The dilapidated castle looked deserted, so Sara pushed the front door…

It creaked and screeched as she did so, the rusty metal scratching along the sides. It sounded like a cat scratching its nails on a blackboard, hissing. Sara clasped her hands over her ears, it was so loud. After 5 minutes of torment from the heavy, metal gates, it finally opened to reveal a castle built entirely of grey stones. Each and every brick were shades and hues of grey, with tints of deject dotted here and there. There was a pond, which Sara could only assume had once been sparkly and clean, crystal clear blue, indigo, cobalt, and azule tinting the waters. She supposed the plants there had been emerald green, sage covering the banks of the pond. There was a title plastered “Blue Pond Castle”.  The same beautiful pond that it was before was now murky and dirty, menacing and hissing. Sara wouldn’t have known it was breathtaking before had she not wiped the grime off the stand on which the title was spelt, and it revealed it to be golden, each letter made with extreme care. She didn’t know why she did it, but she knew she had to. She had a feeling this place might be more than what meets the eye. 

Curious now in what secrets the castle held, Sara sneaked cautiously to the main gate, checking behind her each 5 seconds. She knew that if this castle was indeed special, there would be people after some of the secrets hidden. Of course, this was all an assumption, all her vivid imagination, but she knew it was true. 

“And how did this castle get in this state?” Sara wondered, feeling surer than ever that she was right. Something must have happened, even though she didn’t know it. She took each step with enormous care, her bluish-green eyes peeled in case of danger. She finally contrived to reach the main gates. They were even larger than the previous one. Great, more screeching. But this one opened with no sound at all. It seemed to be as smooth as an oiled machine.

“If this was easier, then why did they make it look so huge?” Sara questioned, “Why so intimidating?”

The answer hit her as fast as a lightning flash. “That’s it!” she exclaimed excitedly, forgetting all about her one scheme that she had been following until now: to be wary of danger. “They’re doing this because something intimidating would definitely scare people away! And I’m sure they didn’t expect anyone to even try to enter the castle in the first place!” She thought that, at the time this castle was built, it would be equipped with knights, horses, and cavalry, able to take down anyone. And this place had evidently lost in a battle, for it was broken down, ravens were perched on the pallid, failed towers, and the pond was grimy. It all made sense. It just did. 

Soon, a distraction in the disguise of a raven’s caw, arrived. 

CAW CAW! CAW CAW! Sara almost jumped out of her skin, and resolved that she wouldn’t get too far in her imagination. She roamed the castle, which, by all the evidence, used to be a palace. There were goblets made of royal purple gemstones, pure white moonstones, sage green emeralds, and red rubies. The plates were made with pure gold, priceless. She wondered why they were still here.

“What if this wasn’t real gold at all, and someone replaced them?” she knew that this castle definitely had an eventful past, for it looked dreary, exhausted, and tired out. It was yawning, as if sleepy with everything that took place here. Yes, this place had definitely seen a lot. It also contained evidence of a battle castle, which was unusual but not unheard of. There was, in fact, plenty of evidence that this was a battle castle: Armour, swords, shields resided in a room. The armour was made of steel – which suggested that this now remote castle in which people lived in had been rich and wealthy. Steel was ridiculously expensive back then, so there was no way the people here weren’t the best of the best fighters. The shields were created out of copper, also incredibly expensive as well, although not nearly as much as steel. The swords were made of diamonds (which were the hardest substance on Earth, so Sara was sure they could pierce anyone or anything).

There was one problem though: it was peaceful. And Sara was 99.99 % sure that something bad was coming. It was funny that she thought that at that very second, because, just then, a huge storm broke out. Lightning flashed across the sky, threatening to engulf anyone or anything that dared to cross its path, gnawing its razor-sharp teeth. Thunder boomed as loud as when you stood next to an aero plane while it was taking off, ascending into the sky. Everything turned black, and the castle groaned and grumbled. Sara gulped; she knew it couldn’t stand weather like this anymore. She darted to find a place in the erubescent darkness that had erupted there, and took shelter in the most sturdiest place she was able to find. 

