One: this story will be shameless in nearly every way.
Two: this story will not be updated regularly
Three: I will have more fun with this story than seriousness... I really haven't "delved deep" into the world of Labryinth, I just find the characters interesting... If there is an inconsistancy or something that doesn't quite match with the movie, I really don't care. Sorry. (Like the time-set for this story: Sarah is about 20 and the year is anywhere from 2000 to present... pick your favorite year and run with it...).
Four: thanks for reading and ENJOY the story. If you enjoyed it, leave me a review. If you hated it, stop reading. (grin).
"If you happen to like pretty lies, I am sure you've found the right man to whisper them into your ear."
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Sarah leaned over the keyboard of her laptop, aggravated.
"Well, they cut me from the cast," she stated, her voice breaking the silence that had settled in her room. "Great. Just fu-"
"I'm back!"
A cold gust blew in through the front door as Sarah's house mate arrived, shoulders straining under her heavy backpack, nose hardly visible through the thick woolen scarf covering her face. The weather was getting colder, most definitely colder, as Fall passed the torch to Winter over the course of a few short weeks. The snow hadn't flown yet, nor would until the weekend (according to the forecast Sarah had caught briefly on a campus television between classes), but Nature seemed to be getting ready for the first round of snow showers.
"Hi," Amber said, eyebrows raised in surprise at the look on her roommate's face. "I'm assuming it's not good news about the play?" Sarah hardly ever looked upset.
Amber's backpack hit the carpeted floor with a thunk that could only mean she had forgotten her own laptop was stashed between the pounds of textbooks sandwiched between the fabric of the bag. With a swear, she knelt next to the bag and unraveled her scarf at the same time, trying to keep up conversation.
"Well, it'll be okay," the blond haired girl stated reassuringly, dragging out the laptop and checking it over for scratches while addressing Sarah. "It's all because of that transfer student; it wasn't fair of them to let her audition after the-"
Sarah let her friend rattle on how the transfer student from an acting school several states away had stolen the part single-handedly and had done terrible things to get the female lead of the biggest play of the school year. It wasn't going to help the pain of rejection, but it was comforting to know there was someone who cared about her enough to fabricate such lies. Ever since her parent's death, Sarah hadn't had anyone else but Toby and Amber to talk with. She wondered if Hoggle would ever come back; the grumpy little creature hadn't talked with her in years, stopped responding to her calls for help and cries of loneliness. The others hadn't answered, either, in just as long.
She often wondered if it was because of her growing up, the changes she had undergone the past few years, and their effect on how much of a child she still was inside. Her first and only boyfriend in high school had turned out to be a complete loser, and Sarah had doubted she could even call him a boyfriend considering how long they had actually liked one another (hardly any time at all) and that they had never even held hands. She hadn't read much besides textbooks in years... her high school's library had been ill stocked and the local library had moved too far away for Sarah to run off to in hopes of escaping in a good story. Her sophomore year of high school was when it seemed most of her family disappeared, aunts and uncles moving to different countries, cousins getting engaged or scholarships (both of which led them far, far away), and then accident that had killed her father and stepmother. Her birth mother occasionally sent little gifts and the rare letter. Sarah hadn't talked on the phone with her mother in nearly two years and there was no time in either of their lives to email one another about themselves. Sarah hardly had time to check her own campus email with all the ensembles and practices and auditions she had scheduled, on top of classes and homework.
"Sarah, are you listening to me?"
"Oh, um, yeah... thanks for the words," Sarah lied, putting on what she hoped was a grin of reassurance and not a grimace. She was a good enough actress, apparently, because Amber smiled back at her and, dragging her backpack by one strap with her laptop tucked under her arm, wandered to the couch across the room. It wasn't unusual for Amber to join Sarah during the few hours they had together at the house. Sarah didn't get home, walking the two blocks from campus to the tiny house, until nearly eleven o'clock most nights, and Amber worked the graveyard shift at a local convenience store, one of those chains of supermarkets that employed workers like farms bought livestock. When they were able to enjoy one another's company, they didn't talk very much, too engrossed in their studies to really break concentration, but there was fun. Sarah, uncharacteristically, sometimes made paper airplanes and flew them across the room with notes scrawled on them, Amber writing notes back the same way. There was tea, sometimes, on nights with less homework than anticipated. Every week or two, there was even time to procrastinate on studying to watch a movie before Amber had to go to work. Sarah nearly always made coffee for her friend to keep her awake until she got back around the same time Sarah was getting up for class. Amber was a student at a technical college just a few miles away from the private four-year college Sarah was studying at, but it seemed that even though Sarah struggled through the music theory and memorizing scripts that were the requirements of her double majors in music and theater, Amber had just as hard of a time understanding the complex material her professors assigned her to complete. It was reassuring for Sarah to know that she wasn't the only one struggling with education and the pursuit of a higher knowledge, although she knew she must be crazy to be attempting a double major in two very difficult programs. It was the nearing the end of her first semester as a sophomore in college and Sarah knew she would probably have to pick one major over the other, eventually, if she couldn't keep up with the material.
"Sarah, you're really out of it tonight. Did you just hear a word I said?"
"Sorry... I'll, um, make your coffee."
