I glance at the skeletal figure, its empty eye sockets mocking me. Except, wait. One isn’t empty. There’s something shining in there. I reach for the skull, my fingers trembling. Inside the eye socket, there's a small, silver key.
Relief floods through me, but it’s short-lived. I clutch the key tightly, my eyes darting around the room for any sign of a lock or hidden door. Where is the exit? Where do I use this key?
I reread the clue again. A box for a last trip. A box for when life’s grip does slip. When does life’s grip slip? Come on, think. Think. When someone dies? A box for when someone dies.
The coffins.
I rush to the nearest coffin and run my fingers along the wood, feeling for a lock or a keyhole. Nothing. I try to lift the lid, but it won’t budge. “Next coffin,” I mutter, moving to the next one. I see something—a tiny keyhole, barely visible, blending into the dark wood.
“Yes, yes, yes,” I whisper, inserting the key and turning it. The coffin lid creaks open, revealing a narrow, faintly lit passageway. I don’t hesitate. I step into the hallway and sprint, the coffin door slamming shut behind me with a final,ominous thud.
The air is cold and damp, and I force myself forward, driven by the desperate need to find Hayes. I jog quickly through the passage, the floor is at a slight incline, a ramp almost, and I’m out of breath when I reach the end.
Which opens into a jail cell.
Iron bars stretch from floor to ceiling, enclosing me in a space that looks like the hold of an old pirate ship. The walls are lined with weathered wooden planks, darkened with age and moisture. Heavy, iron-banded chests are piled in the corners, and thick, frayed ropes hang from hooks along the wall.The floor creaks beneath my weight, uneven and splintered. Flickering lanterns hang from the low ceiling, casting orange glowing light. A wooden walkway, bordered by thick ropes, runs between my cell and another across the way.
Through the bars, I see Hayes, his face illuminated by the faint light as he studies a piece of paper in his hand. My heart leaps at the sight of him. "Hayes!" I call out, my voice breaking with a mix of relief and exhaustion.
He looks up, his eyes widening in surprise before softening with joy. "Tori!" His voice is filled with warmth, and a wide smile spreads across his face.
I burst into tears, overwhelmed by a rush of emotions. Relief, joy, fear—all collide in a tidal wave that leaves me trembling. My knees buckle, and I collapse against the iron bars, sobbing uncontrollably.
Hayes rushes to the bars of his cell, reaching out as far as he can. "Tori, are you okay?"
"I am definitely not okay," I manage through my tears, clutching the bars for support. "I need to get the hell out of here."
“Did you get jump-scared?” he asks, a hint of a smile in his voice.
"Oh, it was a little more than that," I grit out, my voice catching.
“I had a killer clown chase me into this room,” he says, shaking his head with a rueful grin. “I almost punched the poor guy in the face.”
“Is there a way I can get to you.” I sniffle, searching the cell for an opening. “I don’t want to do the rest of this alone.”
"I don’t know, but we’ll figure out a way," he reassures me, his voice steady and calming. "We just need to stay focused. Or we could just wait it out here until the time is up.”
“I have to get the hell out of here,” I stammer. “I feel claustrophobic and way too wired. My brain feels like it’s breaking.”
Hayes glances at the clue in his hand. “I have a clue. Do you have one?”
I wipe my tears, taking deep, shuddering breaths to calm myself, and look around. There’s a small envelope sitting on a wooden bench. “Yeah, here it is.”
I open the envelope, but my hands are trembling so much the clue slips to the floor. I pick it up, but I can’t stop my fingers from shaking.
“Go ahead, read it to me. We’ll figure them both out together.”
I read aloud. “I am the riddle of the sea. A creature of myth, wild and free. In moonlit tales, sailors speak my name. A puzzle of fins, a watery flame.”
“A creature of myth…like a giant squid maybe?” Hayes suggests.
I sit on the bench and lean my back against the wall. “Can’t be a giant squid; those aren’t mythical.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, and pirates wouldn’t tell tales about them, it’s got to be a siren or a mermaid.”
“It’s a mermaid, then.”
