Prompt 8: The Wooden Purge

Troy could barely contain his excitement. Looking out the window of the airplane cabin, he could see Amsterdam's canals beneath him. The angular and organized appearance belied the chaotic celebration he knew it would hold. He was happy he was able to actually look out the window as he didn't originally book a window seat. That one turned out to be empty, however, as was most of the plane. When he asked, the flight attendant was happy to let him switch seats. "Enjoy it while you can", he said before walking away with a strange smile on his lips. Troy couldn't be bothered. He had spent the better part of the last three months convincing his parents to bankroll his very own Eurotrip, though he made sure never to refer to it as such. God forbid they'd Google the term and stumble upon the same-named movie from 2004. Though he didn't have his own Mike/Mieke to chase, it was the direct inspiration for him, and thus made it his mission to follow in the footsteps of the movie's characters. He profusely promised his parents that it would be a cultural trip. Museums, historical sites, cuisine and theater, and the like.

Strictly no drugs, and little alcohol. Troy had quickly accepted these rules, knowing that getting to Europe otherwise be close to impossible, not with his burger-flipping salary at least. Troy was a man of discipline though and he managed to save up enough to have some fun anyway, the way he wanted it. In the end, his parents paid for the flights, accommodation, entrance fees, a daily food budget, and any other local travel, anything else was to be covered by himself.

Having successfully graduated with high enough grades to satisfy his parents not to cancel the whole thing, he jumped on a plane and was on his way to London, the first stop of the trip. After 5 days of striking a balance between getting lost in pubs and taking a sufficient amount of selfies in front of royal jewelry to update the home front, he got on a short-haul flight to Amsterdam. Though he aimed to steer well clear of any dodgy brothels that offered free t-shirts for his patronage, he had to say that he couldn't wait for this part of the trip. Paris would promise to be amazing, as would Berlin and Rome in their own ways, but Amsterdam had a different vibe to it, one he knew he had to experience for himself.

Once the plane had landed, he got on a train heading straight to the center of town. On the train, he was surprised to be almost alone. A strange feeling crept up in his stomach but was quickly forgotten when a couple of youngsters sat down in the 4-seater next to his. Troy noticed their large bags when they made a heavy metallic clunk after being dropped on the floor. As they sat down and spoke, they were heavily gesticulating. Troy didn't catch a word of what they said, but he could see they were excited.

After another 20 minutes or so, the train rolled into the main train station. Troy grabbed his back and walked to the exit of the train, followed by the young guys he noticed earlier. He thought it was a bit strange that they changed to hushed tones when they walked closely behind him but ignored it. He got off the train and walked down the stairs to the main hall of the station while checking his phone where to go. He quickly found out though, that his internet was not working. He didn't even have any signal. Troy thought that something was wrong with his phone.

''Strange,'' he said to himself. ''It's a new model, I'm sure I set it up correctly and I'm in the middle of the city. There should be reception here.'' Luckily for him, he was smart enough to have checked the route earlier and knew his hotel was only a five-minute walk away, not far from the station. Like most European cities, the train station was centrally located.

Slightly anxious about the fact that he was walking into a city without any backup on where he is, he headed out of the station. Once out, he was greeted by a bright afternoon sun and an empty square right in front of the station. He could see a tram stop on his right, but though there were trams, no one was on them or waiting for them.

''Hmmm, I wasn't aware the Dutch did a siesta,'' Troy thought to himself. After a short walk, he spotted his hotel, a straight shot from the station. He was surprised though, to find it shut tight. The metal bars in front of the main entrance doors were quite imposing. He was wondering how to get in, as he could not call the hotel, nor did he see any bell he could. At that moment, he heard someone calling him, louder than a whisper, but not by much.

''Hey! You!'' the voice said in English with a Dutch accent.

Troy turned around to see a head sticking out behind the wall of a side street. A kid, probably no older than 14.

''Me?'' Troy responded.

''Yes, you! You're a tourist or something? What the hell are you doing out?''

Troy was taken aback by the comment. He was sure that Amsterdam was more tourist-friendly than this. 

''I'm trying to get into my hotel,'' Troy said wearily. 

The kid's face contorted like Troy had just asked him if he could marry his sister. Totally weirded out.

''Yeah, they are not going to let you in, man'' the boy said.

''Why not?''

''Look, you want to die? Live? Or are you just stupid?''

Troy was dumbfounded. Was he really being threatened by a kid, in broad daylight, mere hours after landing in Amsterdam?

''Look kid,'' Troy said, ''I don't know what you want, ok? I just arrived, I have no money and I just want to get into my hotel.''

The kid rolled his eyes. 

''Fine. As you want. Don't cry when you have later a knife in your back, ok?''

It was then that Troy looked around and found the streets totally deserted. It was not just his hotel that was closed, but all shops, all the other hotels too. This was a Saturday afternoon on one of the busiest streets in the country's capital. Troy felt a cold shiver running down his spine. Something was really, really off. He checked his phone. Still no reception. 

''Fuck,'' he said softly and made for the side street where the kid was just moments ago. When he got around the corner he saw the kid rounding the corner at the other end of the street. 

''Hey! Wait! What is going on here?''

The kid turned around but did not stop. Troy started running, his heart now pounding in his chest. It was then that he heard a strange clacking sound coming up behind him in the alleyway. Strangely, it made him think of a horse. He turned around and saw a man in a mask running towards him, carrying something large and metallic in his hand. Before he turned back around and started running faster, he spotted that the man was wearing wooden shoes. Clogs. Troy almost laughed at the absurdity.

In a few seconds, he rounded the corner, taking a left as he saw the boy do as well. The man in clogs did not seem to slow down, the rhythm of his shoes hitting the pavement steady. He ran what may have been a few hundred meters along a canal before he saw the boy again, motioning him from behind a door slightly ajar. Troy had no idea what else to do and jumped towards it, the door being pulled shut the second he was inside.

Once inside, it took a second for his eyes to adjust to the dark. Behind him, he heard the boy shut the door with several metal bolts. Outside, he could still hear the clacking of the clogs, now slowing down to a walking pace, before coming to a stop before the door. 

Bang! One hit against the door, probably with the large metallic bar he was holding. Bang! Bang! The door seemed to hold. The man tried a few more times but gave up, Troy judged by the clacking slowly fading away. By then his eyes had adjusted to the dark and could see at least 10 more people crammed into the little space that seemed to be some sort of storage. He could hear French, Spanish and several other languages he was quite sure weren't Dutch. Before he could ask, the boy that rescued him spoke up. 

''That's the last one, everyone. It has officially started.''

One girl started to cry.

Troy barely caught his breath, but he needed to ask. 

''What? What has started? What the fuck is going on?''

The boy did not answer, but someone else did, in a thick French accent. 

''I believe it is called... a purge.''

Troy said down, incredulous that this was not some sort of crazy nightmare, but actual reality. Weirdly enough, all he could think in that moment was how he was going to prove to his parents that he was not drinking their money away...