“Will I make it out of here?” 

Sara muttered this over and over again, as if repeating it would help her get ideas faster. Her sense of panic grew by each passing second, causing her to almost bolt away from the haven. She had just compassed in stopping herself from the deluge of alarm that she had flown into, gasping heavily in order to do so. After puffing for about 5 minutes, she finally calmed herself down. She closed her eyes in hopes of receiving at least a decent idea from her brain, but none came. She speculated that if she just waited, the storm would pass and she would be able to leave. But for how long? 

She had waited and waited, biding her time in the morbid castle, indulging herself into thinking up ideas to escape. So far, only one idea had entered her mind. The rest of them were stepping back slowly, as if scared to offend her. That one idea had been brave enough to venture near her, and help her out. The problem was that it wasn’t working. She had tried over and over again, with the hopes that it would work, undeterred by the fact that it had failed multiple times already.

So what would she do now? The storm was going on as strong as ever, if not more. The wind had evolved into a furious gale, sweeping everything in its path – whether it be human or not – out of its way. Leaves were ripped apart from their respective trees and branches, torn away mercilessly. Twigs, sticks, and branches flew about in the air, dancing. Bushes and even trees weren’t left out, since they also got swept up in the chaos that was the wind. The thunderstorm seemed to progressively get worse too. The booms were as deafening as hordes of people cheering the performer singing, except they were screaming in their ears. Worst of all was the lightning. It was flashing, sheathing the sky in blinding white. Its main goal seemed to be to electrocute everything in its way. It had so far been able to inflict its pain and terror on the evergreen trees, bushes, twigs. It had even succeeded in infecting the castle once or twice. The ravens and the other birds that resided there flew away, screaming with shock as their nests were reduced to hay and twigs. The worms let out a cry of help when they realised the very surface they were on was disappearing in front of their very eyes. The trees, bushes, leaves and whatever else that was unfortunate enough to be outside were screaming in agony and anguish, horrified to witness it all. They screeched with terror present in their wails as the leaves were ripped apart from what they were attached to. The bushes were thrown into the menacing gale without another thought. Some of the twigs and trees were blown so far away that they couldn’t possibly be nearer than 200 miles away. Sara was surprised that the castle was even standing at all, and why the stones weren’t budging, leaving the castle to suffer the torture. Nevertheless, she was relieved to say the least. She had no wishes to be the next victim of the scowling storm.

But this also spelt bad news for her. She had no food with her except a water bottle and a few dollars. She had not anticipated to be stuck inside a mourning, rufescent castle with no way out. She had just discovered it that very day, just happened to stumble upon it. She neither wanted to nor expected that she would be trapped in this castle. She couldn’t roam the place, as it was far too dangerous. The storm outside gushing, cackling with glee, certainly proved that. She sighed; it was obvious she couldn’t leave when the whole area was struck with the probably most dangerous storm to ever take place in a century. She also couldn’t call for help because of many reasons: this was a remote area, so no one would be near. Even if, with a 1% chance of someone actually being there, they would’ve definitely been washed away by the fierce wind by now. At any rate, it was lucky that no one was indeed outside, since they would’ve met a terrible fate. So Sara was stranded all alone, no way out, no food, no way to call for help (it would’ve been pointless anyways because no one was outside) in a castle. A battle castle. 

The idea zapped into her mind as quick as the lightning outside, strucking her numb.  
“That’s it,” she spoke jauntily, her spirits trembling with fervour, “this is a perfect idea.” Well, it wasn’t perfect but it was the best she could do, and besides, this was the only idea that she had, so what would she be losing if she did? 

