The Hollows, page 4
The light became a blur. Nowhere between where she was and where she came to be had shown signs of changing, but when she took the time to look at her surroundings, she noticed all the walls were no longer close but had opened into a never-ending field. Not bothering to slow down, her feet slapped the newly noticed grass and pricks that embedded themselves in her heels. She took a moment to look down, not looking at what was in front of her, and tripped. The girl fell hard on her knees.
There she sat for a moment. Looking around at the emptiness, she felt completely and hopelessly alone. She felt like dying, lonely and hollow beneath her shell. Exhaustion was pulling at her and she felt like vomiting. Her muscles and terror pulled her back to her feet and propelled her forward. The muscles in her legs burned, sending fire down her extremities. Away, away. That’s all she could think. All her focus fell in one direction, towards escape, but no matter how far her legs took her, safety was never a sensation she could grip. Alone and running. Walls formed around her again as she ran into the length of another hallway, covered with moss and cracked gravel.
The moment came when she could no longer continue. Tips of her big toes dragged the ground, bloodying them up until the point she tripped and fell to her knees again. She stood up slowly, shakily, her bright red kneecaps dripping crimson onto the front of her formerly white sun dress.
The girl focused on the corridor in front of her. Candles and shadows flickered against the walls, making images of creatures belonging only to her mind. She thought they were encroaching, one light at a time, shadows extinguishing the flickers one by one as they moved towards her. A rumble came from behind where she had left the field. All wrong, it was all wrong. She shouldn’t be here. She can’t be here. This had to be a nightmare, a night terror, one that convinced her she was awake. She told herself she’d awake to the safety of her own bed, in her own hovel, surrounded by…someone. Anyone. At this point, she didn’t care as long as she wasn’t alone.
The pit of her stomach lurched and churned, rumbling with the loneliness of hunger and fear. Hallways of solitude were no longer lit; shadows had swallowed the small traces of light. Cold flowed in her veins and down to her toes. Ice formed on the concrete, freezing the vines and vegetation. The hairs on her arms prickled into bumps.
“This is not happening. Wake up, please wake up. I want to go home,” She cried.
But, at that moment, she could not remember anything about it. She could not remember the face of a friend or parent. There were no memories of her room, or the hovel, or even the brief glimpses of warmth. She couldn’t recall ever being alone, but here and now, that’s all she remembered. That is all she could think about.
She was far ahead of the thing that she encountered, but she could feel it. A sense of hunger, lust, and animalistic stalking. The girl knew it was on her trail, led by a scent she left behind. It wanted her like nothing she had ever felt before, almost needing. It drove to tear her apart.
Her eyes pinched closed as she begged, “Please wake up.”
A thought whispered to her, one that she would have sworn was not a thought she would have brought up on her own. Dying wakes you from nightmares. Dying from falling or being attacked. But what if this was not a dream? What if she died and never woke? Is there anyone looking for her? Would anyone even remember? Would anyone even care?
“No,” She whispered to her thoughts. “This isn’t a dream, is it?”
No, something in her head whispered back.
Deep within her, she could feel the hunter. It stalked closer, taking its time. It was coming up on the pathway, now. The girl knew she was still a good ways ahead, but the thing was not bothering to rush. It knew the outcome. It knew it would find her.
The air tasted like wet fur.
When the girl opened her eyes, her head snapped around in all directions. The pathway was covered in multi-colored doors. All tarnished, beaten, and old with chipped paint and holes. Was the Labyrinth giving her a way out? Or was it taking her deeper?
“Just go,” She told her feet. They fought against her before answering.
Something fluttered past her head and landed on a door, waiting for her to come closer.
She looked at the moth for a moment, taking in the jagged black patterns on its wings and body, “Why are you following me?”
The moth barely opened its wings and closed them again in response. Her body was telling her not to stay in the open as long as she was, but her mind was too curious not to focus on the little insect for a moment. The girl’s stomach tightened as she looked at its beady eyes still perched unnaturally still.
Her hand clasped around the knob of the door the moth inhabited, old and red with rusty hinges. The brass handle crumbled in her palm, but not before it disengaged. It let out a long groan as it opened as the moth flew back into the air.
Nothing inside was lit; It felt empty and cold. She thought about finding another door. Any door. But as she stepped away, the creature bellowed. Her body jolted and swung in the monster’s direction. It was growing closer, licking away as the scent of her fear grew stronger. There was no other option. Although it felt as wrong as anything she had ever perceived, she ran through the threshold into the dark.
Chapter 3:
Alley of Angels
Day stood with his back against where two walls met. Sevens pushed away a dark cloud from his candle in the corner nonchalantly swatting flies that buzzed away to the dark corners of the room. The cracks in the walls seemed to deepen around us as I felt the hairs on my neck and arms prickle and rise. Day was staring at me, so I stared at the floor.
“Why do you not look me in the eyes?”
I shrugged and looked up, “You have no eyes to look into.”
