Chapter 9

the underground chambers

My hands are cold. My lips are dry, and there’s this metallic taste on my tongue. I’m curled up on a dirty mattress where the springs have shot through the fabric and are digging into my back. There are holes in my pants and my sweater’s been torn at the back.

There’s a bowl of water on the floor by the heavy metal door. I smashed one of the plates out of anger and now they’ve stopped giving me food. I reckon it’s some sort of punishment.

I can hear the guards passing my cell every half hour. Sometimes they’ll open the door, it takes two to push it open. The third guard will look at me without saying anything. They glance around my cell, then leave. Their footsteps echo down the hall.

I’m alone again. Or not quite alone. It’s difficult to explain. I can hear the others screaming, I know they’re around me. Somewhere. I haven’t seen the other cells. Every time the guards come to collect me, they put a bag over my head. It’s like that every day. Almost like clock work. I wake up to the sound of the door being pushed open. A bowl of water is placed down on the ground. The door shuts again. I drink what I need. They come and collect the bowl half an hour later. Half an hour after that, they collect me.

I’m bound to a chair, my arms crossed behind me. My ankles have been tied as well. There’s a man in front of me, sitting right outside the ring of light from the lamp above me. I can see his figure in the dark, how he’s slouched in his chair, his hand tucked under his chin, and the other resting on his leg.

«What do they say about this place? The other miners, your friends? Perhaps your family has warned you to stay away from here?» He asks.

«Not much.» I reply.

«They must be saying something.» The man drawls, as if bored.

«You torture people.» I say hesitantly.

The man shifts in his chair, leans forwards with both hands on his knees. His hands clasped together in front of him as if he’s praying.

«What kind of torture?» He asks, suddenly interested.

I can see him better now that he’s closer. He’s wearing glasses. Small square ones that hang off his nose. He’s got a strong chin and small lips.

«I don’t know.» I admit.

«Try using your imagination. What do you think we do?» He smiles — a wicked smile.

The rope suddenly feels tighter, more constricting. There’s a lump in my throat. I can envision what they do, of course I’ve heard the rumours, of course they scare me. I know they cut out tongues and break bones. I know they take your limbs, I’ve seen miners with missing pinkies and thumbs.

«You beat people.» I whisper.

The man laughs, slapping his leg. His horrid voice bounces off the walls.

«Is that the best you can come up with?» He finally settles down, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. «Honestly. I thought you young people had vivid imaginations, but yours is seriously lacking.»

He smiles at me, then turns to the small table beside him. I can hear rustling, and when he’s back in the light, I see him holding a small book. A journal of some sort.

«We do lots of things, Dahyun,» he says, «I know your brother was here before you. How many years ago was that? Three? I can’t remember now. Nice fella, but obviously he wasn’t doing what the Guild wanted and had to be reminded of who he was. His purpose.»

I want to scream at this point. There’s this fire burning inside me. These flames I can’t control. My hands begin to shake, I fight against my constraints. I rock back and forth, trying to knock the chair over.

The man stands and places his hand on the backrest, keeping me still.

«Do you know what we did to him?» He snickers. «Your brother had already committed crimes against the Guild. There is no redemption after that. First, we took his hands, then his feet. He couldn’t go anywhere, couldn’t do anything. The boy couldn’t even eat on his own. Of course we wouldn’t let him starve. So we force-fed him with tubes. Horrible piece of equipment, I know. Then we took his tongue and we could’ve taken more. But by that point we didn’t need anymore. We couldn’t even feed him properly— »

«Shut up!» I scream, snapping at him.

«He died, Dahyun! He died for his crimes!» The man slams his hand against the chair, sending me backwards onto the ground. 

He kicks the chair, sending me spinning. The hard floor leaves scratches along my face, my hands have been crushed beneath me. He leaves me like that while he continues talking.

I shut my eyes, forcing his voice out of my head; an intruder in my mind.

It goes on for a while. I’ve become well acquainted with the schedule without even knowing the time. I’m guessing it’s been two weeks by now. They changed the guards on Friday, a new trio came in to patrol. I’ll have to keep an eye out next Friday to see if they change the guards again.

I’m on the mattress, sitting cross-legged against the wall. The light above me flickers. If only I had a chair, I could try and fix it. A chair and some rope would fix the situation entirely. I suppose. Perhaps I shouldn’t be thinking like that. But then again, how am I supposed to think?

I sigh, falling back against the wall. The wall thuds. I turn. It thuds again. I reach out with my fist, giving the wall a gentle knock. There it goes again. Someone’s on the other side.

«Hello?» I whisper.

«Hi.»

«Who’s this?» I say.

«I’m not sure…» The voice answers.

