Invitation
Lyra's life thus far was one that had me stumped. For one, she was intelligent. She had read at one of the top universities in the country and graduated, a degree richer and wiser on her departure. She had left university with a great deal of debt covered by an offered, open job. She was fit to start a career and would most likely have ended up successful and comfortably wealthy. All that was dashed when she managed to fall in love. I'm still unsure as to how, or why, she let something like love get in the way of living but she did, as so many others do.
The man, or boy, himself was astoundingly immature. He was a few years younger than Lyra and certainly showed it. Not to say that he was short or particularly childish looking, but instead acted like an idiot with regards to important things in life. Whether it was intentional or not, he had come to fail university and lose his job, all through stupid ploys that gotten him the wrong kind of attention. Too lazy to get another, he was now penniless and single. It may sound enormously selfish of me-and I suppose it is-but all the while they were dating I was secretly hoping they would split up. I'd known it would be messy and emotional but it was for the better. When I got the news that the very thing I'd hoped for had come to fruition, I felt guilty. It's difficult when a friend dates an idiot since you come to wonder whether or not you ought to intervene. I suppose that's the way things are, though.
Take the police for example. If a police officer knows someone shot a man dead and stole his money and has cold, hard evidence that puts his name to it, he will chase him down and arrest him. He may even be brought to killing the man if he turns aggressive. That's on an impersonal level. Should that man be replaced by your friend, the policeman by you, what would you do? A friend of the past two decades does something awful and you ruthlessly chase him down and turn him in, as a result of him killing someone else? I don't think so. I think you would try to find motives and reason with your friend. What about if he killed someone close to you though? For example, your wife or husband? Would that change things? Why? Because it's on a personal level. The person shot dead previously was completely unrelated to you. Now it directly concerns you. Why would you feel it's right to exact revenge on your friend when they kill someone closer to you? What's the difference to everyone else? There is none. To the police, you would both be criminals should you react to it.
I suppose what I'm trying to say is that sometimes the lines between right and wrong become blurred, especially for someone like me. Emotions are fickle things that are made from so many moving parts that slide and twist over one another in an effort to click together into a single, solid human being. My emotions run crazy. I suppose you could blame something biological like my genes. Most would just blame me for being unable to control myself. Outbursts like mine are something that people expect me to control or at least suppress. Would that be better in the long run? A bulging, compressed box full of emotional outbursts that will eventually explode from within? No, because then I would no doubt be that person who is being chased for murder.
Lyra understood all about my problem. She understood that aside from having a split personality I was the most mundane of people. Through extensive and prolonged treatment I had managed to overcome the disease, especially with thanks to the woman who now sat across the table from me. She looked at me questioningly as I stared at her and smiled, lost behind my own eyes. A glaze had fallen over me like a doll in plastic packaging, and she sensed that I was mulling something over. "What's up?" My stream of consciousness retracted back into my eyes and I blinked, startled.
"Huh?" I hadn't even noticed that, since I'd made tea for us both, I'd been staring right at her without saying a word. "Oh, nothing," I said as an automatic response. Was anything up? Probably not. With hindsight, I had no problems worth complaining about then. "Why?" She simply reinstated the fact that I hadn't even tried to voice my thoughts. "Sorry, I was miles away." I looked down to my cup that sat on the table between both of my palms, steam drifting effortlessly out from its center. Though I risked lowering the mood, I had to address the elephant that stood in the corner and dominated my thoughts. We were both thinking about it, since it was such a raw topic. I found it hard to purposefully broach such a touchy subject. Controlling it now, however, was better than letting it slip out and bringing down a lighter conversation in the near future. Judging by her expression that betrayed both an eagerness to express her thoughts and a begging of me to not mention it, she knew it was coming. "How are things with Ma-"
"Matt?" She began, the question obviously being intended as in some way rhetorical. The conversation that ensued was filled with Lyra pretending to be talking with me about it; rather, she was convincing herself of everything she said. The only reason I was there was to make it a conversation, rather than some sort of strange monologue. "...I don't need him. I'm better off without him. From now on I can just-" I had been staring intently at the wisps of steam drifting from her untouched tea and so saw her hands tighten about the handle as she stopped mid-sentence. I waited briefly for her to carry on but was greeted only by silence. Making eye contact with her was something I had been attempting to avoid, simply through habit. Figuring she had gotten sick of me appearing to be paying little attention, I looked up to show her I was still listening. It wasn't that. In fact it was nothing to do with our conversation. She was staring, wide-eyed, over my shoulder.
"Just what?" I lifted my hand to wave jokingly in front of her face. "Lyra? Hello?" Without taking her eyes off the wall behind me, she grabbed my hand and held it unceremoniously against the table.