“A lot,” her instinct piped up. Sara knew this was true, but she was impatient. She had waited for hours and hours, most likely more, she couldn’t wait anymore. The storm showed no signs of stopping, and she would starve if she stayed there. Easing her guilt a little, Sara felt more confident to execute the strategy. She was a bit nervous, though, but she couldn’t just stay here and let it result to famine. So, gingerly, she sneaked to the room with the armour, swords, and shields. She picked one up, the steel brushing against the skin. The shields protection was to die for, it was so strong. Lastly, she scooped up the sword. It was incredibly sharp; it had cut her skin. She wore the yielding and protection. Concluding the scheme, she picked up the sword again and tried it on random objects. The blade lived up to its name, it actually could pierce through anything. Except from the shield.

This was precisely what she wanted, because she planned to stab the sword into the ground, deep enough so that it didn’t emerge from the ground as an accident. Just in case it did, though, she already had a back-up plan. If the sword ever was flung out of the solid ground (she doubted it) she would be able to defend herself from it. There was no one around, so she was sure that no other human would have to bear the devastating effects of the sharp-as-shark-teeth sword. After equipping herself with the necessary equipment, she ventured out into the cold, unwelcoming turmoil. She pierced the ground with the cutting blade, jamming it about halfway through the height of the sword. Her numb, icy hands gripped the leathery handle of the sword, curled around it. And it worked! She had been a bit doubtful that it would succeed, but it did. She stared at the silver, frosty cutlass, a serious expression overtaking the previous smile-and-shine one.

“How on Earth was she supposed to get the sword out?” a devastating feeling landed in her stomach, and worry was present in her thoughts. She knew she hadn’t thought this out properly. She had just assumed that, “How hard could taking the sword out of the ground possibly be?” 

Sara’s only choice left was to try. She couldn’t, by any means, leave. She had had to spear the ground just to be able to stand! If she wanted to go back to the castle, she would have to get the sword out of the ground. All would have been well had that not been the initial problem. The bitter wind swirled around her, dancing with glee at her hold as she stood there, silent, trying to find her way to a resolve. She was forced to conclude that she would have to try to get it unstuck from the rigid Earth, no matter how hard it seemed. With a sigh, she grasped the hilt tighter than ever, and tugged at it. No movement. She tentatively tried to do so again, this time with more force. Movement! The corners of her moth lifted, forming a cheery smile. Her eyes glittered the colour of a snowflake, the colour of ice on a skating rink. She hauled at the bayonet, eventually managing to get it out. She jabbed the sabre a bit further, its blade ripping the ground. Sara continued the process, repeating the steps over and over again. Stab, pull out, repeat. Stab, pull out, repeat. She followed the directions she had created, again and again and again. It was nightfall by the time she exited the heavy metal gates, the sky darkened down to a deep purple. It was diversed by navy, so it created a sort of a harmonious hybrid between them. 

She stood there, leaning on the barred gates, tired. It had taken a long time to reach the gateway and she wanted a rest. After a minute or so, she began to descend away from the entry to the castle, drained of energy but wish to leave the place overpowering it. She did not want to stay at a venue where a horrifying, life-threatening gale resided, and danger lurked just around the bend, hidden at every corner. She walked as fast as possible, her numbness in the crippling, weary cold considerably slowing down the process. She turned to look back at it just one last time, and said, “If there’s one thing I learned today, it’s that to be cautious of my decisions!” 

The old cottage looked deserted, so Mary pushed the door open…

The door creaked and groaned as she turned the rusty wooden door knob, squeaking as it twisted, dust floating off gently, as if saying goodbye to the place it had inhabited in. The door finally opened to reveal a murky and gloomy interior. The couch was cloaked in a cape of dust, coating it with misty speckles of sand. The cape would’ve flown in the air, showing off its marvellous spectacles of dust, smaller than a grain of rice, had the couch not been soaked with a bluish-green substance. It looked like someone had poured a bucket full of rainwater, except that the bucket was made out of seaweed and rotten eggs. Before the stubborn door had finally consented to disclose the happenings inside the house, a terrible stench had wafted her way first. She flailed her hand in hope the smell would just drift away, the thought that it had probably remained in the house for over a month not crossing her mind. At last, when she couldn’t bear it any longer, she plugged her nose and walked inside, hope that there were other rooms vacant surging through her veins. Finally finding the source of the hateful stench seemed to cleanse her mind of any thoughts about the smell. Turning to look at the right corner, she spotted a vase, glistening with dust as it stood there, only a single flower which happened to have wilted occupying it. The petals were pitch-black at the tips, as if it had been burned, and any colour the flower might have possessed had faded down to a placid grey. A shiver suddenly ran down her spine, which happened to jolt her thoughts back to the original reason she had found this place. Another cold shiver slid down, its icy cold aura riding along with it. She remembered she was soaking wet, drenched in water, head to toe. Somehow she had forgotten about it, no doubt that the strange and unwelcoming atmosphere was behind it. She gave out an enormous yawn and her hand instinctively shot up to stifle it. She lowered it again, only to find blood staining it. Of course. She remembered falling down as she was running, hitting the solid ground with a thud. She got up and started to run again, even though she had the choice to walk through the forest. But, somehow, she knew that wasn’t a good idea…