Amber gave a sad grin as Sarah put down the music theory homework she had been staring at and walked off into the kitchen. It didn't matter what Amber said to convince her friend otherwise: Sarah was stretched too thin. This audition had kept Sarah busy but hopeful and upbeat for nearly two weeks. Now that it was all over, and with bad news, Amber was worried about her friend. She had tried to ignore the strange look Sarah had in her eyes when she heard a particular strain of music from the recordings that came with her music homework or the sad, frustrated sigh Sarah sometimes made. Amber knew about Sarah's family and most of Sarah's past, they had been close enough to exchange childhood stories, but it didn't explain why sometimes, in Sarah's sleep, Amber could hear her cry out:
"Jareth!"
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Amber had left about two hours ago and Sarah was nearly finished with most of her homework. It was only "most" instead of "all" because there was a book she hadn't been able to find at the library, meaning she would have to tell her professor she hadn't been able to complete the assignment. She hated doing that. She couldn't just let something go, to pretend the professor wouldn't ask why it wasn't done. Sarah had no other choice but to do as well as she could in everything: failing out of school wasn't an option in her life. There was no back-up except a degree, preferably two. Sarah had tried going straight to the stage after high school. It showed how well she had done with the fact there were only five months between her high school graduation and when she had her first day of class at the private, fine-arts oriented school she had found herself at. Sarah had gone to audition after audition with no luck. She wasn't even cast in the chorus of musicals, nothing more than an unfriendly farewell and insincere best-of-lucks from directors and the selected cast. One director, though, had seen promise in the girl, and had pulled a few strings with friends of his who were professors and graduates of the college he recommended to Sarah.
"Go," he had said, the old man sitting in his chair, a twinkle in his eye, "I see good things in your future, but you can't do this right out of high school. You need more education, you need more knowledge. You need more help than you're giving yourself. Get a degree, get something to fall back on, and don't give up. I made a few calls on your behalf-"
The rest of what that brilliant man had said faded into Sarah's memory as a loud thump came from the window in the kitchen. It paused Sarah mid-motion as she stuffed her textbooks back into the bag she would take with her back to campus for the next day of class. She had heard the same sound earlier in the week and Amber, who had been in the kitchen, had said it was just a bird. But that had been in the broad daylight, when there was nothing to fear. Now, Sarah was by herself, alone, late at night. Nothing that loud could have been a bird. Pulling out her cellphone from her jeans pocket, Sarah stood and crept toward the kitchen, on the other side of the wall. The house, though small, was cleverly laid out. The kitchen was in the front of the house, next to the front door. Next to the kitchen was a small yet elegant dining room, which was all separated from the living room by a large wall complete with fireplace. The two bedrooms and small bathroom were to the left of the living room, down a narrow hallway, and there was no attic or basement. When Amber had bought it, it had belonged to an elderly couple and Amber had been slowly redecorating the past year. When Sarah and Amber had become friends, Sarah had mentioned she hated living on campus in the crowded and noisy dorms, where she could hardly find a moment to herself. It was Sarah's fourth month living in the house, renting a room and sharing the house for a modest price. Nothing bad had ever happened, except the occasional unsettling creak of a floorboard no one had stepped on or the strange birds that seemed to feel the need to fly through the house only to be stopped by glass and brick.
"Honestly," Sarah sighed as she saw nothing outside of the window. All thoughts of calling Amber flew out of her head as she put the cellphone back in her pocket. It was time Sarah got some sleep; she couldn't be calling Amber at work unless it was an emergency and Sarah's ten o'clock class was going to come too fast. It always did, but at least Sarah had that time to either sleep in or do more homework, whichever was more essential to keeping her on her feet. Leaving the bag of homework by the couch, Sarah turned off the lights and checked the locks on the doors and windows; there wasn't a night she did this without looking over her shoulder. Sarah knew what sort of things lurked in the darkness. Even after all these years, she hadn't forgotten about the terrible things that had appeared to her out of the blackest of nights, in the darkest of times. On the off chance those things were to come back, Sarah wasn't going to be caught by surprise.
The surprise happened, though, when Sarah entered her room.
The tiny room wasn't even painted yet, the cans of soft purple tint sitting in a corner. There was a brand new shelf across one wall, a few expensive pieces of wood Sarah had painstakingly varnished and screwed into drywall herself. Her beautiful curtains, gossamer and linen dyed the prettiest of purples and blues and speckled with invisible glitter flakes, hung over the open window. It was the open window that led Sarah to believe something was wrong. She would never leave the window open, even if she had opened it to begin with. The chill of the air floated in the room, causing Sarah to shiver before she could even finish her glance around the room. From the open window, she followed the line of the plush rug laying over the hardwood floor to the hem of her bedspread.
One soft leather boot, from pointed toe to sculpted knee, hung over the bed. Legs trapped in grey riding breeches crossed one another and Sarah held her breath as she saw the pale white of skin showing through a ruffled white shirt and black leather vest shine from the darkness. A stray beam from the moon fell through the open window and across mismatched eyes, blond wisps of hair swaying in the cold breeze.
"Why, hello, Sarah," the silky voice slurred, fingers snapping gently in their leather gloves to hold a crystal ball. "It's been a long time."
Sarah couldn't feel the floor, even though she knew she was heading towards it as she fainted. She drifted on and on, unable to catch anything around her to slow her descent into the unknown or, worse, what was most definitely known.