The Trial Above
Emma Miller had always trusted routines. A cup of coffee before boarding, a seat by the window, headphones tucked into her bag. Flying alone wasn’t ideal, but she had learned to handle it. That was until Flight 924 departed from Boston, bound for San Francisco, and her ordinary evening became anything but.
It began innocuously enough. As the flight attendants moved down the aisle, Emma felt a slight brush against her arm. She looked down and saw a folded napkin, slightly crumpled, placed neatly on her tray.
“Pretend you’re sick. Get off this plane.”
She stared at it, confusion mixing with a tickle of unease. Her first instinct was disbelief. A prank? A mistake? Maybe meant for another passenger. She shoved it into her bag and tried to ignore it.
An hour passed, and the hum of the engines became a hypnotic lull. Emma was beginning to relax when the attendant returned. No smile this time. Only urgency.
“Ma’am… please. I’m begging you.”
Emma’s stomach sank. “Why?” she asked, leaning closer, lowering her voice.
The attendant glanced at the cockpit, her eyes wide with something Emma couldn’t place—fear? Desperation?
“I can’t explain. But if you stay… you’ll regret it.”
Emma laughed, nervously. “This isn’t a joke, is it?”
She received no answer. The attendant simply walked away, her footsteps echoing in the aisle. Emma’s pulse quickened. Something was off.
By the time they reached cruising altitude, Emma tried to calm herself, sipping coffee and scrolling through her phone. She told herself she was imagining things. Then the lights dimmed suddenly, and the captain’s voice came over the intercom.
“Ladies and gentlemen… we have a situation.”
Emma’s heart stopped. A situation? The words felt far too deliberate, far too directed.
A sharp metallic clang sounded from the overhead bins, followed by a flicker of red light. Panic started to ripple through the cabin, but oddly, no one else seemed fazed. It was as if Emma were the only one aware.
Then a voice, low and chilling, echoed from the back:
“Emma… you should have listened.”
Her hand went to her bag. The napkin trembled, as if alive, and she felt a cold rush of air sweep through the cabin. She looked up. The flight attendant was gone. And all around her, the passengers remained oblivious, staring blankly ahead.
Emma stood, trembling, scanning the aisles. A sense of unreality took hold. Her instincts screamed that something extraordinary—and dangerous—was happening. She took a deep breath and forced herself forward.
By the rear exit, a shadow flickered. She stepped closer, heart hammering. A man—no, a figure, indistinct and shifting—seemed to be waiting. As she approached, it vanished. Then her phone buzzed. A message, from an unknown number:
“Stop moving. Don’t go to the cockpit. They are watching.”
Emma froze. The cabin, the plane, even her sense of time felt suspended. And then she heard it: the faint hiss of air from somewhere inside the aircraft that shouldn’t be there.
Suddenly, turbulence hit. Not the ordinary kind, but violent and targeted. Drinks spilled, people yelped. Emma gripped her seat. That was when she saw him—through the blur of chaos—a man in a dark uniform standing in the aisle, pointing directly at her.
“Emma Miller,” he said, voice eerily calm. “Do not ignore the warning again.”
She bolted, weaving between seats. Her bag fell, spilling the napkin across the floor. She scrambled to grab it. The words on it had changed:
“There is no way back now.”
Emma’s mind raced. She remembered the attendant’s fear, the strange calm of the passengers, and the voice in the rear. There was a pattern. A test. But of what? And by whom?
Determined, she headed toward the cockpit. If there was a threat, she needed to understand it. But as she approached, she noticed the door—locked, yet glowing faintly, an unnatural hue like molten metal. A faint hum emanated from it, almost musical, almost threatening.
A new message came through her phone:
“The pilot is not who you think. Do not enter. Survive first.”
Emma hesitated, weighing the options. Every instinct screamed to obey. Every fiber of her being told her to fight. She made her choice.
From the ceiling, a panel slid open silently. A shadow descended—a humanoid form, but with no discernible features, eyes like coals, movements too fluid, too deliberate. Emma froze. Her rational mind tried to make sense, but fear had replaced logic.
It moved closer, and as it passed, the cabin seemed to distort around her. Faces of passengers blurred into hollow masks. The napkin floated from her hand, spinning midair, unfurling to reveal a new message:
“Only the brave survive. Only the clever escape.”
Emma realized she couldn’t fight it head-on. She needed a plan, a diversion, something to regain control. The figure approached the cockpit door. Without thinking, she grabbed the nearest oxygen mask, swung it like a bat, and the shadow recoiled, vanishing into the cabin walls as if swallowed by darkness.
Breathing hard, Emma glanced at the controls. The door still glowed. Her eyes fell on the emergency hatch—rarely used, small, confined. If she could reach it, she might buy herself time.