"In the window," she let go of my hand and pointed over my shoulder. "It was in the corner." Certain that she was scared-namely due to her expression and newly adopted skin color-I followed her gaze and looked hesitantly to the window. I saw nothing but shadows of trees outside, dancing in the wind and casting their own shadows on the insides of my window. There was nothing else there: I assumed that she had been startled by mere shadows. In order to make sure, I stood awkwardly in the small space between the table and the counter, stumbling in the process and landing with both hands on the counter. Lyra had fallen completely silent and I too, to my own annoyance, felt a need to be quiet. We both remained silent with bated breath as I boosted myself onto my tiptoes to lean over the sink and peer through the glass.
The glass was dotted with the miniature mirrors that had been falling from the sky since early that previous night. It was by that point early morning; it was unlikely that anyone would be in the streets, let alone my garden. A small path ran down the sides of my house and stretched along the front, spanning the long distance between corners. The kitchen in which we resided made up one such corner, the path running outside of the window between the house and the bushes. I awkwardly opened the window, cool air and the sound of rain flying eagerly into the room and being hungrily gulped up by the close atmosphere that hung so heavily in the room. My breath drifted visibly out before me as I panted, the minor exertion of getting into this position had me tired already. Leaning forwards had my feet lifting from the floor and my top half lying across my sink as I stretched to look both ways along the path, tiring myself out even further. The window I'd chosen was set in the wall just before the turn to the front of my house. Had I chosen another window, I would have perhaps had a chance to avert the panic that followed and instead get away with my nerves intact. I didn't, however, and made the mistake of giving the all clear. Just as I was pulling myself back into the now cool air of the kitchen, an irritating buzz pierced the air and made me jump and bang my head on the protruding window frame. Lyra jumped too, audibly, and I turned to see her especially spooked. I had no time to question her, and instead gestured towards the door. She shook her head, almost pleadingly. Her reaction was more valuable to me than I knew. All the same, I took it in but made no effort to react, and instead walked to the door, expecting Trick or Treaters.
It's a common characteristic of us, as humans, to meet anything other than what we are expecting with disappointment. We could be expecting a solid gold block outside our door. When we open it and see that there are in fact fifty silver blocks of the same size, we will be disappointed. When we think logically, however, after overcoming the initial disappointment, we see that the blocks are actually worth more. I answered the door expecting a golden opportunity to teach those kids a lesson, should it be them. Or otherwise make any opportunists vanish into the night. When I saw an old woman, standing in an odd silver shawl that seemed to act as a mirror; miniature sequins embedded into the material reflecting any light attempting to illuminate her shadowy face. I thought logically and remained decidedly disappointed. As a result of her attire, the old woman seemed to repel light and shroud herself in the darkness hovering about my doorstep. Her appearance was one I would expect to see in a movie, after having had a team of specialists alter lighting conditions until she looked convincingly menacing. Effectively rendered a silhouette, she spoke out against the scattered spattering of rain drops, "Is this your house?" A cynical comment such as 'haven't you ever heard of saying "hello"?' was urged to slip its way through my lips. I typically made a habit of not insulting people-though sometimes that could be considered impossible. There are times I do say something cynical and often come off worse for it.
"Part of it yes, why?" She stepped forward, clearly agitated or impatient, her head beginning to be touched by the light drifting aimlessly from my porch light.
"A simple question demands a simple answer, child." You'll have to forgive me for being so childish but I found it difficult to take someone seriously while they sounded like they were quoting directly from an old movie. I also find it difficult to remember exactly what she said: expect exaggeration and bias.
"Yes," the owner wasn't home for most of the year so I may as well have been the owner. "I'm the owner."
"Good... now tell me, Owner, what do you know of it?"
"All sorts of things." She leant forwards again, a low hiss of air signaling her irritability. She was quite the highly strung woman. "A vague question demands a vague answer."
"Then have you noticed anything... strange?"
"No. What is this about?"
"Nothing strange at all?" I vowed this to be the last question I answered. Most likely due to my answering of it being unintentional and on an impulse.
"Nothing," though curious regarding her motives, or rather what on Earth she wanted, I myself wanted her gone.
