William woke up suddenly, sitting hunched over on his bed of sheeted planks. He felt for the leaf, but it was gone. He jerked his head upward like coming out of a dark dream. Surrounding him in the room were broomsticks, held by sickly, deathly skinny women that sat and stared. They breathed like an ill dog, physically moving in pain with each inhale and exhale. They filled every inch of the room around him, giving out only the small space of his bed as his safety net. One by one, they began to click the brooms against whatever was nearby. 'Click. Click. Clack. Click. Click.'

William could only stare back at them. He looked into their eyes which sank deep into their skulls like a person who had already met their demise. Their clothes were stuck against their withered, rotting bodies like they were glued on. Dirt covered their bodies, and their hair was long and greasy - unwashed for a very long time. Their bones poked through their thin, loose skin. He sat there in disbelief as they slammed their instruments into the ground. He could hear them in the hallway. Some were hitting the walls and the table or poking at the planks of the bed. Then, one of the Broomsticks stood up.

"William," she said in a hoarse voice, "we will scrraaatch youuu."

Another one stood up, using the broom as leverage. "Scrraaatch youuuu," she repeated from the first one.

Another one stood up. "Sccrraatch you, Will!" she said, still clicking the broom against the table.

Then they all began to stand up, repeating the same phrase at him. "Scraatch you! Scraatch you! Look at me! Scratch you!" They yelled as they all clicked and clacked in unison.

"Go to hell! Leave me alone!" He yelled to them, with no reaction from the Broomsticks except for the same repeated words. His hands covered his ears, and his knees were up to his chest. Then, he heard the voice of a man. It sounded familiar.

"William." the man said in a comforting voice.

With William's eyes closed, hands pressed to his forehead, he tried focusing on the man's voice while drowning out the Broomsticks.

"William!" The man yelled loudly, followed by a light slap across his face. His eyes opened to the sight of someone he hadn't seen before. Dark hair. Seemed to be William's age. He had a light brown complexion and his clothes seemed fresh, like his own.

"Bout time you woke up, Will." William noticed the Broomsticks were gone and felt the leaf in his hands again.

"You were having a nightmare. Must have been exhausted." The man said.

"Have we met before?" William asked. The man stood up straight and walked over to the door, closing it as he spoke.

"I've had nightmares for as long as I can remember. Hard not to, in here." He said.

"It's getting hard to tell the difference between this and the dreams." Said William.

"I know what you mean," he said as he leaned against the desk, "and yeah, I guess you know me, in a way."

"You know my name, I figured we must have met. And you sound familiar." William said.

"I figured we'd have a better chance without slowing each other down, you know. I thought you probably got out until I heard that wall being torn down." He said.

"You're probably not the only one who heard it, either."

"Probably not," he said as he rubbed his dirty hands together. He seemed like a much healthier man than William. His brown shirt was different from anything prisoners normally seemed to get. The muscles in his arms were pronounced, unlike the paper-thin appendages of Will. Even his face had more color to it instead of the sick and beaten-down paleness of a starving man.

"You helped me get out of that stretcher, didn't you?" Asked William. A short but intentional silence sat between them.

"I did."

"Thank you. Truly." Said William. He observed the man with a look of uneasiness. He didn't know if he could trust him completely, though he wanted to. Trusting someone at all at that point seemed like a dumb move but at that moment, what choice did he have but give the man a chance.

"You have a name?" William inquired.

"Michael."

"Did you have a Father, too?"

"I had a Father and a Mother."

William's head twisted with his look of confusion. "Mother?"

"I think we all did." Said Michael.

"Then where are they now?" William asked this with deep concentration, the need for an answer to the question burrowing into his very soul.

"Have you seen those things with the brooms?"

"The Broomsticks? What about them?" William asked, his gut squirming uncomfortably at Michael's inference.

"I don't like to think about it. I prefer the memory I have of her to that. But I don't think that memory is the truth." Michael said.

There was no way that could be true, was there? He could barely tolerate the notion of it. He held his stomach in pain and discomfort. Images began to flash in his mind. Paris, talking about the big girl next to her. The girl in her bed, eyes sunk so deep into her skull that they could hardly be seen. The room with the tables and the bloodied tools. The glass wall and the smaller tables behind it. Were they mothers? William's head spun as he held himself up by his arm against the floor. The memory of William's mother in the open field began to fade into that of a barrel in a hallway, eyes looking up at him from down below in the darkness beneath.

"Have you ever wondered how we got here?" Michael asked.

"I found that to be a pointless question after a while."

"Nothing's pointless, Will. I don't think we were kidnapped."

"But I have memories of my mother. Memories outside. I remember kindergarten. Sundays." William said.

"Yeah, so do I. Outside. Children playing. Big blue sky. It's bullshit." He asked.

