It’s Just a Game
“It’s just a game.”
Yeah.
That’s what they said.
That’s what they always said.
Whenever our group got together, sooner or later someone would ask the inevitable question.
What are we going to do?
Sometimes we drank. Sometimes we went out. Sometimes we ended up at somebody’s apartment doing absolutely nothing until somebody got bored enough to suggest something stupid.
Eventually, though, there was always a game.
The last time it had been spin the bottle.
Not the version our parents played when they were young. Spin the bottle, kiss whoever it lands on?
Boring.
Our version came with a challenge. The bottle chose the person. The group chose the challenge.
That was more our style.
We were a curious collection of people with questionable judgment and entirely too much confidence in our own immortality. A couple members of the group particularly enjoyed testing the boundaries of social norms, common sense and occasionally basic survival.
Which brings me to Cheryl.
Cheryl was brave.
Actually, that isn’t true.
Cheryl was very good at telling everyone else they weren’t brave.
There’s a difference.
That night there were bottles scattered across the table, music playing and the usual question hanging over us.
What are we going to do?
“No spin the bottle,” someone said.
“Thank God.”
“Let’s just do the challenge.”
That got everyone’s attention.
Somebody suggested the mansion.
The room went quiet.
We all knew which mansion.
Everybody in town did.
It sat beyond the outskirts of the city, at the end of a long private road that disappeared behind an enormous iron gate. The property stretched across the top of a wooded hill, surrounded by enough land that you could barely see the house from the road.
Nobody seemed to know much about the people who lived there.
There were stories, of course.
There are always stories.
Someone claimed the family had lived there for more than a hundred years. Someone else swore the original owner had disappeared and nobody had ever found the body. There were rumors about secret rooms, underground tunnels and strange lights in the woods.
The usual nonsense.
The truth was much less interesting.
A couple times a week, an old luxury car came through the gate. Someone drove into town, bought groceries and other necessities, then returned to the property.
Sometimes delivery trucks went up the hill.
At night, lights came on inside the mansion.
That was about it.
We didn’t know who lived there.
We didn’t know how many people lived there.
We weren’t even certain they were all members of the same family.
Naturally, this made the place irresistible.
Cheryl smiled.
“I have the challenge.”
There was something about that smile that should have sent all of us home.
Instead, we leaned closer.
“We go to the mansion.”
Someone laughed nervously.
“And?”
“We go through the gate. Walk all the way to the front door. Leave something on the porch and take a picture to prove we were there.”
“What are we leaving?”
Cheryl looked at the collection of bottles on the table.
“A bottle.”
That was it.
That was the challenge.
Drive out to the mansion, sneak onto private property, walk up to the house, leave a bottle on the porch, take photographic proof and get out.
Simple.
Stupid.
Perfect.
An hour later, our cars were parked along the side of the road at the bottom of the hill.
The mansion was somewhere above us.
Between us and it stood the gate.
It looked even more intimidating at night.
Two stone pillars rose on either side, each holding an old-fashioned lantern. Between them stood tall iron gates covered with decorative metalwork that looked like something salvaged from an old Gothic horror movie.
Beyond them, the driveway disappeared into darkness.
Someone took a drink.
“So, vampires?”
“Definitely vampires.”
“Too obvious.”
“Zombies?”
“Rich zombies?”
“Maybe it’s some old scientist doing experiments up there.”
“On what?”
“You, if you keep talking.”
We laughed.
Nobody moved toward the gate.
The stories had been funny when we were sitting safely in somebody’s apartment.
Standing there was different.
The darkness beyond those gates seemed deeper than it should have been.
Finally, someone said, “So who goes first?”
Every head turned toward Cheryl.
She laughed.
“Oh, hell no.”
There she was.
Our fearless leader.
We argued. We flipped coins. We played rock, paper, scissors. We accused one another of cheating at rock, paper, scissors, which probably says everything you need to know about us.
Eventually, we established an order.
Then we faced the first problem.
The gate was locked.
There was a panel mounted beside it, presumably for guests to request entry, but pressing the button and announcing ourselves would somewhat defeat the purpose of a secret trespassing challenge.
We walked closer to examine it.
The moment we reached the gate, something clicked.
We stopped.
Slowly, the enormous iron gates began to open.
The hinges released a long, low squeal that echoed through the trees.
Nobody spoke.
The gates stopped.
Open.
Waiting.
“Okay,” someone whispered. “That’s creepy.”
“It’s probably automatic.”
“How does it know we’re here?”
“Motion sensor.”
“Then why didn’t it open when we parked?”
Nobody answered that.
We should have left.
I know that now.
Instead, the first person picked up a bottle.
“Let’s get this over with.”
We watched him disappear up the driveway.
It took forever.
Then suddenly he came running back.
He shot through the gate, bent over with his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath.
“Well?”
“I did it.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“I walked up there, put the bottle down, took the picture and came back.”
He held up his phone.
We crowded around.
The photograph was completely black.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“You covered the lens.”
“I didn’t cover the lens.”
“Take another one.”
“I’m not going back.”
The next person went.
Same thing.
Then another.
And another.
One by one, we made the trip.
Some people walked slowly, trying very hard to pretend they weren’t frightened.