"Then you are of no use to me." Taking a step back, she moved further into the shadows, removing any possibility of illumination. At the same time, she looked to my right, outside of the house, and nodded. At this point, had I been wearing shoes and appropriate clothes, I would have leant around the wall to see what she was nodding at. That would most likely have killed me and you would never even be reading this to begin with. Let's just say I'm now thankful that I hadn't leant around and instead saved the cat from curiosity. Around the corner walked a tall, male, muscular figure. It, too, was shrouded in darkness to the point of appearing as a silhouette. Aside from its unnatural height, reaching almost to the door frame, and its strange, bubbling breath that gurgled and rasped its way noisily into the air, it was a certain characteristic that alerted me. Rather, two characteristics. For one, it was hell-bent on getting inside as it strode purposefully up the access ramp to my door. For two, a long, sharp-looking instrument shone in the dim light as the shadow pulled it from his side and let its point drop, singing threateningly, to the ground at his feet. A brief pause as I took in the point to which this surreal situation had escalated, and then clumsily threw myself backwards. I slipped on the carpet and was moved further than I intended, the two visitors tensing at the same point as the freak stood, appearing somewhat confused. "Well! What are you waiting f-" The old hag's command was cut short to me as I slammed the door and awkwardly chained it. As the chain slid into place, the door jolted inwards and launched me backwards with an unsettling force. I used my new-found momentum to step back to the door I had originally come from and opened it.
Lyra stood, her hands on the table and her eyes wide as she stared at me, having barely moved since I'd left the table. "Lyra! Come on, let's go!" I had no idea where to but I certainly insisted we went somewhere. The door's persistent buckling was becoming increasingly pained as Lyra walked, almost trance-like, into the hall. As a last minute thought, I reached around the door frame and pulled out the first knife from a board I kept on the counter. The board fell from around the knife as I picked it up, scattering sharp implements at my feet and causing me to convulse my way out of the kitchen in an effort to avoid them. I didn't bother to close that door, and instead reached around to grab Lyra's hand and run up the stairs. I had originally intended to run to my bedroom, and for all intents and purposes did do. I somehow, however, ended up inside the bathroom, closing the door as the front door to the house gave way.
The freak stood into the light as I closed the door, the mere sight of the thing sending my hand to my mouth to stifle an involuntary whimper. I closed the door and locked it, the image burned onto my retinas: the tall figure being in reality stunted; his legs tied together at the knees by a wire that had nearly cut through the final strand that held thigh to calf. It walked with a truly supernatural gait, almost drifting along the stairs. Its eyes were fixed on me from above a tube that ran all the way from its mouth, between its legs and disappearing behind its back; the eyes themselves being invaded by an encroaching crust of skin that had congealed and formed a new layer of burnt matter atop the charred original. The skin was approaching from all sides, with chewed ears and a neck that lay open to the elements all being invaded by the same green-brown matter. Muffled exclamations of what I imagined were pain came closer as the creature cracked and groaned its way up the stairs. Now I understood why Lyra had appeared so stunned when she saw it in the window: it was something to be afraid of.
I locked the door, firmly, fruitlessly barring it with a stool that I knew would be of no use. I cast about for an exit, standing on top of the sink in order to reach a window set in the wall. A huge crash sounded out from both the door and the sink as the first bent inwards from the force of the creature's ramming. The latter made itself known as the sink fell from the wall and crashed, sending me sprawling on the floor towards the door and the knife flying dangerously from my hand. Lyra looked at me for a second, concerned, before returning her gaze to a wall by my side. I felt a chill from the selfsame spot she was staring so fixedly towards, and so looked.
Set in the wall, surrounded by commonplace bathroom tiles, was a gaping hole in the wall. It was perfectly rounded and surrounded by strange symbols scratched into the walls yet somehow appearing red. Next to the hole, amidst a sea of foreign symbols, were a few legible letters:
There is a hole here... gone soon. Hurry!
The middle of the phrase was obscured by a tail of one particularly large character. My brief speculation as to what the full phrase would say was cut even shorter when another ear-splitting crash came from beside me and a hinge flew from the top of the door. Rationality was, from that point on, thrown out of the window as I stood, picking up the knife hurriedly and beckoning to Lyra who surprisingly eagerly climbed into the hole without further prompting-though she had said very little, she clearly wasn't too dumbstruck to act for herself. Another crash and I felt something heavy fly just inches behind my back as I leapt forwards and attempted to clamber into the hole. A repulsively viscous grunt and I was moving faster than ever before, a heavy footfall directly behind me seeing me lunging forwards to the best of my efforts in the cramped space. I hit my head on the roof and turned, dazed, to see that the visitor hadn't attempted to give chase into the tunnel and was instead standing in its mouth, returned to a now-unconvincing human silhouette.
Its gurgling panting followed us all the way through the tunnel for what felt like an eternity, its form unmoving each time I turned to glance back. Eventually it, along with the mouth of the tunnel, faded into the distance and a new mouth opened up before us.
Lyra's (more readable) perspective (add it to the url):
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