The memories flooded in, one by one, each one of them playing in her mind as if a disc was dancing on its player, twirling and spinning. She saw herself and her father just strolling in the woods, ambling to random spots which she found interesting, despite being the most ordinary. She was chatting happily about her plans for the one-month holiday break she had, excitedly listing up fun activities they could do together: have a picnic, bird watching, camping. That was when the tragedy struck. A horrendous storm approached the farmlands surrounding them. Her father suggested they go back home upon noticing the grey clouds huddled up in the sky like they were planning a huge surprise. But he was too late, for the storm noticed them. To them, they just saw it as a horrible and trouble-causing storm. Well, she used to. Now she saw it for what it really was; A terror-evoking, damaging gale, spinning faster and faster. She just hadn’t noticed it then, for it hadn’t divulged its intentions to her until it was too late. It raced towards them like it was racing against light, coming close and closer by the second. She remembered the sun being overshadowed by the stone clouds, the lightning whizzing past, wrecking everything in its way. The trees, bushes, shrubs, grass, name it and it was sucked into the twirling gale, spun round and round until blown off-course. She remembered rain hitting her like the droplets were rocks. It only took a few seconds for her to realise it. This was a hailstorm.

“But it was so sunny? How-” before she was able to finish her sentence, a scream pierced through, cutting it in half. She bolted towards the direction of her father, anxious to know what caused this. She saw a sight she knew she would never forget. It would always remain in the back of her mind, haunting her.

Her father was laying on the ground, coughing as pebbles the size of lemons bashed against his arm. His fit of coughs dissolved into choking, and she couldn’t do anything about it. She kneeled to help him, but he shook his head as he muttered one word.

“Go,” he croaked, blood dripping from his mouth now. The word had been so faintly said that she was surprised she was able to hear it, yet it had a big impact. She got up and bolted away, further and further away from where he lay. The sight flashed in her mind, clearer each time it displayed itself in her mind. The word ‘Go’ kept popping up in her mind frequently, and the more she heard it, the further she ran away from the place where she had once been endlessly babbling about her holiday plans. It seemed so far away now.

She blinked, wanting to go back to the cottage she had stumbled upon, in spite of it clearly stating she was unwelcome. She didn’t care, though; anywhere was better than her memories, even an abandoned cottage with dust and murk wrapping up every surface and item visible. She looked around wearily, exhausted from the wild night she’d had, and looked for a door. She shouldn’t have, though; a single door stood straight ahead, the wood peeling off slightly as the doorknob twisted. She had to yank at it five times for the door to open, resulting in it breaking loose. She held it, barely registering she was holding it, and the door knob was left to be dropped onto the floor, a thud echoing around. Mary seemed to have lost the ability to care ever since she witnessed what happened in the forest she thought was her ‘safe place’. Ha, so much for a safe place. Worn out and weary, she slumped onto the bed that lay in front of her, falling asleep the moment her head hit the hard wood of the bed frame. She mumbled only a few words before falling into the beautiful escape that was sleep.

