To read Part One, please click here.
Three years. I had been counting. Three years since the boy vanished. Three years since the barrel.
I was getting older. My hands were nimble and I finished carpets in days rather than weeks. But unlike the others who had been to the barrel, pulling the strings with vibrating glee, my carpets did not send delightful chills creeping through my body. Instead they fueled me, sent me hurtling forward, tumbling through days and days, my work a numbing, electric blur. And they were beautiful, our lane’s pieces. So beautiful that the Man Behind the Curtain gazed at them longer than all the others before they were shipped off, or so I heard. Since she “punished” me, I had become acquainted with our lane’s keeper. Every now and then she spoke to me, complimenting the pattern I’d chosen or asking when I thought I’d be done. Other times, she simply stood close behind me, muttering to herself. I was never sure if she intended for me to hear her or not.
The looms cranked to a stop. I stared at the finished carpet. It would look nice spread out on someone’s oiled wooden floors, which I had learned was the intended purpose for most carpets. Still, there was something strange, almost sinister, in the dark, blue-ringed blots in the fabric. Something cavernous.
Smack, smack, smack.
That was the signal for our food search. It was my first time. I was finally old enough. Most of the others were well-seasoned, having journeyed through the tunnel that led beyond the factory several times before.
My ankles strained underneath my weight as I picked myself up from the floor and followed the procession of older children squeezing through the dank, yellowed hallway towards the gaping hole in the side of the factory’s wall. I shuffled around in the line, peeking over heads to try and get a good look at it.
The tunnel was small — smaller than I’d expected. Not entirely unusual. The factory seemed to grow smaller every day. I watched as each child in front of me shot their arms and their head forward and squirmed into the darkness, the pale soles of their feet losing the light of the factory’s candles and fading away.
The guards flanking the tunnel beckoned me forward. Guards. Guards at a factory. I placed my hands on the cold walls of the tunnel, the smooth stone chilling my palms.
The tunnel was long and eerie, and the echo of sweaty hands slapping against stone surrounded me. There was a stench, thick and swollen like rot, stinging my nose. I squinted through watering eyes to see a pinprick of light in front of all the heads.
The first gush of cold air came as a surprise. It whistled through the tunnel, ruffling our tunics. Its groans were deep and carved into the endless hollow of the tunnel, like a monster, or a monster’s stomach.
The children began to tumble out, one after the other. The light was close now, a ring around the body of the boy in front of me. Soon he fell, his hands and head plummeting and his feet smacking the ceiling. I heard him shriek and hit the ground hard.
It was my turn. I lowered one foot after another. My toes searched for ground, grazing against the stone body of the tunnel. I dangled, my arms sliding on the sweat-slick stone as the stream of children approached. I finally relented and let myself fall.
The ground knocked the air out of me. I spluttered, my face hot, as I stumbled to my feet. A guard shouted instructions at us, but I couldn’t listen. It was cold. Cold like I had never felt it before. A thick, biting kind of cold that snuck underneath my tunic and chilled my skin. The ground was covered in pointy barbs that snapped underneath my weight and dry shapes of brown and green that tickled my feet. We were surrounded by tall columns of brown and red. They rose up, and up, covered in green tufts, climbing away from us. Reaching, twisting, they blanketed the ground in darkness, a darkness deeper than the factory at night, deeper than the tunnel. The darkness was gaping, expansive. It was rich and hungry and it wanted me. The darkness breathed.
In that darkness, something whispered. In the swathes of shadows and the expanse of columns, something called out for me. Come find me in here. Prickles scurried along my skin. There was something watching me. Not a person, not some creature. Something bigger than anything I could ever see or know.
I glanced back. The guards had let us go and the others had begun their searches. I looked back at the darkness. It smiled at me. If I had ever known a cosmic force, it lived in whatever was staring at me, and in whatever I was staring back at. I placed one foot ahead, slowly entering the stretch of feathered columns.
Find something in there.
I was getting older. My hands were nimble and I finished carpets in days rather than weeks. But unlike the others who had been to the barrel, pulling the strings with vibrating glee, my carpets did not send delightful chills creeping through my body. Instead they fueled me, sent me hurtling forward, tumbling through days and days, my work a numbing, electric blur. And they were beautiful, our lane’s pieces. So beautiful that the Man Behind the Curtain gazed at them longer than all the others before they were shipped off, or so I heard. Since she “punished” me, I had become acquainted with our lane’s keeper. Every now and then she spoke to me, complimenting the pattern I’d chosen or asking when I thought I’d be done. Other times, she simply stood close behind me, muttering to herself. I was never sure if she intended for me to hear her or not.
The looms cranked to a stop. I stared at the finished carpet. It would look nice spread out on someone’s oiled wooden floors, which I had learned was the intended purpose for most carpets. Still, there was something strange, almost sinister, in the dark, blue-ringed blots in the fabric. Something cavernous.
Smack, smack, smack.
That was the signal for our food search. It was my first time. I was finally old enough. Most of the others were well-seasoned, having journeyed through the tunnel that led beyond the factory several times before.
My ankles strained underneath my weight as I picked myself up from the floor and followed the procession of older children squeezing through the dank, yellowed hallway towards the gaping hole in the side of the factory’s wall. I shuffled around in the line, peeking over heads to try and get a good look at it.
The tunnel was small — smaller than I’d expected. Not entirely unusual. The factory seemed to grow smaller every day. I watched as each child in front of me shot their arms and their head forward and squirmed into the darkness, the pale soles of their feet losing the light of the factory’s candles and fading away.
The guards flanking the tunnel beckoned me forward. Guards. Guards at a factory. I placed my hands on the cold walls of the tunnel, the smooth stone chilling my palms.
The tunnel was long and eerie, and the echo of sweaty hands slapping against stone surrounded me. There was a stench, thick and swollen like rot, stinging my nose. I squinted through watering eyes to see a pinprick of light in front of all the heads.
The first gush of cold air came as a surprise. It whistled through the tunnel, ruffling our tunics. Its groans were deep and carved into the endless hollow of the tunnel, like a monster, or a monster’s stomach.
The children began to tumble out, one after the other. The light was close now, a ring around the body of the boy in front of me. Soon he fell, his hands and head plummeting and his feet smacking the ceiling. I heard him shriek and hit the ground hard.
It was my turn. I lowered one foot after another. My toes searched for ground, grazing against the stone body of the tunnel. I dangled, my arms sliding on the sweat-slick stone as the stream of children approached. I finally relented and let myself fall.
The ground knocked the air out of me. I spluttered, my face hot, as I stumbled to my feet. A guard shouted instructions at us, but I couldn’t listen. It was cold. Cold like I had never felt it before. A thick, biting kind of cold that snuck underneath my tunic and chilled my skin. The ground was covered in pointy barbs that snapped underneath my weight and dry shapes of brown and green that tickled my feet. We were surrounded by tall columns of brown and red. They rose up, and up, covered in green tufts, climbing away from us. Reaching, twisting, they blanketed the ground in darkness, a darkness deeper than the factory at night, deeper than the tunnel. The darkness was gaping, expansive. It was rich and hungry and it wanted me. The darkness breathed.
In that darkness, something whispered. In the swathes of shadows and the expanse of columns, something called out for me. Come find me in here. Prickles scurried along my skin. There was something watching me. Not a person, not some creature. Something bigger than anything I could ever see or know.
I glanced back. The guards had let us go and the others had begun their searches. I looked back at the darkness. It smiled at me. If I had ever known a cosmic force, it lived in whatever was staring at me, and in whatever I was staring back at. I placed one foot ahead, slowly entering the stretch of feathered columns.
Find something in there.
To read Part Three, please click here.