ESCAPE ROOM – PART 1

THE STORY

You are on a journey to find The Sanctum, a place of glorious freedom, colour, beauty, purpose and joy. 

You are in a large building, perhaps a castle, with a number of rooms and passages. You have to make your way through locked rooms, narrow passages, and apparent dead ends. When you successfully navigate through the building, you will find what your heart most desires. 

Warning: Do not stop too soon.  

THE COMMON ROOM

The room is comfortable, holding everything you need to survive. It seems to be a gathering place, for there are many others here. Several couches  and comfortable chairs with side tables are scattered throughout the room. There is a kitchen area with ample facilities. One wall holds a large fireplace in which logs burn merrily. A couple full bookshelves stand against one wall, stocked with your favourite authors. In one corner several easy chairs face a large screen TV. Another area holds two card tables with chairs around them. One table hosts card games and the other board games. Various paintings add colour to the walls and scattered lamps brighten the room. A wide French door on one side leads to a large area containing a volleyball court and basketball hoops. A jogging track runs around its periphery. 

You wander around, exploring everything. You play a couple board games, watch TV, read a book, munch on your favourite snacks, then join a volleyball game. After the game you pick up another book and take a drink to one of the easy chairs where you raise the leg rest, lean back, and relax. This is great!

The people are friendly, the environment comfortable, the room warm. Why would you leave?

STAINED

Some time later you notice a stain on your shirt. You try to brush it off but it doesn’t move. You return to your book. Later you notice another stain, this one on your pants. You frown. You haven’t moved much. Where could it have come from?

You look around and, for the first time, you notice stains on others as well. But the room is clean. It has been dusted recently. Puzzled, you glance around again, now noticing stains on everyone. Yet the furniture appears pristine. 

You brush your thigh and another stain appears. You frown. You watch as others scratch or rub or brush at spots on themselves and stains appear. The only conclusion is that whatever is causing the marks is coming from under everyone’s clothes – from the people themselves. You scratch at an itch on the back of your hand. A smudge rises from somewhere below the surface. It’s not a bruise for it does not hurt as you press it experimentally. But the dirt that makes it does not rub off either. It merely spreads.

You rise and move around the room., looking for somewhere to wash. The sink in the washroom is small, but you do your best. The mark on your hand fades but does not disappear. And no smudge wipes off onto the towel. Clearly something stronger than the bar of soap is needed. You return to the room looking for anything that can get you clean.

Nothing. 

You even examine the knick-knacks on the bookshelves in case one might contain a strong cleaning product. 

Nothing. 

The people in the room now look dirty and unkempt, though they seem not to notice – as if this dirt rising from within is normal. 

A painting catches your eye. It depicts a red stream flowing from a small crevice in a white material on the right of the picture, the material unknown as details are few. Strange.

On another shelf you find a calligraphed card with the words, “Though they are scarlet they will be white as snow.” Beside it is a lamp casting a pure white light. You reach toward it and notice a scarlet sheen to the mark on your hand … and the other marks you have gathered in your search. 

“Yes,” you mutter, “I want them to be white. How?” You turn to the room. “Don’t you want to be clean?” you ask the people in the room. “How can we get clean?”

A few glance up at you and shrug. “We’re okay,” one says. “It’s normal. Look. Everyone is the same.”

“I don’t care,” you say. “I want to be clean.” 

Someone laughs. “There’s no shower or place to wash here. I’ve tried. We just do our best to minimise the dirt.”

CLEAN

A scarlet drape flutters beside one bookshelf. You hadn’t noticed it before. You move toward it, wondering what is causing the movement. It actually looks like flowing liquid. Impossible. You reach out to it. Move it aside. It covers a square hole at ground level, like a large air vent in the wall. The sound of water comes faintly from behind it. You bend down to look through. It is dark. You cannot see what is beyond. But you remember the ‘scarlet to white’ message on the card. Desperation to be white draws you. 

The hole is small, barely wide enough to pass through with effort. You crouch down, kneeling, then prostrate yourself before the hole and begin to edge your way in.  You do an army crawl on elbows and toes, moving forward. The air feels damp, wet, clean. The sound of water grows louder.

Something glistens in front of you. As you reach it, your head pushes through rushing liquid. You draw back. But you are desperate to be white, clean… Does it matter what is on the other side of this waterfall? You push forward again, forcing your way through the falling wall of water. It pounds on your head, neck, shoulders, back, buttocks, legs, and finally feet. Still it falls. Still you push forward.

Suddenly your head emerges into air. You are looking out on a beautiful dell in a lush forest. The waterfall drops into a pool a couple feet below your head. You grin and slide forward, headfirst into the pool. It is deep. Cool. Pure.

You rise again to the surface and lift your hand to brush your hair back. 

The mark is gone! You move to the edge and scramble out, looking down at yourself. All the marks are gone! Your clothes, your skin, your whole self is washed clean. You press your shirt sleeve down onto your skin and rub. No mark appears rising into the fabric. 

You float in the crimson pool, rejoicing in this new lease on life. 

You are clean!