William paused for a moment, looking upon the man with confusion as if he was an entity that existed outside of reality.

"I mean, maybe we just experienced the same things? A coincidence of memories?"

"If you could call them that. They're more like a smeared thought, to me," Michael said, "and they're all women. Every single Broomstick that I've seen are women or girls. If anyone is being kidnapped, it's them."

"You think we were born here?" Asked William.

"It's beyond thinking - I'm pretty damn certain."

"Why? What's even the point?"

"I don't have all the answers, Will. I just know what I saw."

There was a moment of silence between them as William laid his head back as if to soak in the vast amount of information.

"William... I hate it here, too. It hurts to consider what I'm telling you. Thinking my mother became one of those... it makes me sick." he said, his head held low.

"So... what now?"

"Out of all the rooms, all the basements and attics, there's only one place I've seen that leads anywhere close to the outside." He said.

William studied the man for a few seconds before glancing over to his window. He felt dread take over him when he began to wonder about the others who may be trapped in their rooms with no hope.

"There's other's here," William said with concern, "we need to help them."

"We have to help ourselves first," he said, promptly and with conviction, "how do you expect to help someone when you're an inch away from death yourself?"

William slowly got up from his bed. "How exactly do you think we get out of here?"

"I can see you're full of ideas." He replied.

"My ideas? My ideas led me straight back to this fucking room."

"I'm not sure if you've noticed, but this building is built like shit. I'm no architect but the way things are put together around here just seems odd." Said Michael.

"There was this picture in a hallway by the lab. I think it was taken of this place while it was being built."

"It was made by amateurs, that's my guess. No one sane enough would take a job building a torture dungeon like this. I'm sure they built it themselves."

"So, what's your point?"

Michael walked over to the window, gesturing William to join him there. William got up and stood beside him, feeling every ache and pain return to his body.

"My guess is that we can get through those bars. Come on, you're lighter than me, I'll give you a lift." He said.

The man got low, patting his shoulders.

"Don't think so. I don't do shoulder rides." Said William.

"You want to get out of here or not? I know it's crazy. I know it's all fucked up. But if we want even the slightest chance of getting out of this place, I suggest we work together right now."

"We could have worked together this whole time but instead you decided to 'take our own paths'!" Said William.

"Those paths led us to here and now, didn't they? Who's to say we would have gotten this far with the two of us clamoring around and making decisions? In a maze-like this place is, it was the better decision to split up. In the end, here we are."

William stood quiet for a few moments and exhaled slowly and calmly. "Sorry. Maybe you're right. We're here now."

William got onto his shoulders and was lifted to the window.

"See anything?" He said.

"No snow." William replied.

"Check the bars. See if they're loose."

William tried to wiggle the bars left to right. They weren't tight but they also weren't loose enough for brute strength alone to brake. The air outside filled his lungs and he felt a clarity in his mind.

"Anything?"

"One sec." Said William.

He felt around the edges, feeling the curves of the steel bars and pushing them forward and back. He grabbed one and lifted it up a bit into the hole that was drilled for it above and pulled it back down. The bar had some give. He did it again and could swear he was feeling whatever was holding the bars in place weakening.

"I think we have something here." Said William.

"Whatever you're doing, keep doing it. Don't know how long I can hold you up." He said.

William looked over towards his bed and saw the maple leaf. He looked back at the bars and began to jerk them straight up, getting more pull with it each time. After only a dozen or so attempts, one of the bars sprung up into the wall above. As he lowered it down, he pressed as hard as he could towards the outside and the hollow bar began to bend. Once the bar was bent just enough, he gripped it and pulled down until the thing fell out and onto the ground below.

"Got one!"

"I told you this place was built by amateurs. Hurry, please."

The second bar was not as loose as the first. He skipped to the third bar and began the process again. It was like the first one, sinking below into the wall. He couldn't believe it was working. 'We're so close,' he thought. But he knew that he'd need to remove all three bars for them to fit through the hole. He went back to the second bar and began again.

"Hey, Will? I hear something."

"What is it?"

"I don't know. Almost sounds like banging in the kitchen." He said.

"Shit."

He looked back, relieved to see that the door to the room was at least shut. The bars rattled and shook as he worked on it. He began to hear something, too. It was like piercing screams, the same as the ones in his nightmare.

"The broomsticks," he thought. Their screams got louder and fiercer as they banged and clawed at the kitchen door.

"Will. You need to hurry."

The next bar sank below the wall and he quickly started on the second one. He knew that time was running out. Time was always running out for him. There was a clear difference this time, though. He had always thought of time as something that was about to end. Now, for the first time since he could remember, there was a chance that a new time could begin for him. A single bar could be the only thing in his way to freedom. Although he never once forgot that it could just as easily turn the other way. With the last bar in his grip and the sound of the broomsticks clawing their way in, it was now or never.