The Hollows, page 12
Everyone knew the rumors.
But now the lost girl believed them.
The scratching from the wall was getting louder. Brendon’s body shook, forcing the moth to jump from his shoulder to the wall behind him. If Brendon were to flop backward, he would squish it entirely. The noise from the other side of the wall was like iron scraping against stone. It wasn’t until then that the girl realized that she wasn’t the only one hearing the sounds. Demi, Remi, and the rest of the lost boys of the labyrinth all stared towards the boy, who sat staring at the ground where it met the stone wall.
The smaller boy huddled against the wall suddenly stopped rocking as a long, single swipe of iron scuffed the wall. Slowly, as though not wanting to antagonize the sound, he backed away slowly, the other boys’ eyes fixed upon his movements.
The moth’s wings twitched.
A blow to the wall, something bigger and louder than anticipated, knocked the boys from their trance.
“Move!” The girl heard one of the twins yell. Another bang pounded against the wall, sending a crack from the floor to the highest peaks beyond what her eyes could see and clouded the room with dust.
Kostya looked back, making sure she was in tow. Not wanting to take her eyes off the boys in front of her, they broke into a run towards the nearest opening in the wall, opposite where she sat. Not knowing what was around the corner did not seem to faze the boys, which allowed her to swallow her fears and stay at their heels. Just as her hand grasped the wall to turn down the new alley, the stone behind her crumbled to dust. She turned to see a shadow, barely hidden behind the wall of newfound dust that was bellowing out from the rubble. She could tell it was large. She could tell it was hungry. And she could tell it was enjoying itself.
A cold hand clasped around her wrist and pulled her into the pass.
Demi was ahead of her, the other boys ahead of him. The walls to the path looked like stone, then metal, then wood, each different changing feature growing closer to her. Dust was being kicked up from beneath the dirt. As she followed, desperate to free herself from her pursuer, the walls began to shrink, collapsing on the pathway. First, she could have run down the stretch with my arms spread out and touched the brick with her fingertips. Within a few moments, she would barely expand her elbows. Another second passed and her shoulders were rubbing the soot of the grain.
Another second, another foot.
She had to turn herself sideways and shuffle.
The walls were grinding closer, her breasts and back were being scraped to bloody strips as she pushed herself further and further, praying an outlet would reveal itself.
Her feet shuffled frantically, kicking up dirt and pressing herself further, barely able to breathe. Her chest and back were pressed so tight between the two walls that she could no longer move. Crying and screaming only wedged her body tighter between. She was surely, and properly, stuck.
Her arms were at her sides, spreading around and looking for any give in the walls. Panic set in. If her lungs could expand, she knew she would have passed out from hyperventilating, but her chest had no room to rise.
Desperate twitches of her fingers landed on a round, metal disk not previously touched before. With a hysterical twist of her wrists, the wall behind her gave way, forcing her to fall backward.
Her body and head slammed against the ground. The sheer weight of her fall splintered the glass beneath that lined the floor. Stars danced around the ceiling, around the girl pinned to the top. A tattered white dress lying elegantly over the slightly sprawled legs. She picked her head up and inspected the back of her head, the girl on the ceiling mimicked her motion. Realization set in as she pulled her hand away, blood on the fingertips.
The door slammed shut at her feet.
Her head lulled from side to side, checking the tenderness of her neck. The spots were still large as blimps and it was not until a few minutes later that she could see through the opaque colors. Her own eyes were dancing back at her.
She pulled herself to her feet, bracing against the mirror behind her, looking at the cracked glass at her feet and the reflection of the blood on her legs on every surface of the room. Her figure was on every wall, some facing her, others showing her sides or her back. Mirrors upon mirrors, some twisted and disfiguring, some showing every detail in exact likeness. A hundred moths flew around in circles, reflecting above every image of herself. As the insect came to a rest on her shoulder, the girl looked back at herself. Her dress was still wet, clinging to her thighs and stomach.
Oh god, I look terrible, she thought. Then smiled and shook her head at the ridiculousness of worrying about her appearance in the face what was happening. Then surprised she was able to laugh at the whole prospect. Her voice felt good in her stomach, releasing some tension and anxiety that was built on her shoulders.
Her laughter filled the room and echoed, replicating with the hundreds of images with the same face and the same smile. When the last vibration left her throat, the laughter resonated for the briefest second before starting to dim.
Another echo of laughter grew out of her own. Wild and forced. A child’s laughter when not understanding the joke, but forcing the mania to keep up with the crowd. Her head twitched in both directions, forgetting the soreness and causing a wince. The laughter grew significantly louder and more hysterical. She could make out a boy’s voice, young, not quite past the age of the drop.
Then as soon as it sounded, it stopped and the girl had the ringing in her ears from the sting of the sudden silence.
Chapter Seven:
Broken Barriers and Glass
I hated myself for the shriek that left me when the light broke. Not only was it was a silly and childish noise at times when you can’t help yourself, but it also caused Sevens to stir even more, letting out his own shrill noises. My hands searched for the doorknob in the blackness, not being able to see made it irritatingly difficult. The wall was smooth to the touch. Not even a notch or a crease in the walls, nothing. My hands were spread wider, attempting to search as much of the space that I could.