For lack of a better description, the dark creature, Day, seemed warm. I could feel his smile, or his humor, or both. This turned my focus all the more to how cold the room felt when I exhaled a thick steam through my lips. It flowed down my mouth and throat, latching onto the skin as if being immersed slowly from my head down. I felt it touch my toes moments later before making them tingle.
“Yes, that would deter one from looking into them, I suppose,” Day said. “Are you cold, child?”
“I could be warmer,” I said rubbing the goosebumps on my arms.
Not until that moment did I take the time to realize my clothes. In such the state that I was in, hallucination or not, I would not have chosen to wear what clung to my shoulders. An almost white, baby blue dress held loosely to my body by a white halter strap. At least, I assumed it was baby blue. With the dirt and dim lighting, the dress might as well have been brown, the white strap a putrid yellow color. It was tattered, torn, and ripped in places around the belly and upper thigh and was wrinkled beyond what any amount of heat or iron could fix. I stood, breathing a hot dancing stream that flowed to my body before dissipating into the cold night’s air around my bare legs.
I shook.
Day’s movement was fluid, walking to the door. I was without understanding as to why he walked. Hallucinations can be weird things. He could have glided, or rolled, or grew twelve feet and scampered like an insect. Instead, he simply walked, the dark following and flowing like a veil.
“I apologize for that. Once you were brought here, that was generally the only clothing we could find. Better attire will be our first order. Then, we will see what we can do about the man to whom you may ask your question. If that is still something you truly desire.” He motioned a dark extension of his body, like a hand, politely to the door.
Before I could make a step in that direction, something rough pushed past me quicker than the eye could see. A high-pitched howl vibrated from Seven’s body as he stood between me and the door, hunched over in a protective stance, pushing me back with two strong limbs. His body was shaking as he pleaded to Day.
“She will leave.”; “She will be taken.”; “She will disappear.”; “She will die.”; “She will flee.”; “She will suffer.”; “She will abandon me.”
The attention from Day’s body shifted from Seven’s to me and waited. All Sevens’ eyes were on the door, all extensions a barrier between me and an exit.
We stood there until Day shrugged, “Serenity, I must apologize to you. I have yet to gain a full understanding of our comrade here. You understand him. What would be Sevens’ current issue?”
I looked to the pale mirage that seemed to grow paler in the haze, “He thinks I’ll die if I go out there. Is that true? Am I going to die?”
“First,” Day interrupted with a voice calm. “How do you know that is what he was saying?”
I felt heat rise to my face, “It was the only sentence that had a finality. The others were manageable. Now, how about you explain how the hell I’m going to die?”
Day felt quizzical, scrutinizing me under his microscope, “For such a grave question, you ask it so unattached. Are you not fearful of such a possibility?”
My palm touched Sevens’ back and I felt him quiver beneath it. He turned to me, all seven eyes contained blemishes of worry.
I took a deep breath and shrugged, “Not really.”
“Admirable, but not necessarily wise. Do you agree?” Day asked.
His question felt more of a test than of general inquiry. Sevens stood statuesque, making me have to maneuver around him to get to the door. There was no real movement to deter me, but I could feel all his eyes on my back as I reached for the door next to Day as he studied me. My hand clasped around the handle. It felt the rust and flakes underneath my palm, flecks of decayed metal fell to the ground as the knob groaned and turned, disengaging the locks with soft clanks.
The air was sucked from my chest, every ounce and every particle.
My knees slammed to the dust beneath me, sending bloodying pain to the caps and shooting up my thighs. This was a new type of pain, one that I had never felt amid a hallucination. It felt real. The ground felt real, the air, the blood. Still, though, some delusions were painful for other reasons. Different drug, different rules. I sucked in quickly, breathing in full and holding it in my lungs. Even the sparkles and stars at the edge of my vision were dark and dampened by shadows and shades.
I blinked for a moment, regaining my sight as composure set in. I struggled to get myself back up to my feet, blood dripping down my shins. A panicked breathing came from behind me. I looked back over my shoulder to see Sevens looking as if he’d had a mild stroke.
Day laughed. It was a deep baritone and it came out of him in invisible notes. Scowling at his mockery, I turned back to the open door that led to nothing. It was solid black, nothing but a wall of night that beckoned me into it.
There was a complete emptiness in the void. Light from our little candle could not puncture through the mist. Have you ever looked at something so empty, so completely lacking in life that it bore a hole in your heart? Looking into it, it felt as if my chest were hollow, replacing my heart with an empty cavity, freezing the flow in my veins and blowing a cool wind into my stomach. That is what lay beyond the door, a nothingness that I knew would either empty my soul or destroy what was left of it all together. I stood and stared before glancing back at Day.
“Would you like me to go first?” He asked amused.
I nodded once more.
“That would be wise,” He continued. “But do not be afraid.”
My eyes flashed, “I’m not.”
“I know.”
When he moved out the door, his body melted into the night like watching water dissolve into itself, as though he was made up of the same material as the dark. Within a blink, I could no longer see any shape or ghost of him.
The sight did nothing but push me forward.
