Thomas stared in horror at the monstrous thing making its way down the long corridor of the Maze.
It looked like an experiment gone terribly wrong—something from a nightmare. Part animal, part
machine, the Griever rolled and clicked along the stone pathway. Its body resembled a gigantic slug,
sparsely covered in hair and glistening with slime, grotesquely pulsating in and out as it breathed. It had
no distinguishable head or tail, but front to end it was at least six feet long, four feet thick.
Every ten to fifteen seconds, sharp metal spikes popped through its bulbous flesh and the whole
creature abruptly curled into a ball and spun forward. Then it would settle, seeming to gather its bearings,
the spikes receding back through the moist skin with a sick slurping sound. It did this over and over,
traveling just a few feet at a time.
But hair and spikes were not the only things protruding from the Griever’s body. Several randomly
placed mechanical arms stuck out here and there, each one with a different purpose. A few had bright
lights attached to them. Others had long, menacing needles. One had a three-fingered claw that clasped
and unclasped for no apparent reason. When the creature rolled, these arms folded and maneuvered to
avoid being crushed. Thomas wondered what—or who—could create such frightening, disgusting
creatures.
The source of the sounds he’d been hearing made sense now. When the Griever rolled, it made the
metallic whirring sound, like the spinning blade of a saw. The spikes and the arms explained the creepy
clicking sounds, metal against stone. But nothing sent chills up and down Thomas’s spine like the haunted,
deathly moans that somehow escaped the creature when it sat still, like the sound of dying men on a
battlefield.
Seeing it all now—the beast matched with the sounds—Thomas couldn’t think of any nightmare that
could equal this hideous thing coming toward him. He fought the fear, forced his body to remain perfectly
still, hanging there in the vines. He was sure their only hope was to avoid being noticed.
Maybe it won’t see us , he thought. Just maybe. But the reality of the situation sank like a stone in his
belly. The beetle blade had already revealed his exact position.
The Griever rolled and clicked its way closer, zigzagging back and forth, moaning and whirring. Every
time it stopped, the metal arms unfolded and turned this way and that, like a roving robot on an alien
planet looking for signs of life. The lights cast eerie shadows across the Maze. A faint memory tried to
escape the locked box within his mind—shadows on the walls when he was a kid, scaring him. He longed
to be back to wherever that was, to run to the mom and dad he hoped still lived, somewhere, missing him,
searching for him.
A strong whiff of something burnt stung his nostrils; a sick mixture of overheated engines and charred
flesh. He couldn’t believe people could create something so horrible and send it after kids.
Trying not to think about it, Thomas closed his eyes for a moment and concentrated on remaining still
and quiet. The creature kept coming.
whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
click-click-click
whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
click-click-click
Thomas peeked down without moving his head—the Griever had finally reached the wall where he and
Alby hung. It paused by the closed Door that led into the Glade, only a few yards to Thomas’s right.
Please go the other way, Thomas pleaded silently.
Turn.
Go.
That way.
Please!
The Griever’s spikes popped out; its body rolled toward Thomas and Alby.
whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
click-click-click
It came to a stop, then rolled once more, right up to the wall.
Thomas held his breath, not daring to make the slightest sound. The Griever now sat directly below
them. Thomas wanted to look down so badly, but knew any movement might give him away. The beams of
light from the creature shone all over the place, completely random, never settling in one spot.
Then, without warning, they went out.
The world turned instantly dark and silent. It was as if the creature had turned off. It didn’t move, made
no sound—even the haunting groans had stopped completely. And with no more lights, Thomas couldn’t
see a single thing.
He was blind.
He took small breaths through his nose; his pumping heart needed oxygen desperately. Could it hear
him? Smell him? Sweat drenched his hair, his hands, his clothes, everything. A fear he had never known
filled him to the point of insanity.
Still, nothing. No movement, no light, no sound. The anticipation of trying to guess its next move was
killing Thomas.
Seconds passed. Minutes. The ropy plant dug into Thomas’s flesh—his chest felt numb. He wanted to
scream at the monster below him: Kill me or go back to your hiding hole!
Then, in a sudden burst of light and sound, the Griever came back to life, whirring and clicking.
And then it started to climb the wall.
nice
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