Don't enter the haunted house at Kausterman's Farm - Chap 3

We rested for a good amount of time before entering Sour. The first thing I noticed was the smell, it stopped us dead in our tracks. This one immediately lived up to its name, so much so that we almost turned around. But we pressed on, stepping over a massive metal grate on the floor by the entrance. I did my best not to let my bare feet slip through.

This time the lights ahead in the distance were off. Gradually turning on as we walked. We both covered out faces with our shirts.

I heard a buzzing and turned around, assuming the wasps were back. It was coming from the first set of lights. Shining twice as bright as when we entered. As we walked the pattern continued, until the first brightness doubled again and the light exploded.

The bulbs ahead looked slightly dimmer so I inspected them. There was a chunky white liquid with an oily film on top. It continued to drip more liquid in from the top. Max ran ahead to confirm that they gradually had more and more in them. Yup.

I placed the smell. A teenage revenge prank concocted by the most wretched of minds. Rancid chicken fat and curdled milk.

I shook my head and looked at the speaker, “This isn’t even scary assholes. It’s just… revolting”.

We continued down the disgusting hallway as the bulbs kept heating up the liquid before exploding behind us. Spraying it everywhere. Thankfully we were far enough to avoid it. I still took a second to stop and throw up.

We walked past a pool of it that had gathered to one side of the wall. It was sitting atop a bed of razor wire.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I said as we carried on. Bulbs bursting behind, and the number of razor wire filled pools increasing. The bulbs ahead of us were nearly full at this point. Glowing a faint pink mostly on the ceiling.

The next pool contained an eel. It had the wire wrapped around it as it twitched and struggled. Max held his finger in the milk and waited. His entire body jolted and he stood up and walked away, muttering to himself about being ready to shoot himself now.

The floor began to slant downward. The pool at the bottom was deeper than the others and was wall to wall. We’d have to cross it to get to the upward slant on the other side.

“I can’t tell were all the razor wire is,” Max said. I looked down at my bare feet. “What size shoe are you?” I asked.

“Seven and a half”. He said staring at my much larger feet, “Oh, crap…”

“Yup,” I nodded, “Thirteen”.

He would have to carry me. I climbed onto his back and we stuck to the wall so we could both brace ourselves against it. It was only six feet across, but I could feel him nearly buckling over from my weight. I must’ve had almost a hundred pounds on him.

We couldn’t keep this up. And based on what that eel was telegraphing, this was just the tip of a milky, electrified and rancid iceberg. We wanted to take a break, but the smell was far too overpowering to take a breath or stay in it for any longer than we needed to.

The next slant was twice as deep, with a pool twice as long. The voice on the speaker chimed in.

“The fear of sickness and infection. A fear of certain, sickening death. Find purchase in the fear of falling, lest you taste a shocking end”. It was again punctuated by that stupid witch laugh.

Max and I looked up together. Monkey bars. We didn’t notice them before because they were clear. And dripping. They were made of ice.

“The lights are melting them,” he said. I turned around. The rungs were thinner where the lights had grown brighter. We had been standing here too long. A large chuck of ice feel to the ground. Max looked at my hands deeply concerned.

I didn’t have time to respond. I took off my shirt and began wrapping it around my paralyzed hand as tightly as I could, doing my best to make it into a cloth hook. Max jumped up trying to grab the icy bars. He couldn’t reach them.

“Gimme a boost,” I said. He held out his hands for me as a platform. I grabbed on and pulled myself up so I could hook my legs in. Then helped to pull him up. I could feel the rung melting from the heat of my legs and started to make it to the next one using my hands.

“We have to alternate,” Max suggested. It was a good idea. The less we touched the rungs the better. I hooked each arm on new rungs in opposite directions and let my legs drop.

My left arm slipped off. Leaving me dangling from the right. I skipped the next rung, and threw my paralyzed hand over it. We kept up the pattern until the bars suddenly stopped then leapt down having cleared the next rancid pool.

We carried on in this fashion as the pools and depths kept doubling, along with the length of the icy bars. Knowing you’re about to fall to your death every second is a brilliantly twisted torture. Simple and effective.

