“Look what I found!” I exclaimed as soon as I entered the room.

Sara and Ali turned towards me, curiosity and excitement written across their faces. I was holding a wooden mahogany board with mythical carvings, beautifully crafted and incredibly detailed. It had three sections, each marked with a symbol: a chest, a door and a forest.

“Some sort of game, I think,” guessed Ali as we sat cross-legged in the lounge, forming a triangle.

“Let’s play,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, though my heart was already racing. We pulled out our pair of dice.

On the board, golden letters shimmered faintly: “Roll the dice and teleport — no drawbacks. Good luck!”

I rolled the dice and it landed on the door.

“Hah, the door,” said Sara, half excited, half nervous.

Suddenly, the lamp flickered and a gust of wind swept through the room. The floor seemed to swallow us. Our bodies compressed, our ears rang and then, silence.

When we opened our eyes, we were standing in front of an ivy-draped door. We looked at each other, nodded and stepped forward. Ali pushed it open.

Inside was a strange, endless library. Shelves stretched in all directions, and in the centre stood a mahogany coffee table, carved just like the board. On it rested a red satin cloth and a black note.

I picked it up and read aloud, “Welcome to the game. You now have ten minutes to find the book with serpent skin. You cannot turn your head back, or else your time will be cut. Good luck.”

Panic rose like a wave. Our hearts pounded, and every tick of the clock echoed through the library. The silence felt alive — watching, waiting.

We began searching through the dim aisles, our footsteps loud and hollow.

“Hi,” came a distant voice.

Sara turned her head. It was her school friend.

Buzzzzz! A sharp alarm blared.

“Don’t look in her eyes. It’s an illusion,” Ali warned. We refocused and kept moving.

“Found it! Aisle 301!” Sara shouted, trembling with relief.

On a pedestal lay a book wrapped in serpent skin. Etched on its cover were the words: “Chant ‘supercalifragilisticexpialidocious’ thrice.”

We obeyed, our voices echoing through the library. The shelves dissolved into an endless maze of mirrors.

A deep, eerie voice spoke: “Behind the mirrors is one real door. Identify it.”

The mirrors stretched endlessly, identical and treacherous.

Sara, impatient and desperate, stepped forward and sank into the mirror like thick mud. I screamed her name. Only her bracelet floated on the surface. Shock and fear gripped us.

“The fake mirrors... they’re quicksand,” Ali said.

We tested one of the mirrors using Sara’s bracelet. It didn’t sink. Solid.

We took a shaky breath. Ali opened the door. Beyond it was a room dimly lit by flickering torches. Two shadowy figures sat across the room, their faces twisted into hollow smiles. Behind them was the exit.

Glowing letters appeared on the wall: “Turn your head where the figures point. Fail and the consequences are yours.”

The game began. Ali went first. A flicker of doubt — and he turned the wrong way.

Whoooosh! A rushing sound echoed. Ali collapsed, faint and trembling. His fading voice reached me, “You... have to make it through the game...”

Tears blurred my eyes, but I forced myself to move. Step by step, breath by breath, I followed every rule. Shadows whispered, the walls closed in, but I kept going. Finally, trembling and soaked in sweat, I reached the exit.

I stepped through and the world shifted.

I was back in the lounge. Familiar smells, familiar furniture. Relief washed over me.

But the board lay there, unchanged, except the door section was shattered into splinters, just like my heart had broken with Ali and Sara.

Then glowing letters appeared where the door had been: “The game is not over. Let’s finish it first!”

I froze. This time, I didn’t scream. I quietly picked up the board and walked to the backyard. I dug a hole and buried it deep, whispering, “Some games should never be played.”

Published in Dawn, Young World, November 8th, 2025