«Not sure?»

«I can’t remember. They keep telling me these things, and then they show me things. Horrible things. And they make me forget.»

«What things? What do they do?» I scramble, desperate, turning my entire body against the wall and leaning my ear against it to listen.

«They tie me to a chair. I don’t remember much. The things they show me. Rats. And. Hissing beetles.» 

«Rats and hissing beetles?» I breathe. «What does that mean?»

«I don’t know. I can’t remember.»

«Can you tell me about you?» I ask, desperately, trying to figure out who the person in the cell next to me is.

They say something, this time muffled.

«I can’t hear you. Louder. Please. If you can.»

There’s no reply. I knock against the wall. No answer. I do it again. No answer this time either. I knock again and again and again, until the door to my cell swings open and a guard rushes in to drag me away from the wall.

«We’ve had complaints about you being too loud, Dahyun.» The man says. His leg is crossed over his knee, his journal balanced on his shin.

I hear him scribbling, rather vehemently, in his little journal.

«I wasn’t trying to cause trouble.» I answer.

«Of course I know that.» He says without much care. «It’s a warning of sorts, I guess. The guards aren’t particularly happy about having to drag you away from the wall every time they open your cell door. They’re just trying to do their job, you don’t have to be so difficult.»

«I’m not trying to be difficult.» I frown.

«I know.» The man smiles. «It says here in my files that you were a good citizen, you were good for the Guild, do you understand that? I’m now trying to figure out what happened, what made you change. Will you tell me about that?»

«Why I changed?»

It had never occurred to me that I had changed. But I mustn’t forget myself, I do not care, nor do I wish to tell this man anything.

I grit my teeth, glaring at him.

«That’s right, Dahyun. I’m just here trying to help you.» He smiles at me one last time before the guards come to untie me and bring me back to my cell.

I suppose they’re trying a different method with me. My thumb is broken. My shoulder is sore from when they dislocated it. And there’s a large bandaid on my abdomen, covering up the cut they gave me. It’ll scar. Most of the things they do to me down here will scar me in some way.

The guards leave me with a bowl of water. They won’t be back for a while. I take this opportunity to turn, facing the wall. I place my ear against the hard stone and knock on it twice. 

A small thud in reply.

«Hello.» I whisper. «My name’s Dahyun.»

«Hi, Dahyun.»

«Do I know you?» I ask, having this uneasy feeling that I recognise this voice from somewhere.

«I don’t know. I can’t remember.»

«What did they do to you yesterday?» I ask.

«They were trying to get me to write something. A bunch of things. My wrist hurts from all the writing, there’s a blister on my finger as well.» The voice replies.

«What did they make you write?»

«I’m not sure what it meant. It was like a story they were telling me. And then they told me that the story had been real, but now it wasn’t because I was writing it. They told me I was going to write a new one soon. The real story.»

«What was the story about?» I crush my ear against the wall, as if by some miracle I’ll emerge through the wall and fall into the other side. «What was the story about?» I ask again with urgency.

«A girl.» The voice replies.

«Does the girl have a name? What was her story? Please, tell me!»

«She’d lost her family in a fire. And then she got a new one. She had a lot of friends, but then two of them were bad and got her into trouble. She ended up under the ground, but then the Guild were merciful and gave her a new job. But she had taken their kindness for granted, and was thus punished.» The voice fades away.

The taste of blood returns, I must’ve bitten my lip. My hands are suddenly shaking. I can’t think properly, I can barely breathe.

«I’m supposed to write a new story for the girl tomorrow. What name do you think I should give her, Dahyun?»

I bang my fist against the wall in desperation.

«Tzuyu!» I scream. «Tzuyu!»

There is this emptiness inside me. I can’t explain it. An all-consuming void that feasts on me. I am, undoubtedly, saddened because of it. I can’t even navigate my own thoughts at this point. Disappointed in myself. Betrayed by others. I live on the edge of my mind, at the brink of sanity where, if I plummet off the edge, I’ll lose the last parts of me. The things that keep me intact, my own authority over myself, my being, are at risk of being forgotten. My worst nightmare now becomes the reality which haunts me like a ghost.

These ghosts come and go.

«Your friends,» begins the man, «tell me about them, Dahyun. I want to know everything about them. I want to be able to spot them on the street, single them out from the rest. Tell me about your friends as if they were mine.»

I begin by telling him I had no friends, not to begin with at least. I grew up in the Miner’s Community, children there don’t play or grow up to know each other. I was torn from the people who were just like me and put into a school with children of all backgrounds. And by all, of course I don’t mean all. We were mostly Miners, Workers and Washers. A few children from the Elites had been put in my class, but it was only when I was older that I underst