Overwhelmed by the innate certainty that there’s no safety on the next rung. That succeeding in not dying is only bringing you closer and closer to slipping to your doom. The deep seated understanding that statistics are working against you. That probability is not on your side.

That eventually the dice roll will cast a ‘game over’ for you and there are no second chances in life. Your apparent luck will run out. No amount of skill will save you from the inevitable grasp of chaos and entropy. Nothing can prepare you for the fear of natures twisted mechanical design.

Yet somehow against all odds we fought the certain death those cogs of chance and likelihood were slowly turning us toward. Shaken and traumatized by the simple knowledge of growing numbers and randomness.

We had dozens of slips and close calls and could no longer feel our hands. It was at the tenth pool that the situation grew dire. It spanned beyond where the eye could see. There was no end in sight. And it was moving, like a wave pool. Rising.

“Smells have a funny way of stopping you in your tracks. Making you wait for them, or turn around and leave”. The speaker taunted.

“Fuck me,” Max said staring at the pool we’d just crossed. Watching it rise. “It was telegraphed from the start,” he explained.

“Right when we walked in we stopped because of the stench. We wanted to turn around and leave”.

“The lights were guiding us backwards,” I added.

“We didn’t have to do anything… the entire point was to leave”. He was barely whispering at that point.

“So we have to do it all again, backwards, in the dark and with all the damage and broken rungs that we-” he screamed.

“It’s impossible,” I interrupted as I began to unravel part of my shirt. He watched me as I began bandaging the other hand. I saw the plan flash in his eyes. He walked over to the rising pool.

“The razor wire doesn’t float…” he realized. He pulled off his suit jacket and threw it to me then began inspecting himself for open wounds.

I tied his jacked tightly around my torso. Then knotted the cuffs on my pants. Max did the same in addition to his shirt. “How long do we have?” He asked.

“A few minutes for the first pool. Don’t dive and… I know it sounds unreasonable but, we don’t have time to stopped and puke”. I tore the sleeves off his jacket and tossed him one as I knotted the hole.

“No time to smell the roses?” He joked while ripping his jacket sleeve down the side to flatten it.

“One more thing,” I added while covering my face with the makeshift face-mask before tying it. “We’re still gonna get shocked. A lot”.

“Just keep swimming,” he finished for me before tying his own mask.

It’s hard to describe the sensation of swimming in greasy, curdled milk. Oily? Chunky? Revolting? Slimy and creamy with a hint of eels zapping your entire body every five seconds? Our sense of touch and disgust were at an all time high now that we were left without sight and sound. Again.

After the first two pools, we had to run to the next. But by the time we made it through pool three, the rising pool of grossness was high enough to keep swimming. In fact-

My head hit the icy bars. Fuck.

I hoped Max realized it too. The entire hallway was about to be flooded. It was three inches from the ceiling. We swam on in the most disgusting milk bath ever conceived. I could feel it on my hands and face. The infection was guaranteed. I had to free my mouth from the mask to avoid getting water boarded.

I felt a hand on me.

“The grate,” Max yelled.

Yes. At some point we would have to dive underneath to catch the current pushing out of the pools and into the grate that the milk river was pouring into. But when?

We kept swimming but I could feel the milk start pushing us forward. The rising liquid hit the ceiling. Max grabbed my good hand and dove. Now or never.

We caught the current at the bottom and began shooting down the hallway. Should’ve taken a deeper breath. Fuck.

Max pulled himself closer to increase our speed.

thirty seconds

Fuck

forty-five

How long was this hallway?! I was getting lightheaded.

one minute

Woozy…

a minute thir…

When I woke up I was in the red room. Max was leaning over and ringing his clothes out over the grate in Sour after having resuscitated me. I groaned.

“You saved me…” I was still extremely out of it. My ribs were bruised and swollen.

He looked over, “Yeah and let me tell you. It wasn’t easy. You smell terrible”.

I let out a weak chuckle and fell back. I looked ahead at the last sign.

“Never”