“When will this end?” It turned out, not very quickly. After what seemed like a minute, she woke up groggily, though she knew hours had passed. She looked around, and noticed no change. Everything was the same: rock-hard bed, dust-filled room, items covered in murky moss, muddy, wet moss…

After a second, she noticed the obvious. How was the moss wet? Did someone break in? Alarmed, she got up. Alas though, she had just woken up so she could barely register what was happening. Somehow, however, she staggered to a shelf dripping with wet moss and touched it. Yes, it is wet, her weary and asleep mind thought. She peered at the roof, and stared at it. Finally, a droplet fell on her cheek and she realised it was raining. And what’s more, the bricks of the roof were trembling – though not in the way Mary thought. You see, those bricks were old, and they were shaking, but not enough to be alarming.

Poor Mary didn’t have the chance to read this, because then she’d know the slight quiver of the roof needn’t cause alarm. She came back into the house soaked through. Now, when she was really awake, she could do with some exploring, seeing that the rain wasn’t showing any signs of stopping. Mary knew this because rain had the tendency to come at the worst times and either: option A – rain frequently with little breaks or option B – a heavy downpour of rain would occur.

He wandered into the house on Skurge street. It looked as if it had just been built. The interior was nothing like the outside. The pipes were broken and leaking, the stairs creaked everytime he took a step,and the rooms had pictures of people without eyes. The whole place had an eerie look about it. He would never have guessed the house looked like this on the inside. He felt the urge to stay in the house, and immediately decided against it. Something was wrong with this house, and he needed to get out. He walked out of the room,and into the kitchen,which he had passed through to get to the stairs. He could not believe it. He must have walked through a different room. It wasn’t surprising,now that he actually came to think about it. The house had two stories,you could tell if you looked inside. However ,there were so many rooms in this house, he wondered if it was haunted. He shook the thought out of his head. “Concentrate,Harry,concentrate,you need to get out”, he thought. He left the kitchen, and hadn’t even looked away more than a few seconds,when he turned around, and saw himself at another room, with a caution sign at the door saying”Beware,enter this room at your dare. Come in, and you may either find the exit or be trapped until famine”. He tried his chances. He, by now,knew this house was strange and he shouldn’t have wandered into it in the first place. He went inside. He saw a door. He felt excited. He went inside. There was another door. He didn’t know what to do. Was this the exit or not? He went inside. He kept going. At last, when he thought he was going to starve, a bright blue door appeared. He felt as if he’d been hurt severely, but then healed instantly. He went through. He felt as if,after being healed, he got more severely injured than before. And this time, he would never heal.  A short,eerie melody began playing out of nowhere. A quiet,whispering voice started repeating “this is it” over and over again, like a record. All of a sudden,he blacked out. He saw nothing but a dark,endless void for a while. He fell into a deep sleep. Except he never woke up…. .The house now had three stories as the exterior image.

This is using the Dr. Smiley creepypasta and the Dr. Smiley’s Funhouse (video)game as its inspiration. Characters belong to this creepypasta, apart from a few characters I created.

Dr.Smiley sighed with happiness. He loved making parents frowns turn upside down. Today he had the pleasure of having the parents of two children to see him. They both were evidently really upset about the behaviour of their kids, and hope was undertoned in their speech as they said their ‘goodbyes’. They were exhausted from all the tension and worry they had been facing when dealing with the subject of their children. It was as if the sole purpose of the children was to upset their parents. They refused to listen to anyone, got detentions almost everyday, and teachers were drained out of energy from the amount of times they had to reprimand Shelly and Tom Margaret. Report after report was emailed to their parents, revealing the mischief their children constantly got up to, the dreadful work they produced, and how they were a bad influence of other children around them. Their parents had lost all faith in their children that they would ever just behave, think, just care about them. For them. So, in vain, the 0.01% of hope that remained urged them to take their children to Dr. Smiley. They were still a bit apprehensive but had no choice. Thay had heard many reviews rating that this Dr. Smiley had cured their previously misbehaving children, a feat that even the most renowned therapists couldn’t achieve. However, two reasons had delayed them taking their children to see him, the first being that they didn’t believe that their children had fallen that deep down. They didn’t want to believe it. The second, and last reason, was that the Funhouse – apparently being the place where children finally learned the basics of being model children – was suspicious. The exterior seemed to display rainbows with white fluffy clouds at each end, both of them smiling with two circles of light pink dotted at each side. In addition, balloons of all shapes and colours and sizes were floating around the building: a heart shaped pink balloon, an Ice Cream shaped balloon decorated with fake sprinkles of pink, blue, and red with a touch of yellow and green, a Shimmer and Shine shaped balloon. It seemed to be more like a Funhouse than an actual one. Ever since they had seen the photo of the place, they wondered how a Doctor in a Funhouse could possibly help children that even proffesional therapists couldn’t. But the choices had run out; they couldn’t pick an option that they wished. They had seen how that had turned out. The last encounter they had had ended with the therapist running away from his office screaming and flailing his hands in the air. That was the last they heard of Dr. Floopy Loops.