Others practically sprinted up the driveway, dropped their bottle, snapped the photograph and raced back.
I won't pretend I was brave.
When my turn came, I moved quickly.
The mansion seemed impossibly far from the gate.
The driveway curved through thick trees before finally opening into a wide clearing.
And there it was.
For all the stories, the mansion wasn't frightening.
It was beautiful.
Large and old, with tall windows and stone walls, it looked like something from another century. Warm lights glowed behind several windows. The grounds were immaculate.
No broken shutters.
No weeds swallowing the porch.
No cobwebs hanging from the doorway.
Someone cared for this place.
That should have made me feel better.
It didn't.
I placed my bottle beside the others.
Pulled out my phone.
Took the picture.
Then I ran.
When I reached the gate, everyone crowded around me.
Black.
Just like the others.
Every single photograph showed the same thing.
Nothing.
A solid black square.
We stood beneath the lanterns looking from one phone to another.
Nobody was laughing anymore.
“We did the challenge,” someone finally said.
Cheryl shook her head.
“No, we didn't.”
Several people groaned.
“We went up there.”
“We don't have proof.”
“Oh, come on.”
“The challenge was to get a picture.”
“We took pictures.”
“And every one of them is black.”
Someone pointed toward the gate.
“Let's just take a group picture here. That proves we came.”
Cheryl folded her arms.
“Nope.”
Of course she did.
“We're not going back up there individually.”
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“We all go.”
I stared at her.
“You're serious?”
“We walk up together. Take one group picture. Then we're done.”
There was considerable discussion.
Most of it involved telling Cheryl exactly what we thought of her.
Eventually someone said, “Next time, can we just go bowling?”
That broke the tension.
We laughed.
And somehow, laughing made us brave again.
Or stupid again.
Sometimes those are difficult to tell apart.
We linked arms.
Someone grabbed my hand.
Together we walked through the gate.
The driveway felt different with all of us together.
Less threatening.
We whispered jokes. Somebody started humming a ridiculous horror-movie theme until Cheryl told him to shut up.
Then we reached the clearing.
For the first time, all of us stood before the mansion together.
Nobody spoke.
Up close, it was magnificent.
The stonework was old but beautifully maintained. Tall windows stretched across the front. Warm light glowed inside. Ornate columns framed a massive wooden door.
It wasn't abandoned.
It wasn't ruined.
It wasn't haunted-looking.
It was somebody's home.
And yet every one of us felt it.
Something was watching.
“Picture,” someone whispered.
We gathered on the porch.
Our resident selfie expert stepped forward and held up her phone.
“Everybody squeeze in.”
We did.
“Smile.”
Click.
“Another.”
Click.
“Peace signs.”
Click.
“Last one.”
Click.
“DONE.”
We ran.
There is no dignified way to describe what happened next.
We fled that porch like Olympic medals were waiting at the bottom of the hill.
People shoved each other. Somebody nearly fell. Someone screamed at someone else to hurry up. By the time we burst through the gate, half of us were laughing so hard we could barely breathe.
We collapsed beside the road.
“That was so stupid.”
“Never again.”
“Bowling.”
“Definitely bowling.”
Then we heard it.
CLANK.
The laughter stopped.
We turned.
The iron gates were closed.
Nobody moved.
“Who closed it?”
“I didn't.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
Someone laughed.
It wasn't a particularly convincing laugh.
“We didn't open it either.”
Nobody found that funny.
“Whatever. We got the picture.”
We gathered around the phone.
Our friend opened the first photograph.
There we were.
All of us.
Smiling.
Laughing.
Peace signs.
Thumbs up.
Exactly the ridiculous photograph we'd expected.
Except the mansion wasn't behind us.
Neither was the porch.
There was only darkness.
Someone whispered, “What the hell?”
She swiped to the next photograph.
Darkness.
Another.
Darkness.
But we were still there.
Perfectly visible.
Every one of us standing together in front of something that apparently didn't exist.
Then someone noticed.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Behind us.”
We leaned closer.
At first I couldn't see anything.
Then I did.
Eyes.
A pair of them.
Then another.
And another.
Dozens of eyes floated in the darkness behind us.
Some seemed almost human.
Others didn't.
Nobody said a word.
The phone trembled in our friend's hand.
She swiped back through the photographs.
The eyes were in every one.
Watching us.
Then a voice whispered from somewhere beyond the gate.
Soft.
Polite.
Almost welcoming.
“Thank you for visiting.”
Nobody breathed.
“We're always watching.”
The lanterns beside the gate went out.
“Please come again.”
We ran.
I don't remember getting into the cars.
I don't remember driving back into the city.
I only remember that none of us laughed.
Nobody suggested another game.
And Cheryl never challenged us to go back.
I still have the photograph.
I've tried deleting it.
More than once.
It always comes back.
Sometimes I look at it, although I know I shouldn't.
There we are.
Young.
Stupid.
Smiling at the camera.
And behind us, the darkness.
The eyes are still there.
But lately I've noticed something else.
Every time I look at the picture, there seem to be more of them.
It's probably nothing.
At least, that's what I tell myself.
After all...
It was just a game.
**
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