To read Part Two, please click here.
“Hello?”
I held my breath as my voice resounded through the hallway. When did this place become so echoey? All was quiet, but I waited patiently. I knew she was in there.
Soon enough, the darkness shifted. I watched as the door slid open — just an inch — and an eye peered through. It was wet and shining and watchful, a silver coin glinting from the bottom of a well.
She must be shy. Well. I could relate to that.
“Are you okay? I’m sorry I . . . woke you?”
No response.
“My name is Margot,” I attempted, extending a hand, though I can’t honestly say I wanted her to shake it. “What’s yours?”
The Pantheon swallowed up my words almost immediately; its silence was a greedy thing. A minute passed. Then another. The eye had yet to blink.
“Okay, sure.” I glanced down to flick my flashlight to a softer setting. “Not one for conversation, that’s fine, I’ll just —”
When I looked up again she was standing in front of the door. Motionless, straight-backed, with limp arms at her side. Her eyes were devouring and bruised with shadows.
I laughed, though the sound was distorted by my palpitating heart. “You startled me.”
Her mouth split into what could be called a smile, though it was more like the opening of a wound. Her teeth sparkled in the dim light, her incisors ever so slightly too sharp.
“Yes,” the voice was raspy with disuse but still sounded young. “I am quite spooky.”
Finally my disquiet swelled into alarm. This girl was not shy at all but motionless and watchful as a panther. She was a predator. Which made me prey.
My curiosity lost its tug-of-war with my survival instinct. I took a step back. I began hurrying away down the corridor.
“Okay!” I called over my shoulder. “Good talk!”
The hall was as dark as it had ever been, but now it felt oppressive; now it was a gauntlet. I could feel the urge to run buckling in my chest, but would not heed it. I just needed to leave this place and be free of its dusty watchful silence. Only then could I afford to be afraid.
After a few minutes, however, I didn’t feel any closer to the exit. In fact, every room I entered felt new yet indistinguishable from the last. The auditorium occupied the bulk of the Pantheon. These backstage corridors shouldn’t have been so maze-like, so expansive. But I found I had no idea where I was standing relative to the outside world. Which direction pointed to the back parking lot, and which way to the road? Claustrophobia invaded my senses. I thirsted for fresh air and sunlight like never before.
At long last I stopped at a little room that seemed slightly more familiar than the rest, though I couldn’t place why. I paused there, regulating my breathing, unwilling to leave that point of reference.
Then, from the previously empty blackness behind me:
“I wouldn’t linger here if I were you.”
My pulse exploded and I whipped around, ready to brain someone with my flashlight, only to find the girl from the closet, shielding her eyes against the brightness. She stood just beyond the threshold, her mane of hair outlined but her features left in shadow. More unsettling than her sudden appearance was the confirmation of my nagging irrational fears. There was someone behind me.
“Oh. Hi. You again . . . . Wait, what’s wrong with this room? Do you have a friend curled up under the floorboards?”
She tilted her head with a raptor-like motion. “I wouldn’t call them friends. We try to stay out of each other’s way.”
I blinked in surprise; she sounded almost earnest. “Would you show me?” I asked, despite myself.
The girl’s posture changed, as if she were about to step forward, but at the last moment she corrected herself. Instead she continued watching me carefully.
I opened my mouth again to speak, then stopped. There was a sound, barely brushing the edges of my hearing, but growing in volume with each second. An insistent little scraping noise, not much louder than the tick of a clock.
Somewhere very close by, sharp fingernails were gouging through metal with small, industrial movements. The sound paused occasionally, as if whatever created it were considering its work, but the noise would infallibly begin again.
The girl hummed, displeased.
“No use now, I suppose. They’ve already awoken.”
I held my breath as my voice resounded through the hallway. When did this place become so echoey? All was quiet, but I waited patiently. I knew she was in there.
Soon enough, the darkness shifted. I watched as the door slid open — just an inch — and an eye peered through. It was wet and shining and watchful, a silver coin glinting from the bottom of a well.
She must be shy. Well. I could relate to that.
“Are you okay? I’m sorry I . . . woke you?”
No response.
“My name is Margot,” I attempted, extending a hand, though I can’t honestly say I wanted her to shake it. “What’s yours?”
The Pantheon swallowed up my words almost immediately; its silence was a greedy thing. A minute passed. Then another. The eye had yet to blink.
“Okay, sure.” I glanced down to flick my flashlight to a softer setting. “Not one for conversation, that’s fine, I’ll just —”
When I looked up again she was standing in front of the door. Motionless, straight-backed, with limp arms at her side. Her eyes were devouring and bruised with shadows.
I laughed, though the sound was distorted by my palpitating heart. “You startled me.”
Her mouth split into what could be called a smile, though it was more like the opening of a wound. Her teeth sparkled in the dim light, her incisors ever so slightly too sharp.
“Yes,” the voice was raspy with disuse but still sounded young. “I am quite spooky.”
Finally my disquiet swelled into alarm. This girl was not shy at all but motionless and watchful as a panther. She was a predator. Which made me prey.
My curiosity lost its tug-of-war with my survival instinct. I took a step back. I began hurrying away down the corridor.
“Okay!” I called over my shoulder. “Good talk!”
The hall was as dark as it had ever been, but now it felt oppressive; now it was a gauntlet. I could feel the urge to run buckling in my chest, but would not heed it. I just needed to leave this place and be free of its dusty watchful silence. Only then could I afford to be afraid.
After a few minutes, however, I didn’t feel any closer to the exit. In fact, every room I entered felt new yet indistinguishable from the last. The auditorium occupied the bulk of the Pantheon. These backstage corridors shouldn’t have been so maze-like, so expansive. But I found I had no idea where I was standing relative to the outside world. Which direction pointed to the back parking lot, and which way to the road? Claustrophobia invaded my senses. I thirsted for fresh air and sunlight like never before.
At long last I stopped at a little room that seemed slightly more familiar than the rest, though I couldn’t place why. I paused there, regulating my breathing, unwilling to leave that point of reference.
Then, from the previously empty blackness behind me:
“I wouldn’t linger here if I were you.”
My pulse exploded and I whipped around, ready to brain someone with my flashlight, only to find the girl from the closet, shielding her eyes against the brightness. She stood just beyond the threshold, her mane of hair outlined but her features left in shadow. More unsettling than her sudden appearance was the confirmation of my nagging irrational fears. There was someone behind me.
“Oh. Hi. You again . . . . Wait, what’s wrong with this room? Do you have a friend curled up under the floorboards?”
She tilted her head with a raptor-like motion. “I wouldn’t call them friends. We try to stay out of each other’s way.”
I blinked in surprise; she sounded almost earnest. “Would you show me?” I asked, despite myself.
The girl’s posture changed, as if she were about to step forward, but at the last moment she corrected herself. Instead she continued watching me carefully.
I opened my mouth again to speak, then stopped. There was a sound, barely brushing the edges of my hearing, but growing in volume with each second. An insistent little scraping noise, not much louder than the tick of a clock.
Somewhere very close by, sharp fingernails were gouging through metal with small, industrial movements. The sound paused occasionally, as if whatever created it were considering its work, but the noise would infallibly begin again.
The girl hummed, displeased.
“No use now, I suppose. They’ve already awoken.”
To read Part Four, please click here.