Blink…Blink….Blink…
Why does that little cursor blink? Honestly, who designed this program and decided that a little blinking cursor would be a good idea? I thought uselessly to myself. I was beyond tired; I had been tired six hours ago. Now I was into the beginning stages of sleep deprivation, which was accompanied with frustration, sore eyes, and mild hallucinations.
It was ridiculously late at night, and I was sitting at my laptop staring at the blank white page of a new word document. Without a single thought of what to begin typing in my head. Sighing, I decided it was time to resort to one last pathetic attempt at creativity. I'd need help though.
I'd need…a muse. It was dangerous, getting a muse. I keep them all in my dorm room closet. Sure, I have no place to put my clothes, which are currently spread out on my bed and stuffed in bins under the futon. And yeah, I'll admit, it's a pain not getting to have friends in my room for fear of them hearing the muffled pleas for help.
But in situations like this, keeping a few muses on hand is well worth it. I wandered over to the closet, preparing myself. I was sleepy, but I needed to be quick if I was going to grab one. They all fight among each other, thankfully. If they got along they might be able to work together and plan some sort of escape for the next time I open the door.
I took a deep breathe, and picked up the nearest object that could be used in self defense. In this case, a curling iron. I placed my hand on the doorknob, looking down once more at the other hand gripping the hair styling device.
Okay, yeah, not the most terrifying thing. I'd have to remember to pick up some mace next time I go grocery shopping…Wonder where one would go to find mace? …Ah doesn't matter now… I grimaced and jerked open the closet door. Immediately, there is a rush for the exit from within. I blindly beat them back with the curling iron and grabbed an arm. No idea whose it was. I gave a tug, someone came tumbling out, and I forced the door shut once more.
It took all my strength to get it to click shut, and then I turned the lock. Turning around, I looked to find out which muse I grabbed.
Ah. Lord Voldemort.
Wow…He looks pissed. He was standing there, right in front of my bed, crimson eyes burning. Yeah, I'll admit, he's a pretty scary dude. Pretty creepy too. His skin's all white and wrinkly like a mushroom, and I don't even want to know what happened to his nose.
He took a hissing breathe before beginning. "AVADA KED-"
"Wow, Voldy, haven't we discussed this before?" I interrupted, holding up a hand.
His eyes narrowed furiously. I shook my head. "You can't kill me because, one, you don't have a wand, two, you're in my world, bitch, and three, you're most likely a figment of my imagination…I can't tell for sure, though, that was a lot of sugar," I explained, motioning to the pyramid of empty mountain dew cans and candy wrappers.
He began pacing, which is something he does a lot of, I must say. I could practically see the evil little gears turning in his head. "You have kept me prisoner here for quite a while…"
"Yep," I agreed, settling back down in my desk chair. The room was filled with his evil aura, which I must say is impressive. Not many people can exude evil. Can you? Didn't think so.
Voldemort finally stopped pacing and turned to look at me, calculating. "I am…prepared to do what you wish, in return for my freedom. What do you want of me?"
YES, score! About time! He's always had such an attitude, never willing to help me out with a story. The excitement was probably showing on my face at that point. "What do I want? I want whatever brilliant, diabolical thoughts that are swirling in your head right now!"
He smirked, which is odd to see on a man with no lips. "Right this moment?"
"Yes," I confirmed. His smirk grew.
"Well, I was pondering the best method of torture for you, and of course how I should kill you, seeing as I don't have my wand…Would you prefer to go out with fire or perhaps something more subtle?" His red eyes sparkled with malice.
I pursed my lips, before deciding he must be grumpy from not eating in so long. "Want a burrito or something?" I offered. He stared. "I think I have some pizza rolls…"
I got up and checked the mini fridge. "Yep, have pizza rolls. Interested?" Voldemort actually looked puzzled. "…Is that a no?"
His left eye twitched. "No, I do not want your…pizza rolls," he managed to spit out eventually.
I shrugged and shut the fridge door, returning to my seat. He began his pacing once more and I watched his cloak sweep behind him. Until it knocked my alarm clock off my nightstand. "Hey, watch it with the grand sweepy walk thing!" I objected. "You got any good ideas or not?"
Voldemort sighed before leveling me with a glare. "Ideas for what, exactly?"
"Duh, my story!" I motioned to the laptop on my desk.
"That is why I am here? To provide you with material for some story?" He asked in disbelief.
"Yes…You have to have something good in that crazy head of yours!" I insisted.
He pressed a palm to his forehead in further irritation. "What sort of story is it?" he hissed.