She climbed, crawled, and twisted through the narrow hatchway. The rush of air, the sound of engines amplified, the vibration under her hands—it was a tunnel into the unknown. And as she emerged on the exterior of the plane, a sight froze her blood: the night sky was filled with lights—hundreds of them—hovering, silent, almost intelligent, moving as if observing the aircraft, waiting.
Emma understood then: this was not just a plane. Not just a flight. And she was no longer merely a passenger.
Somewhere inside, the napkin still whispered, ink shimmering in the moonlight:
“The real trial begins now.”
Emma’s fingers gripped the fuselage as the wind tore at her hair. The night sky above San Francisco shimmered with unnatural lights, hundreds of glowing orbs hovering silently, shifting in formation like they were alive. The napkin in her bag pulsed faintly, almost as if it were a heartbeat. She had no idea if it was guiding her—or warning her.
She forced herself to crawl back into the small hatch, slipping inside the cabin again. The interior was surreal. Seats twisted slightly as if the plane itself were stretching, shadows lengthening unnaturally. Emma’s heart pounded. She couldn’t tell if what she saw was real or if the plane was… changing.
Then she heard it—a whisper, unmistakable, threading through the cabin air:
“Do you understand yet, Emma? They are testing you.”
Her head snapped toward the source. No one. Just the echo bouncing from the walls.
Emma’s phone buzzed again. A message, no number attached:
“The pilot is gone. The co-pilot is gone. Trust no one.”
She ran toward the cockpit. The door no longer glowed, but the panel beside it had a keypad, digits blinking, waiting. Something in her gut screamed danger, but the urge to uncover the truth was stronger. She typed random numbers at first, then paused. She remembered the napkin’s cryptic phrases—words, not numbers. Maybe it wasn’t about the keypad at all.
“Think of what you fear most,” she muttered.
Suddenly, the plane lurched violently. The lights flickered. The shadow figure from before appeared in the aisle, more distinct now—its humanoid shape shimmering, almost liquid. It advanced silently, gliding toward her.
Emma’s mind raced. Panic surged, but she forced herself to stay calm. She grabbed a fire extinguisher, swinging at the figure. It recoiled again, letting out a distorted, almost human-like scream that echoed inside her skull.
Then she noticed something strange—the napkin in her hand had rewritten itself:
“Not all shadows are enemies. Some are allies.”
Emma hesitated. Could she trust it? Could she trust the shadow? Or was it just another layer of the test? She lowered the extinguisher slowly. The shadow stopped, tilting its head, almost acknowledging her decision. Then it pointed toward a small hatch under the cockpit console—a hidden compartment she hadn’t noticed before.
Emma opened it. Inside: a tablet. The screen displayed grainy video from earlier in the flight—her own actions, her own terrified face—but overlaid with strange symbols, and the faces of passengers now blurred and twisting into unreadable masks. A live countdown ticked: 45 minutes remaining. Remaining for what?
Before she could process, the plane shook again, violently this time. A voice, distorted and mechanical, filled the cabin:
“Emma Miller, complete the trial or perish.”
Her pulse surged. Trial? Perish? This wasn’t a normal flight anymore. It was some kind of game—a test she hadn’t agreed to, but was now trapped inside.
Emma looked around, the cabin twisting again, shadows lengthening like reaching hands. She realized something terrifying: the plane itself had become part of the test. It was aware. Responsive. Watching.
Then the napkin floated from her hand, unfurling midair:
“The exit is not forward. Trust your instincts.”
She bolted down the aisle toward the rear of the plane. Seats seemed to rearrange themselves as she ran, creating corridors, dead ends. The shadow glided behind her, not attacking, just observing. Emma’s breath came in ragged gasps, but determination surged. If she failed this trial, she wouldn’t survive—but if she succeeded, maybe she could understand the truth.
At the rear hatch, she paused. The glowing orbs outside were closer now, moving in patterns that almost spelled something—an image? A symbol? Her heart thudded. She felt the plane tilt sharply. The rear hatch handle rattled violently, as if something—or someone—was trying to prevent her escape.
And then… silence.
Emma froze. The shadows retracted. The plane steadied. The napkin hovered again:
“One step. One choice. One life.”
Her hand closed around the hatch. She had no idea what awaited her outside, only that there was no turning back. And as she pulled the handle and prepared to step into the unknown, a chilling realization hit her: the orbs outside weren’t just watching—they were responding to her.
And somewhere deep inside, Emma understood the truth she had been running from all along: survival wasn’t about the plane, the shadows, or even the lights. Survival was about herself—and whether she could outwit a force far older and smarter than any human being she had ever known.
With one last breath, she swung the hatch open, the wind screaming around her, and stepped forward into the unknown…