With one last deep breath, they got in the car while Mrs Margaret started the car. The key turned in the lock while Mr Margaret was busy keeping the children quiet. As usual, they were causing chaos and, despite his efforts, he couldn’t keep them from creating havoc during the ride. They shrieked and complained about everything: the chocolate-chip cookies had run out, the car was too tiny for them to play their game, the air was too cold. Absolutely everything. Mrs Maragret sighed while taking a sharp right; why did their children have to be like this?

At last they arrived at their destination. The Funhouse seemed more blinding than the pictures. Smiley faces were beaming at them, grinning like they weren’t smiling at people who were fed up with their children’s behaviour. The sight in front of them made them grateful that, at least, Shelly and Tom didn’t scream so loudly that they could be heard by birds migrating to the south. Parents were pulling their children in the direction of the Funhouse but the children were creating a scene, crying and kicking like they had to complete 30 stacks of honework by the next day. On the upper edges of the bright building was the title. “DR. SMILEY’S FUNHOUSE!“,the sign read. It was written completely in capitals, and there was even an exclamation point punctuated at the end, as if they had something to be really excited about. Each letter was painted a different colour, and paired with the bright blue base of the building and the diversity of colours, it was quite blinding. Shelly and Tom hated the place at first sight. They really hated it. I mean to the point where they started to prise open the car in which they had arrived in without a key, and when it failed, they started to howl and scream, tears streaming down their faces like a waterfall as their voice broke and cracked. The parents were absolutely horrified at this behaviour and were just about to tug them in the direction of the blinding building when something stopped them. Two things actually. The first was that it would be useless to pull them in the other direction; the other parents had proved that. The second thing was that they themselves didn’t really like the place. It was extremely bright and blinding, colours popping up everywhere. They had nothing against extremely colourful places; in fact, those were the only type of places that their children mildly attempted to behave. It was only mild, but still, that was something. But something about the building seemed off. Insincere. Pretentious. However, their thought process was interrupted, for a person in a yellow mask appeared in front of them. He greeted them, and appeared to have a grisly, gravely sort of voice.