Moving into the dark was like nothing I’d ever felt before. Have you ever felt yourself move into utter emptiness? Not like walking into an empty room, but literal emptiness devoid of any molecule or any substance. I felt like my body was floating in the air even though my feet were firmly planted on a dusty floor. My skin and hair felt like they were embraced in a cold, non-spreading wind. That’s what this place felt like against me. Like the ‘nothing’ was alive, breathing against me and trying to hold me steadfast to the single, unmoving spot. It wanted me to look at it. It had the need for me to find it impressive like a narcissist showing its muscles, desperately straining and begging for me to find it beautiful.
There was a detachment from life there. It was a hopeless separation that held tight to the crannies of my mind as I looked out into the empty road that now showed a small outline of Day standing only a few paces in front of where I stood. I let out a breath of relief after seeing him, only to wonder why I would be relieved. I did not know who it was that stood beneath the veil, why he brought me here, or if he was even real. But my body and mind were in disconnect as it relaxed at his sight. I felt his emotions, knowing that he knew.
I caught up, hearing the rusted door latch close behind me. Day’s…shoes? Feet? I was not inclined to ask; whatever they were padded against the ground in the simplest stroll with me toting at his heels, barefoot and freezing.
“I must insist that a warning is due,” Day began. “I will try to my finest to give an appropriate warning, but it would be like describing the nature of the wind to a cat that is too busy with the likeness of its tail than to actually care about the things being described. You will belittle it, of course. You have no reason not to. But please, heed it with the utmost caution.
Do not fear the things you see. Do not appear overwhelmed, or stare. There are things here that do not like being looked at for long periods of time, if at all, so it would be wise to avoid them. Do not wander off alone, here. Things are ever-changing, distorted, and intangible. Stay with me. Do not try many doors and do not, ever, try to communicate with things with which you are not familiar. And once again, do not be afraid.”
We exchanged a series of serious glances and feelings, “I understand.”
I felt Day’s amusement, “No, you do not.”
We walked along a crude alley no wider than two of us shoulder to shoulder. The shadow walls on either side of the lane masked the textures and fissures. Indistinguishable outlines darted in and out of the passageway, never sitting long enough to be captured in a glimpse. Figures and figments, bodies and wisps, as if thousands were present but unclear, not allowing themselves a moment to be discerned enough to guarantee existence.
Hearing the wings of a thousand insects caused me to slow and look around. Those buzzings were mixed with the flaps of something larger, more prominent.
Day strode toward a shape that sat still on the side of the alley and walked past as if it were never present. Within a few strides, the figure started to become clear to me.
I saw the woman sitting with her back against a wall slumped over in silent tears. Her skin was pale and unhealthy, her cheeks concaved with malnourishment. She wore a dirty and stained white gown that wrinkled from her ankles to her shoulders. What sat behind them were two wings, tattered and torn that folded underneath her, crumpled and planted to the ground. She held a halo, so brown and tarnished it was as if gold had never touched it, so tightly in her hand that blood poured from her palms and made stains on her white dress.
Her face was annulled of emotion; she just sat with two streaming tears.
My focus was fixated on the former angel. I was never much for religion, but this pinged a hint of sadness within me that I could not describe.
When I wiped my eyes, I opened them to see ten, twenty, a hundred more, all different ages, sexes, and nationalities, but all still with their ragged wings and clutching their once golden halos. They lined the walls of the alley in the direction we had just came from in single file, disappearing behind me in the distance.
I was pushed before I felt the hand on my back. It was a soft nudge, simply a reminder to keep moving. In my surprise, I turned too quickly and tripped. I landed hard on my backside. Sevens shrieked in shocked apology, picking me up quickly and dusting me off with each of his arms, cooing with sounds of regret. I had not even realized he was so close in tow. I turned and began walking in the direction of Day, but did not hear a single sound behind me, so I tilted my head slightly to see Sevens was protectively at my side.
“Were they real?” I asked Sevens rhetorically.
Sevens tilted his head and pointed forward at Day, who had kept his leisurely pace for us to easily follow.
“Was what real, child?” Day asked a few steps ahead.
“Stop calling me a child. Did you not see her?” I turned and pointed behind me. There was no one there. The girl and all the other angels had disappeared.
Day was empty, “I saw nothing new or of consequence and neither did you, my dear.” His reminder to not be shocked was not hidden from me.
I caught up to him quickly and he turned, anticipating my question, “What the hell is going on? Why am I here?”
Day sighed, “It is customary for me to answer such a question with a question. But it is too soon for that question to be asked a second time. So, it is in my best judgment that you might hold that inquiry until you meet the person who can answer it truthfully.”
Day’s cloak turned, cutting off any retort, and he began his walk again.
Even my own delusion was sort of rude. The truth would not be easily found.
For the next few hours, we walked along the single track. I did not pass another angel or creature along the way; it felt completely deserted, but there were still small sounds of ticks and scratches in the darkness. I tried to keep quiet, taking in the surroundings and trying to figure out ways of waking myself. By the end, painful blisters were forming at the bottoms of my feet when we reached a fork in the road. I waited patiently for Day to pick a direction, but after no decision, I had the feeling he was waiting for me as well.