"Dunno yet, I suppose it could be anything…I'm not really in the mood for humor though," I told him. Voldemort set his jaw before settling down on my futon. A few silent minutes passed, rather awkwardly.
"How about a romance?" He finally suggested, sounding rather tired.
I blinked a few times, surprised that Lord Voldemort would suggest romance as a theme. …But who am I to judge? Perhaps he has a soft spot for it in that decrepit old heart. Then again… Wasn't his weakness his lack of love?
"Um, no offense, Voldy, but… I seem to remember something about you never learning how to love. So how the hell are you going to help me with a romance story?" I demanded.
Voldemort sneered. "I may have not loved anyone-" he snorted, amused at the thought, "but that doesn't mean the idea never interested me."
I cocked an eyebrow, curious. "You were interested in love?"
"Of course I was interested in it, when I was younger. I saw that it was a source of power, of strength, for some…I also saw that it was a great weakness and brought about many wizards downfalls. Dark magic was a source of power far greater than love, so inevitably I avoided such needless entanglements all together," he explained, staring into the corner of my cramped little room, lost in some sort of memory.
" But you considered it at least?" I pressed, somehow intrigued by the idea that a young Voldemort could, or would, fathom such emotions.
"Yes, I did. I was young…I was always planning my future, always preparing. But at such a young age I was still somewhat foolish and…distracted," he concluded, grimacing.
"How young are we talking?" I asked. "Because I don't know if you've noticed, but I've got a seventeen year old you in there," I said, jerking a thumb back in the direction of the closet.
"Yes, I've noticed," Voldemort snapped. "He's aggravating."
I started laughing. Voldemort leaned back, surprised by my sudden hysterical sobs. I struggled to control myself. "Sorry, its just…you annoy yourself! That's pretty damn funny! Though, I suppose if I had to hang around a younger version of myself, I'd be pretty aggravated too."
Voldemort inclined his head slightly, perhaps in agreement. I'm pleased to see that his attitude has improved and that we're almost getting along. I mean, sure, he's probably not getting a warm fuzzy tingling feeling for me, but its something….
Then an idea occurred to me. And I felt brilliant.
"You know I've never lucked out and grabbed him," I stated nonchalantly.
Voldemort raised an eyebrow…Or where an eyebrow should be. "What?"
"Tom Riddle. I shoved him in there way back when I first kidnapped him but I haven't managed to get him out, ever…It's hard to be choosy, I sort of just grab whoever's in front. Normally I get stuck with Dean Winchester or Edward from Twilight…"
"Who?" Voldemort looked mildly curious.
"Hm? Oh, Dean's a hunter of the supernatural and Edward's a vampire. Don't get me wrong, they're nice guys, but…Sometimes I'm just in the mood for a young, mentally questionable sociopath. You think if you went back in there you could convince Tom to come out?" I asked finally, smiling hopefully.
Voldemort's expression turned from vaguely bored to calculating in a fraction of a second. "Perhaps…I might be able to convince my younger self to come out. He's been trying to assess the situation, and make a plan before allowing himself to be put in a vulnerable situation. But I could make it happen. For a price," He adds, smiling eerily.
"Let me guess that price. You want me to let you go," I state immediately. He nods slightly. "Okay, we have a deal. You go in there and convince Tom to come out and have a chat with me, and I'd be willing to let you go. I don't really need two of you, anyway…And no offense, but he's cuter."
Voldemort actually made an insulted face at that before standing. "Fine. I'll go in. It should only take five minutes. Wait and then open the door, he'll be in front. Then you can let us both out."
I nodded. "Sweet, lets do this." Voldemort swept grandly back to the closet door. I undid the lock and pulled open the door. He fought his way inside, and I threw my weight onto it to make it shut once more. And then I waited.
And waited. The alarm clock lay on the ground where it had been knocked, and I read its numbers upside down. Eventually I cracked open another mountain dew and took a few sips. Then, finally, the five minutes was over.
I went back to the closet door, eagerly opening it and forgetting to arm myself. Big mistake. A teenage boy was indeed in the front of the pack, and standing for a few milliseconds. But then the rest saw that the door was open and rushed forward. The black haired young man fell forward out of the small space, crashing down onto the floor. Lord Voldemort followed, attempting to extricate himself from the others and get out.
I slammed the door on him. I know, I know what you're whining about. I did make a deal with him but you have to understand, I can't just let Lord Freaking Voldemort go waltzing out of my dorm building at four in the morning.
So yeah, slammed the door on Voldy, who was attempting to push his head and arms through the crack nonetheless. "We had a deal!" He roared angrily.
"Yeah, sorry, I lied!" I squealed right back.