“Well hello there, Mrs and Mr Margeret! I am Dr.Smiley,” he introduced himself. Mr Margaret was the first one to to get over the shock, and tried to speak as politely as he could. “Well hello Dr. Smiley,” he thought he sensed some confusion about the two children, and quickly introduced them. “This is Shelly Margeret, and this is Tom Margeret”. After he finished talking, that was when he began to ponder over the fact of how Dr. Smiley knew their name. That only lasted a second or two, though. “Well, now that the introduction’s done, you better say your goodbyes!” “Well, that was rather quick,” Mrs. Margaret thought. But she desperately wanted him to help her children, and she was prepared to ignore her better judgement. She said ‘good bye’ to Shelly and Tom, who gaped at her in surprise. They could notice that their parents didn’t really like this “Funhouse” – as the title so truthfully stated – and thought it most likely that they would decline his obvious wanting for them to be sent to his “Funhouse”. Whenever that word popped up, they regarded it in disdain and disgust. It was clear that it was trying to hide something – most likely the fact that it was a horrible place – and they would have betted that they were going to leave a few minutes ago. Unbeknownst to them, Dr. Smiley flashed a crule smile at them (Well, not that they could tell, since he was wearing a mask) and led them towards the enormous building without another word. Once entered, the children saw that the interior was no better than the outside. Smileys beamed at them everywhere, tiny circles of blushes drawn on either side. The posters had some uplifting quotes and messages written on them in big, curly, colourful handwriting. BE HAPPY, HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY, NEVER GIVE UP, just to name a few of them. The doors surrounding them were neon and amped versions of the primary and secondary colours: neon pink, emerald green, blinding yellow. They reached the lobby, which was yet again full of abstract images consisting of only brighter versions of colours, images of balloons in every shape and size, quotes written in – you guessed it – capital, loopy, untidy writing. Not to mention that every single quote had to end with an exclamation mark. They were seriously beginning to be tired of all the excitement this place seemed to comprise of and hype up. They were not prepared fot ths shock they were about to get. But, before that, Dr. Smiley listed the rules to them.

“Curfew is at 9. It’s forbidden to go to the lobby within the exception of going to the bathroom and emergencies. If you do, there will be consequences”. He said ‘consequences’ with a stress on it, implying a threat and malicious intent. Shelly and Tom felt as though they were being warned for the absolute last time. If they dared disobey, they knew they would regret it. As much as Shelly and Tom were mischievous and misbehaving, and had a reputation for being stand-up-ish, they felt scared and did not dare to even think of flouting the rules. He inpired fear in them that they didn’t even know they possessed. Which was silly, they knew that; Dr. Smiley briefly spoke a few words. They could not help it. Dr.Smiley sensed that they were frightened by him, and said, “You have no idea how many silly children have tried to escape”. He sneered throughout the whole sentence, particularly on ‘silly’, as if it was foolish to the point of stupidity that they ever dared to think they’d have a chance to escape. Shelly and Tom recieved this warily, trying not to show that they were frightened and suspicious of Dr. Smiley. But he was notorious for this, and quickly snapped at them, “Chop chop! It’s almost curfew!” He ushered them into the direction of the room they were allocated to live in during their brief stay, remaining quiet the entire way. Only after they reached the doors did he say, “Just remember what I told you.” He was back to the soft but menacing tone he had aqquired during most of his speech.

They, by now, had gotten used to it, though they always had a feeling of wrongness whenever he adapted to that tone of voice. It felt like he was mocking them. Tom pushed open the door, and gasped in surprise. The room looked nothing like the lobby, or any other part of the building they’d so far seen. It was empty, tiring, and dreary. No colours. No over-the-top decorations. No uplifting and inspiring quotes. No nothing. The walls were grey, the floor was grey, the ceiling was grey. Even the table, on which resided a lonely glass vase in grey – of course – was grey! It resembled a hospital room whose sile purpose in life was to make people go insane. It would certainly do that well!There was only one poster on the wall, saying “SMILE” in small black letters on a white sheet of A4 paper. A smiley was drawn at the end, except that black tears were streaked on its face, like it had been corrupt. His attention was directed away fortunately – or rather, unfortunately – when Shelly exclaimed in surprise.

