Sarah huddled deep into her thick hoodie and peered out from under the over-large hood. Soft candlelight illuminated the small space of her dorm room. Two bunk-beds were lofted over desks, side by side. The matched desks glowed with flickering candle light, outlining a TV balanced between the desks' edges and throwing the lofted beds in darkness. Faint dark lines curled down the base of the TV to a video cassette player pn the floor, bought at the same thrift store as the TV.
Some would say it was cozy. Sarah would say it was a mismatched version of claustrophobia just waiting to happen. She curled her feet up on the plaid, slightly ripped couch that barely fit between the two bunk ladders and sighed. At least the view was decent up on the sixth floor. The campus was entirely coated in a thick sheet of snow and made everything sparkle. A glittering wonderland of beauty and grace, as some artists and poets would insist. What was better than a world of winter and white untouched snow?
Sarah's eyes narrowed. The snowstorm that had hit campus just after winter break was a fury to watch. Lightening shot jagged cracks in the sky with pure energy. Thunder played music with Sarah's eardrums. The wind had howled so loud Sarah had imagined a choir of banshees had come to scream in time with the chaotic beat of thunder. And as for the now glittering, beautiful snow? It swirled in a white menace cloaked in darkness – shrouding everything except the flashes of lightning.
Sarah had stayed up, wide awake with her swirled tan comforter clutched in her hands. There was nothing like the power and threat of a storm to keep her awake and her imagination running like wild. She didn't mind rain and she didn't mind snow. What she did mind was the effects it had.
The power was out. The campus was a white-covered ghost town, since most of the wise parents or college students had left as soon as finals were over. Sarah had enjoyed the quiet and decided to write her paper and sleep a night in her lumpy twin loft before heading out. What was the harm in finishing her three page paper before she left? Why should she rush home to her step-mother, so eagerly waiting to quiz her about college boys which were, shock of all shocks, just about as interesting as the high school boys?
It seems the best and only reason would be the snowstorm. Her roommate had mentioned it before moving her overly bubbly, giggling self out of the dorm room, but Sarah had shrugged. She had seen snow before, after all. It just hadn't occurred to her what northern weather could do overnight.
Sarah looked out the window grinned a little. As far as story-lines went, hers was the perfect beginning to a horror story. Sarah closed her eyes and leaned back. It would start with a college student, alone, trapped by a snow-storm and a paper due. The viewpoint would spiral down, showing the weighed down, sleeping tree branches curling dark fingers toward the streets. Ice would coat the concrete in thick ripples, impenetrable. The sky would be grayer, dimming the whole scene in ominous overtones. Perhaps it would zoom in on a properly beaten college car, wheels encased in ice, before scanning up the side of an average college dorm with a single light flickering in the window.
Sarah giggled and opened her eyes to look out the window again. The sky was crystal blue and the roads, though slippery, weren't nearly as slick as in her imagination. On top of that, she would be an uninspiring character to follow. There should be a buxom blonde with a too-tight shirt, and at least a few other college girls in the hall to scream and carry on and make miserable, illogical escape plans with. Instead, she was a brunette with bed-head and a huge hoodie with a locked door. Sarah grinned and looked at her closet. And how could she forget her dad's baseball bat? How very unsporting of her.
Sarah blinked. What could she do to amuse herself? She could use her hour of battery life left on her computer or watch static on her TV. No. Not even static. The power was completely out, after all. Sarah frowned. She could read a book by candlelight – one that she had read a thousand times and took up tons of room under her desk in a make-shift book shelf. Or she could think.
Thinking it was, then. Sarah propped her chin on her hand. She could think about what she was going to do with her English major after college was over. She could think of the amount of debt she had already collected, her old but still dependable car, or how she was going to get enough cash to update her high-school wardrobe. She could calculate her interest rates, try to think of more creative ways to stretch her food budget, or apply for internships over the summer. But even those absolutely thrilling tasks need the computer up and running.
Sarah rubbed her forehead and felt a familiar lethargic feeling sweep over her or a trip to a store. A very likely closed down store. What were they going to do? Register purchases by notebook paper and ink?
Sarah sighed. She was BORED! Bored was bad. Bored was very, very bad. Sarah stood up and thought of pacing. There was no room. There was nothing at all to distract her. She squeezed her eyes shut and flopped back down on the couch. It was useless.
Sarah had made it a goal to read as many stories, myths, legends, fairy-tales, and fantasy stories she could get a hold of. She was an English major, specializing in myth and legend. In all of her readings, required and not, she had not found a story to beat her childhood favorite. And she was determined to usurp her dangerous delusion. Sarah rubbed her temples, trying to remember all of the excellent reasons why she shouldn't give in to boredom.
In the spirit of her favorite story, her childhood self had collected figurines. She had a stuffed animal Sir Didymus, a doll dressed in white trapped in a gazebo, a silver Goblin King statue, and even a childhood maze. She played pretend, went to parks to act out the script, and even memorized an entire book. The book. The Labyrinth.
