Read Online The Nightmare Game by S. Suzanne Martin - Free Book Online

anyone else was witness
to this, but found it odd that none of the passers-by seemed to notice. The
whole situation seemed too outlandish, too much like a scene from an old TV spy
series.
    “What fall? What do you mean? And what happens if
I don’t go tonight? Do I just automatically die?” I asked, glancing down at the
paper, but when I looked up, he was gone and I was standing there alone.
Dumbfounded, I staggered back against a wall, now staring at the flyer that had
been stuffed into my hand. Black lettering on red paper, it was now crumpled,
torn and wet with the sweat of my hand. It showed an illustration of a
screaming man’s face with a logo for “The Crypt” along with an address. No
bands were listed. Instead, it simply read, “Attractions of the curious sort.
You can’t sleep until you see this and you won’t sleep if you do.”
    “Oh, crap,” I thought, “What have I gotten myself
into?” But I had not gotten myself into anything. This thing, this horrible
game or whatever it was, had instead sought me out and now it seemed that for
some bizarre reason, I no longer had any free choice of my own. I suddenly
regretted all of my earlier displeasure with the course that my life had taken
because now, looking back, the existence I’d been leading with my wonderful
fantasies and my two sweet cats and my dull little job all seemed very nice and
comfortable and cozy and safe. If what these people, with their sudden, bizarre
appearances and disappearances, were telling me was true, my life was getting
ready to come to a premature end very, very soon.
    I folded the crumpled flyer as neatly as it would
now allow and stuffed it into the back pocket of my jeans. Crossing the street,
I began to wander down Royal Street away from Canal, away from the Sonesta,
away from any thing that represented any sanity or normalcy that could still be
salvaged in my life. I had been duly warned and it seemed now that I was
obliged to obey. I was being controlled; I was caught up in something that had
robbed me of all free will, of all say in my own life. I was screwed. Somehow
it had been preordained that I was going to die, but not before participating
in some kind of quest, some kind of sick game into which I’d been entered
without my knowledge or permission. I was confused, I was depressed, but most
of all, I was really scared. I continued to walk, not taking notice of
anything, looking down at my feet more than looking around, not knowing what to
think. The enslavement to this obscure task that had been put upon me felt
heavy. Thinking about it only made my confusion worse. Task? What task? All
anyone would tell me was that they didn’t have the time to explain this
monumental thing I was supposed to do and whenever I tried to ask, they just
simply disappeared, quite literally. I shivered, feeling an electric chill go
down my spine; someone, according to the old wives’ tale, had just walked
across my grave. The sensation was so strong that it stopped me in my tracks. I
looked up from my feet and peered about. The shop window to my immediate right
caught my attention. A large eye painted on the window was staring at me. It
was flanked on one side with a right hand and on the other, a left, both palms
up with heavy palmistry lines painted upon them. Against a backdrop of purple
and gold fabric, a narrow display shelf held crystal balls and tea cups with
Runes and Tarot cards fanned out symmetrically on either side. A fortune teller , I thought, maybe she can shed some light on this . All rationale
had left my mind. Ration just didn’t seem to apply any more. In less drastic
situations I normally thought that fortune telling was silly but right now I
didn’t know where else to turn. My situation was so outside of normal reality
that this made as much sense as anything else that I could think of. So I went
inside the tea room.
    It wasn’t a bad place, I supposed, once inside.
I’d half-expected stale, decades’ old