood there, my fists clenched tightly around a ball of some sort. I could feel something approaching me, quietly, slowly, calmly. I turned around quickly, and scanned the room, I could see boxes and trunks, piled on top of one another, like in a storage room. The walls were painted a bright, clean white, but not much of it was visible as the boxes blocked the wall from view.

I could hear loud noises, not too far away. It sounded as if people were fighting; bangs, crashes, and booms echoed and bounced off the walls. I felt a slight urge to go and see what was going on, but I stayed put, not wanting to get mixed up in anything I didn’t have to be involved in.

I continued to observe my surroundings, taking in every little detail, from a piece of chipped paint on the wall to the numbers on the marked boxes. I also came to notice a small device on the wall. It looked like a pin code keyboard with odd symbols on rather than numbers. I walked towards it, wanting to take a closer look.

There were eleven buttons on it, each one very different from the other. There were nine little buttons with a unique symbol - like a hieroglyph - on each one of them. Then there was a larger one with the word ENTER printed clearly on its surface in bright green letters. I punched in a few random symbols and pressed ENTER, nothing happened. I tried again, with four different buttons this time. Then I pushed the ENTER button, a soft clicking noise sounded in my ears, had it worked?

I felt vibrations crawling up my legs and through my whole body until there was a large hole in the wall where there used to be none. I pushed a couple of boxes aside, and prepared myself before walking trough. I took a step, and then wham. Pain shot through me like a bullet through ice. It began at my head, reaching my feet as I fell to the ground, unconscious. The ball slipped from my hand and rolled across the floor.

Now I am here, in this dark space, not being able to recall anything else about my life, just that one sliver of memory. I blink, trying to get used to the darkness, it doesn’t help. I start to hop up and down, a cold sensation coming over me. These little hops soon turn into jumping jack, and those into small jogging circles as the temperature decreases quickly. I rub my hands up and down my arms, I can feel goose bumps protruding from my skin.

I hear people yelling in the distance, the first sound I heard for a long time... at least, I think. I walk over towards what I think are the walls and graze my hand against it, using touch as sight. I feel a bumpy popcorn-like wall, and then wood. I stumble for a door knob and come across a handle. It’s locked. I continue to go around the room, hopping for another door, or even a window, but this is pointless as the room is pitch black, and I would have been able to see the stars in the night sky.

My legs turn to jelly and I fall to the ground. I crawl forward, having barely enough energy to pull myself anywhere. My hand becomes cold, it is resting upon something. I fumble around, trying to pick up the object with frozen fingers. It turns out to be a key, and my hopes arise. Using my one last ounce of strength I crawl towards the wall army style, fit the key in the lock, and turn it with a click. It opens, and light seeps into my non-adjusted eyes, it takes me by surprise. I throw my hands to my face, trying to block out the powerful glare of the bright light. I soon become used to it and warmth pours energy into my body. I get to my feet and march out the door.

I walk into a room, vibrantly illuminated with candles, ceiling lights, and open windows, which let the sun come drifting in. I could hear many footsteps, almost perfectly in sync approaching me. Soon the room was swarmed with uniformed men, the letters ILP largely written on their bullet proof vests.

It is silent, the only noise I heard is the loud breathing of a couple of the men. “Come!” A loud voice suddenly booms. The man who had spoken takes a step forward and puts his arm out towards me, I don’t take it. Two more of the ILPs step forward, and I feel as if I have no choice but to listen. I stalk out of the room, the rest of the men following close behind.

Many of the men are dispatched as they bring me into a room that reminds me of a science lab, though I cannot remember when I would have seen one.

Jars filled with other worldly creatures and pickled substances line the walls, one balances awkwardly on the edge of a shelf. Beakers, measuring cylinders, and other objects sit on tables and cupboards. Most are filled with an odd coloured liquid of some sort. There are multiple sinks, and stained dish cloths lie everywhere. I can see a broken beaker, a strange green acid bubbling on the ground, dissolving what looks like small shards of glass. A short old man in a lab coat sits in a large chair in the other end of the room. In front of him; a small circular item, floating in the air like a strong detracting magnet.

“What is this?” He asks with a small frail voice. It is much different to the voice of the ILP commander. I walk closer to the object, taking a better look. It is the size and shape of a ping pong ball, crimson red in colour and it looks heavy, much heavier than it should look, or feel for that matter.

“I don’t know,” I reply. I recall that scene and play it over in my head one more time. I immediately remember holding this object in my hand, I just don’t know what it is.

The scientist leaves the conversation at that and continues to examine the ball. I peer over his shoulder, not wanting him to prod the thing with needles, or study it too closely. He grunts, and I take a step back, assuming that was what he wishes. He grunts again, and I take another step back. He seems okay with this and keeps poking the object. The scientist begins to violently cough and I rush to his side. Dust covers his face, and I see that there is a gaping hole in the ball as it drops to the ground.

I lie the old man on the floor as my memories come flooding back to me. I recite who I am, “Dr. Christie Jones, secret agent 409.”

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