But favoritism had turned to obsession, and obsession had led her to believe she had actually been in the story. If she closed her eyes and dug very deep, she could still pull out the tattered memories of smells, sights, sounds, and even taste the faint sweetness of a peach. She had been a middle-school woman at the time, and too old to run that far away with her imagination. At the time, she had sworn all the way to the kindly psychologist that she had, in fact, been in the Labyrinth. She had fought against trials unnumbered to claim the baby named Toby she had wished away.
However, she had woken the next morning to find no evidence to support her wild night with a Goblin King and meeting his Labyrinth challenge. There were no leftovers from her victory party that night – and with as many creatures that were crammed into her bedroom, there should have been. Not even Toby looked any different. The only person who was different was Sarah. These were all facts the psychologist carefully pointed out to her confused younger self. Logically, without evidence, Sarah's tearful confusion was unnecessary.
The psychologist had leaned back. Was she able to contact Ludo, Sir Didymus, or Hoggle? Sarah had shook her head. At the time, she had desperately tried to see them, talk to them. Her psychologist gave her Kleenex. Her obsession must have made its way into an extremely vivid dream, the psychologist had reasoned. With that, Sarah's world spun.
Had she gone crazy? Did she actually experience a night in the very pages of a book she had simply been dying to be a part of? The questions went from being threatening to being ligament. She had looked for evidence and found none. There were no goblins, no crystals, and no friends waiting. She had to accept the truth of the matter.
Scared, alone, confused, Sarah had brushed away her tears. She had vanquished the Labyrinth and defeated a Goblin King. Even if it was just a dream, the feeling of being a heroine was as strong as ever. She could cure herself. She could!
Sarah had taken her delusions by the horns, so to speak. Stuffed animals neatly stored on shelves made their way to thrift stores. Her toy maze was donated to a nearby elementary school. Even her silver replica of the Goblin King and the white-gowned doll found its way into the hands of a store owner who bought them off of her online. And now, all she had left was a book she still couldn't quite bare to leave behind and a memory she couldn't quite shake.
It was creepy as hell. And the memory of the dream always came to her in times like this: when she was alone and bored.
Sarah shook her head and crossed over to turn some upbeat music on her computer. The pop music filled the room nicely. Very un-Labyrinth like. She rummaged in an overstuffed drawer and found her hot coco mix and pulled a clean mug off the top of her microwave. After a quick trip to the nearby bathroom for sink water and a long wait for hot water to pour out of the spout, a semi-hot drink snaked sweetly down her throat.
In fact, after her coco and the now-dead laptop, Sarah was just warm enough and just bored enough to get really, really stupid. It was either get out or give in to her mental one-track imagination. Sarah put on her snow boots, bundled up enough to give the impression she weighed a hundred pounds more than she did, and went outside.
The cold was blistering. Sarah felt her face go raw and red almost as soon as she walked outside. She stomped her determined way out the door, down the empty campus, and to her car parked on the abandoned parking lot. Sarah snorted. Yeah, this would be the perfect horror story, Sarah thought darkly. She launched herself at her car, attacking the frozen car door and rolled inside.
Her rust bucket hemmed and hawed at her. Sarah could swear it was giving her an earful about stupid college girls driving on a cold day like this, waking it up to be her chauffeur.
"Sorry," Sarah whispered, "but you and I both know what happens when I'm bored."
As if hearing the magic word, her car gave a muffled purr and started working. Sarah grinned and patted the dash.
"Thanks. You're the best." Sarah told the car. She reached back and took out the small snow pick/brush.
It was good work, tiring work. White snow fluffed in light piles around her car, showing bits and pieces of its red metal body beneath. Since she didn't check the time, she had no idea how long it took her to uncover her car. By the time she was done, her clothes were covered in snow and she was sweating. Cold and sweat and layers didn't mix well. Sarah ripped off her hat and turned up the heat. She slowly made her way off campus, listening to the snow crinkle under her tires.
On impulse, Sarah pulled carefully onto the deserted streets and down Main. She drove for a while and turned off into a side street. "Boutique Corner," the college crowd called it. On a good day, people window-shopped and hung out at the unique Mom and Pop shops crowded inexplicably together. The unique displays caught her eye, and Sarah slowed down. She drove past dark windows, looking. It wasn't long until Boutique Corner gave way to residential areas.
Flickering Christmas lights surrounding a poster grabbed Sarah's desperate attention. She had passed by the simple white house time and time again. Lights were on in the driveway, as if telling Sarah that she was welcome. Sarah glanced down the dangerous street and back at the house she was idling by. Why not? Sarah pulled into the driveway and glanced at the sign, as if checking to make sure the sign hadn't changed.
Madame Zini, Fortuneteller. Open Monday through Friday from 9a – 4p. $15
As promised, I will be re-writing the chapters so that the story flow is much more addictive and real, as per request of reviews. I will try and post a re-written chapter two tomorrow (11/24).
As always, I really enjoy reviews, comments, critiques, and reactions. Any and all are welcome!