"AVADA KED-"
"DOESN'T WORK!" I taunted, turning around so I could push on the door with my back. I planted my feet on the floor and braced myself. It was then I got my first good look at Tom Riddle.
He was sitting right there on my polka dotted rug, silent and furious, dark eyes shadowed as he watched me struggle to shut the door. Not even two feet from me. Tom Riddle.
I could have giggled. Instead I grunted. "Are you gonna help me with this?!" I asked angrily, attempting to kick the door shut. His face tightened, eyes alight.
"No." He stated simply.
I growled and with one last burst of strength, managed to cram the door back into the jam. "Success!" I shrieked, turning my back on Riddle to lock it once more. From inside the closet I heard Lord Voldemort give a muffled wail. "Sorry, Voldy, but if you're hungry you should've taken the damn pizza rolls when I offered them!" I reminded him.
"Who are you?" Tom Riddle's voice came from about two inches from the back of my head. A bit surprised, I whirled back around, slipping and grabbing onto the wall to steady myself.
Riddle had rose and was now standing in front of me, beautiful angelic face so close I could see a tint of red in his dark eyes. His voice had been quiet, repressed, but completely dangerous. Still, I couldn't help myself… I tilted my head a bit, observing every feature his face offered. After all, he was just a product of an overactive imagination, right? Not as if that dangerous voice could really harm me.
Evidently he was impatient, however. "Who are you? Why are you keeping me here? Where have you got my wand? I want my wand and I want to leave-"
I held a hand up. "Bit demanding, aren't we?"
In a flash his hands were on me. One on my upper arm, forcing me back and against the wall, the other at my throat.
"I don't need my wand to harm you, though it would be preferable," He purred, towering over me. The elegant, handsome features of his face combined with his deadly manner made him seem like some sort of demon. And suddenly I was doubting my earlier assumption that he couldn't hurt me. I was positive I wasn't imagining the way his fingers bit into my arm, how my pulse beat beneath his stone cold fingers at the hollow of my throat.
"Dude, there's the door!" I exclaimed, gesturing behind him. "Leave, if you want to! Damn! I never had trouble controlling you guys before!"
Confusion flashed for a second on his face. "What? Controlling us? Explain."
"I will, just please, you're hurting me…" I looked down at his pale white hands. He loosened his grip but didn't drop them. "Right. I don't know how to explain it…I've got a crazy imagination. You get it? You…You're just here-" I tapped my head with my free hand. "In my head. I mean, I just sort of imagined jumping into all these stories and taking characters, and then I sort of create situations…When I'm bored, when I want to get ideas, for stories! I don't know how to explain it! You're not real!"
Riddle actually seemed alarmed by that and took a step back, releasing me. "What do you mean, I'm not real? I feel perfectly real."
"Well, I uh… I don't know! Before none of them actually tried to leave this room, though when you think about it, it'd be quite easy…I'm not exactly built. No, I don't know," I breathed. "You can't be just my imagination, I would never imagine you this way."
He sneered. "Really? Sorry to disappoint. But I think you're insane. I'm not sure…how I got here, or how this all happened…Come to think of it, I'm not even sure how you fit all two dozen of us in that closet." Riddle's eyes stared over my head at the small closet in back of me for a moment. "But it doesn't matter…I'm leaving."
"Fine, leave," I pouted.
"Give me my wand and I will, gladly," he said. Oops.
"Yeah, about that…I don't have your wand. I never imagined you with one. And since I'm pretty sure, no matter what you say, that this is all a weird hallucination…You'll just have to do without," I explain. Riddle's eyes flared, but he said nothing more. He just strode gracefully to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob.
"You said none of them have tried to leave?" he asked quietly.
"Yes…I mean, I never actually considered what would happen…Theoretically, you should be able to leave, right?" I shrugged. How should I know? Reality and logic didn't apply to this situation.
"Theoretically?" he repeated sharply.
"Yep." Riddle's head turned partially so he could throw one more piercing glare my way, before turning the knob and pushing the door open. He stood for just one moment, perhaps contemplating the large picture of a T-rex on my door. Then he seemed to make up his mind and stepped outside of my room.
Tom Riddle took three steps down the narrow hallway, and then simply disappeared. Faded away to nothing. I stood, mouth hanging open slightly, staring at the spot that was now completely empty but had previously been occupied with an attractive seventeen year old boy.
Eventually drool dribbled down my chin and I was forced to shut my mouth. Silently, I promised myself that I would never again imagine conversations with characters I wanted to write about. Not when this sort of freaky stuff happened.
Then I shut my door, which had been left ajar, and collapsed onto my bed. …Never again…