I stood rooted to the spot in the dark hall. The show swirled around me, except I wasn’t watching it.


I was watching the light. At first I thought it was part of the show, an effect, but it looked different. The performance was all flashing lights and big sounds and sparkling costumes. This was a quiet, small light, like a glowing ping-pong ball hovering before my eyes.


Hovering.


It moved, drifting away from the stage, then darting between the heads of people transfixed by the show, faster and faster, towards the back of the room.


I followed it.


The orb vanished. I stood behind the crowd, alone. A luminescent box, about two metres cubed, stood against the wall between spiralling towers of balloons. I hadn’t bothered looking at the back of the room before. The box may have been there all along.


Some part of me knew that it hadn’t been.


I stepped closer and pressed my hand to it. The surface was cool under my palm, textured like melamine.


A door opened in the side. Pale green light spilled out of it into the strobing, black-and-white-and-black-again chaos of the hall behind me.


If the show was interactive, the box might be part of it. I hung back, unwilling to end up appearing on stage in a trick of illusion.


But the part of me that figured the box hadn’t been here all night also knew it wasn’t part of the show.


I wanted to go in.


I didn’t dare.


Undecided, I hesitated until human movement in the strobing light caught my eye – a football-shaped hairstyle heading my way.


There was one way to escape. I stepped through the door.


Everything went black.


***


The music was gone.


So was Oceanside Hall. I floated, conscious, with nothing to see, nothing to hear, no sweaty bodies and blended colognes to smell, no aftertaste of roasted chicken and lemon squash lingering on my tongue.


Minutes passed, or so I thought, then the surrounding blackness dissolved into a new space.


Blinking, I turned in a circle, wondering if there had been something in the lemon squash. I stood in a long hallway, a decorative ceiling far above me, the stone walls lit with flickering gas lights every few metres. My stilettos wobbled on the thick cream carpet, the thin straps digging into my skin.


The hallway extended out of view in both directions. I had to be tripping – there was no such building I knew of in Perth. How long did a hallway have to be to vanish from sight?


The logical thing would be to pick a direction and walk in it. I turned again, peering, seeking a clue as to which way I should go. The hallway was the same in either direction, not even a mark on the walls to identify one short stretch from another. What if I walked off and couldn’t find this spot again? Assuming this spot was where I needed to be to escape the fever dream.


Maybe I should lie down and have a nap.


Then again, sleeping here didn’t seem like a great idea either. Anyone might come along. Something nasty, if this was a nightmare. Or Dylan. I pulled off one of my sandals, wincing as the strap caught on a blister and sighing with relief as my soles sank into the plush carpet. The shoes would do for a landmark, but which way to go? I kicked off the other sandal and wiggled my toes in the cream pile, walking in a circle just to stretch my feet out.


Since I was moving, I kept on for a few steps. Worry that I was going the wrong way gnawed at me, crawling up my spine until I turned and headed in the other direction. On a hunch, I picked up one of my shoes as I passed them, and continued.


The creepy sensation persisted, but I didn’t stop. I walked, one sandal in hand, wondering if leaving its pinching partner behind was foolish, if I’d find myself somewhere I needed them. But to be honest, I didn’t think I could face putting them on again.


I walked and walked. And walked. The hallway stretched on and on, and I despaired. There was no escape here. No way out. I should have gone the other way.

I wished I had Cecelia by my side. Or Zenna. Dad. Uncle Alex. Nancy. Anyone who might offer some direction.


Ready to give up and turn back, I stopped, then saw something – a break in the wall, a darker section ahead.


I burst into a run.


The break was further away than I’d expected, or I just wasn’t very good at running. I slowed to a walk, heaving and clutching a stitch in my side, but I made it.

The corridor stopped, a blank wall with no sconce light, the lanterns behind casting my shadow into the alcove. To either side of me was a door.


Two identical unmarked doors.


I groaned aloud.


Somehow, I knew they’d be unlocked. I should take one. I should get out of here. Dread pressed between my shoulder blades.


But what if one of them wasn’t an exit? What if neither of them was an exit? What if I should have followed the hallway in the other direction?


With a cry that echoed back down the corridor, I hurled my shoe at the wall.


It sailed straight through. Before I could think, I dove after it.