Still nothing.
That’s when the plastic started to creak.
Fear is an odd thing. To some people, it starts in the pit of their stomach and makes them sick. Others it starts in their chest and spreads to their extremities, making their arms and legs quake. Some become paralyzed. Others fall to hysterics. I envied those people. I envied Sevens as I felt his body shivering at my leg.
Because every bone in my body told me to just tackle the doll.
When I stood to make the move, the sound stopped. The glass crunched underneath a heavy foot. Then another. Something was lurking about in the dark, and a low laugh rumbled. The temperature in the room dropped. If there was any light to see by, I would have surely been able to see my breath. That is, of course, if I were able to breathe. The air was stuck in my throat, not wanting to do too much or make too much noise. Sevens shifted, padding the floor with his limbs. I reached out to stop him from moving, pulling him back beside me and laying a hand on his head.
Slowly, Seven’s body became clearer. Another lightbulb lowered from the ceiling, flickering on and off as if from a bad connection to an old electrical outlet. I took a step back, pressing my back against the wall. With every flicker, I counted another set of black, blank eyes on another cracked porcelain face of another soulless doll. First five, then ten. Then twenty. Some were bald with patches of hair ripped out by idle hands. Others were in blonde or red or black curls. White, black, brown, yellow dresses were flowing in a room with no breeze. Something dark shifted in the shadows behind them, walking around the mass of mutilated dolls. Its hand touched the tops of every doll he passed, clinging to hair and wiping down the bald. Methodical in his approach, always the caretaker, straightening up those that had slumped or were turned the wrong direction. He pinched the fabric of their lace dresses and adjusted their attire properly, always managing to keep his back to me as he circled them.
There was no way out. The handle was gone, the door shut, the wall mended. Seven’s and I were stuck.
I was right before, as I let out an experimental breath, that it fashioned a trail of steam. Sevens let out a low, threatening grumble. The caretaker stopped moving just behind the first doll. He never faced me. He never turned. I stared at his shoulder for the briefest of moments, taking in the broad shoulders and towering height hidden beneath a cloak that blended into the shadow behind him. Dueling thoughts of attacking and hiding fought for ownership of my actions. He reached up and tapped the light with his fingers, stopping the flickering and causing the bulb to sway.
“They like you,” He said. Sevens cowered as he began circling once more, slow and direct, each step made with thought and purpose. With the light swaying, I tried to capture a glimpse of his face, but he kept his head facing his dolls, admiring them as if they were his own flesh and blood.
“Do you like them?” He asked. Much of his demeanor suggested it was rhetorical.
“Yes,” I answered, “They are very nice.”
He let out a laugh, “You do not know them well enough, then. Nice. They are not nice.”
“Beautiful? Creative? Artistic? Fundamentally sound quality of presentation? Do those descriptions work better for you?”
“Would you like to stay and get to know how nice they can be?” He stopped behind the dolls. I looked down at them. Each one of their eyes pointed at me, heads tilted and raised, angled perfectly to my position. When I looked back to the caretaker, his body was facing me.
“They would like to get to know you.”
“I’m very unlikeable, you can reassure them,” I said. My hands weren’t shaking, but I was afraid that would change.
The light flickered, he tapped harder, and it swayed further, nearly touching both dolls on the outside of that creepy little circle.
“Neither were they before I found them. And now look at them all. They are quiet, well behaved, and beautiful. You could be, too,” He said.
The question escaped before I could catch it, “Where did they all come from?”
“Here and there,” He said. I thought I saw a doll twitch.
I cleared my throat, “And, um, why did you want them?” another doll flinched.
“You are asking the wrong questions. I am a collector, nothing more.”
“What are they?” I asked. The light from above swayed, never slowing. It swung to the left. When it came to the length of the room back to my right, another flicker came from the wall.
The caretaker placed a hand on top of the dolls curls, “Getting closer to the right question.” He ran his finger down the length of the strands. I knew what that meant. I had been in its place before when someone else ran their fingers in between my own locks. The shiver I was holding back finally fought its way to the surface.
The light reached the right side of the room again, bouncing light off the wall. It wasn’t concrete as it looked. The rocks were reflecting.
“Then, um, what were they?”
Every dolls head snapped up making Sevens flinch, “That certainly is the question, isn’t it? And, frankly, they were much like you.”
The light rocked, the wall reflected. It was glass.
“They were once lost,” He continued. “And look what they became. So beautiful. So perfect. They once wore tattered clothes and had dust stained knees. They, too, were once running, scared, and alone. They all came to my door, as destined, and here they stayed.”
The one with the original flickering light above its head looked into me. Pleading. The cracked porcelain around its eyes mocking the tears that could never leave it. The caretaker lunged around the side of the circle. Reaction and past mistakes jolted my muscles quicker than my mind could ever have. My body bounced around to the other side, keeping his precious dolls between him and myself. Sevens stood between him and me, crouching on all seven limbs, preparing to strike. The light swayed perfectly from the top of his head to the top of mine, lingering above for what felt like too long before falling to the other.