“Look, Tom! A VHS tape!” “Wait what?” Tom reacted to Shelly’s statement. She beckoned him over to the shelves. He looked to where she was pointing and saw a VHS tape there. It was put in the middle of a few books on either side of it. It was hard to spot since the spines of the books and the VHS tape were both grey, which made him suspect that it was meant to be hidden. Shelly grabbed it and walked over to the tiny television in the room, and slid the tape into a slot. She indicated for him to follow her to the bed to watch the tape. He was soon sitting next to her, feeling as puzzled as she was. First, there was only static visible on the screen. They waited for it to pass, and just when Tom thought the entire thing was corrupted and couldn’t be played, it began to glitch. They could just make out a few letters: P…A F..O DR SM…L…Y. Shelly pieced it together and said that it was a PSA from Dr. Smiley. Their moods darkened; neither of them was a fan of Dr. Smiley. It was, as was the most of the building, bright and colourful and blinding, each letter done in a different font and colour. But their thoughts were directed away from that aspect of the recording, for a booming, dark voice echoed though the room. It was a familiar voice. “HELLO THERE! YOU’RE PROBABLY WONDERING WHY EXACTLY YOU’RE HERE! WELL, LET ME CLUE YOU IN”, he boomed. Sheely clapped her hands over her ears, and Tom followed suit. All of a sudden, his vouce changed from the loud, obnoxious one to a softer, menacing, and morbid voice. “YOU ARE A BAD KID. YOU’RE A DESPICABLE, NO GOOD TROUBLE MAKER. YOU’LL BE ENTERING MY PROGRAM FOR THE WORST OF THE WORST! AND BY THE TIME YOU’RE DONE HERE, YOUR PARENTS FROWNS WILL BE TURNED UPSIDE DOWN! WELL, YOU’D BETTER GET A GOOD NIGHT’S REST! YOU HAVE A LONG DAY AHEAD OF YOU TOMMOROW!”. “What the absolute heck was that?!?” Tom exclaimed out loud, shocked, confused, puzzled and unnerved. Shelly looked like she’d seen a ghost. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably, her eyes were wide open, peeled as if they were in danger, and she was rooted to the spot. Tom rather felt like that himself. He sat down beside Shelly, wanting to console her but feeling in need of consoling himself. At last, in a shaky voice, aided by many cracks, he said, “It’s okay.” He didn’t know why he said that. He knew it wasn’t okay. But he just wanted to comfort Shelly. When Shelly didn’t respond, he scratched his neck and got up to gather himself and his thoughts. That was when he began to feel dizzy. He felt his head spin round and round, as if going in an endless loop, and he felt extremely sleepy. He just wanted to slump down on his bed and fall asleep. Suddenly, he toppled on the ground, determined to do just that. But before he passed out, he smelt something. He would’ve bet a million dollars it was something sweet.

He felt his mind start to work again. He started to be conscious again. He wanted to open his eyes but his urge to sleep was stronger. However, he couldn’t, no matter how much he tried. It was either the curiosity on what the actual heck was going on, or that something was very wrong. Very, very wrong. He finally managed to open his eyes, and immediately wished he didn’t. It was Dr.Smiley. More importantly, Dr. Smiley with a knife. He wanted to scream his lungs out. WHAT was happening? Where was Shelly?! Where was HE?! As all these questions zoomed in his head, alongside with the worries about his sister, an urge to get up evoked him to do so. He found that he couldn’t. Something was stopping him. He struggled and wriggled and squiggled against whatever was holding him back, and soon realised he was tied with ropes. He shot a quick glance at his surroundings, and managed to see a pillow. He tried to scream, but a cloth was bound round his mouth. Was he being kidnapped? His question was answered quickly, for Dr. Smiley noticed that he was awake. He piped his face closer to Tom, and said, “Oh good. You’re awake. I was just thinking to torture it out of your sister while we wait.” He informed Tom casually, as if he didn’t just say that he was on the brink of torturing someone. He tried to scream again, though he knew it was pointless. Dr. Smiley went on, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Do you want to feel my wrath?” Tom agressively shook his head, a horrified look entering his eyes, but it was too late. Dr. Smiley took the knife closer to his mask, and sliced it open. Blood was dripping down the cheery yellow “mask”. Where there had been a smile before was the carved outline of it. Skin peaked out of it, damaged beyond repair, while the blood dropped onto the ground. Drop. Drop. Drop. Each drop was audible, as clear as a gong. Dr. Smiley spoke again. “Do you want me to do the same to you?” He inched his bloody knife closer to Tom, and he shook his head as quickly as he could, horror in his eyes. He waited on as Dr. Smiley pushed the knife closer and closer to him until it was touching his mouth. “Good. I don’t want to see that behaviour again. Remember what I told you? There will be consequences.”