The caretaker stood stoic, understanding that to get to me, he might risk breaking his fragile collection.
“There is no way to leave, child,” He said. His deadpan tone was so sure, complete assurance.
Sevens began backing up towards me one foot at a time. I could not be sure what prompted me to make such a brash move, relying solely on my gut, but I bent down and snatched up the first doll I could get my hands on, a small white one with chocolate brown hair and red dotted cheeks. The caretaker went stiff. I held the doll close to my chest, moving as far back to the wall as I could, bringing Sevens with me.
“Please. Do be careful with that one. She’s my newest. She might even still have someone looking for her if she’s lucky. Why don’t you just put Cheyenne down and we can discuss this civilly.”
The doll’s head swiveled around, creaking until it faced me. The detail was delicate, but if you looked hard enough, or with the senses full of adrenaline, you could have seen the freckles just beneath the eyes. The caretaker stood stoic, unmoving. The light stopped swinging, hitting an invisible wall and remained still. Something stirred in me. It started at my gut, moved to my chest, and settled in my heart. My shaking stopped, breathing leveled, and eyes set hard to the caretaker. I knew then that he would never let them go, helping them would be fruitless. Trying to save them would only result in becoming one of them. Choices were hard, and this one made me sick.
I turned around and slammed the doll against the wall behind me.
“NO!” He shrieked behind me, but the glass had already shattered, both from the face of the doll and the glass wall that now bore a small hole. I reached back for another and repeated the process. The caretaker did not chase me but fell to his knees. Torrents of cries came from him with each doll being broken and slammed, their demise being my freedom.
The glass fell away in braids revealing a small wooden door behind it. Everything between the door and I was littered with clothes. Children’s clothes, all little girls, all dirty and torn and bloody. I wasted no time climbing over the remaining debris and making my way to the door. Sevens and I left the wailing man behind with the broken pieces of his sick pleasures decimated on the floor.
I nearly flung myself out when the latch disengaged from the lock, slamming against something and sending it sprawling on the other side. I received scathing profanities from the one shoved, but I quickly turned and slammed the door shut.
The street looked the same as when I had left it. I recognized the brick and the streets, but more so the smell.
“Your step is blind, you struck me down. From behind, I fell to the ground,” The witch said as she got to her feet, dusting herself off frantically before turning around to face me. There was a confused look on her before her eyes went wide. Her lip trembled and she took a step backward, tripping over the back of her lace gown and falling back to her knees.
She looked different, but the eyes never change, “Hello, Cassandra.”
Chapter 7.5:
Self-Reflection
For a few moments, she considered that she had not heard anything. She looked around and fifty confused reflections stared back at her, contorted with the look of a person failing to convince themselves of what they had witnessed. Her breath was held in her throat, keeping the room in hush. When nothing registered, the girl’s breath was finally allowed to slowly release.
With a feign confidence, she took a step forward. The girl’s reflection sprouted in different directions on all angles of the walls, floors, and ceiling. There was an instant in which she saw her matted, sweaty hair pasted to the side of her neck next to where her moth fluttered. Dirt covered configurations were on her legs and arms and caked on her once pretty dress. A side view on one of the mirrors reflected a small gash on her elbow. Further inspection suggested it had bled down her arm, drying and crusting before being whipped on the side of her clothing.
That will never come out, she thought. Shaking her head, she started to look at the different angles of the room, high to low, with her hands tapping the glass. From the corner of her eye, half of a reflection vanished. Taking a step backward, it reappeared, forward, it disappeared again.
The girl swept over to the other wall and ran her fingers to the edge. It was not until her fingers disappeared around a corner did the path become visible. The girl peeked around the junction, more mirrors, but a thin route was easier to spot. Her feet treaded with light, slow steps, beginning to travel through the mirrored maze.
“I never heard anything,” The girl told herself. Repeating it in whispers, she rounded another corner.
Echoes of feet slapped the floor. A child running and a high-pitched giggle.
She stopped, “Okay, never mind. I heard that.”
Silence followed again, then another set of slapping, playful feet. The pattering sounded close, but with the room the way it was, she figured it could not be following her. There was no way to track anyone through this. It was much too disorienting. Not wanting to attract attention even from the child, her feet moved quietly, barely brushing away the glass beneath her as she proceeded.
Counting every turn seemed silly, but with nothing else to keep her sane, she continued until she hit turn forty-four. How big is this place? The other rooms weren’t nearly this large. Another twenty turns came and went. Something sticky clung to the bottom of her foot. Her fingertips ran against her foot and came back with a blackish-red tint. Not being able to help herself, she brought it to her nose and sniffed it, immediately gagging with the burnt hair and rotting smell. There was a smattering of blood droplets, leading down the same direction. The blood couldn’t have been more than a few hours old based on the clotting, but the smell was rancid and decayed. Anything smelling like that in The Hollows was usually several days’ dead. It made no sense.
