I followed him up worn stone stairs, past the rusted iron railings, and into the brick building that loomed over us. It was an unsteady mix of the very old and the very new. The bricks looked as if they had been laid yesterday, but they were mixed in with stone that had seen the beginning of the world. None of the windows matched, which was quite an accomplishment because there were no less than fifteen on the front of the house. Gables and awnings stuck out at odd angles. The three chimneys tilted and I wondered how they were still standing.
It was the doors that took the cake though. They were made of planks of wood, each a little less than a foot wide, held together with iron bolts. The two bronze knockers were each lions heads, their faces frozen, one into a horrible grimace, the other into a contented yawn.
His knucklesrapped lightly at the door on the right and it swung open.
"Remember, all you have to do is knock."
Inside there was a hall that stretched on forever. The floor was covered with a single rug and there were portraits of all sizes and quality covering the walls. Doors of all shapes and sizes led offon either side. They were all closed.
I felt a faint breeze, first from behind me, then switching direction. It was like the house was breathing. A deep, steady breathing.
Safe.
No.
I couldn't be.
I followed him down the hall, trying to count my steps. But something wasn't letting me. A faint buzzing inside my skull would catch me at it and then it would be gone. So I started over.
Sixteen.
Seventeen.
Static.
Nine.
Ten.
Elev-
Satic.
Th-
Static.
I tried again and again, but it only caught on sooner and sooner. My heart started pounding in my chest. I could feel the blood rushing through my veins, draining from my face to puddle in my stomach.
I started shaking.
I folded my arms, trying to stop the trembling, but it only made it worse.
I had to stop walking. My legs shivered from a cold that only they could feel. My breath caught in my throat.
He turned and looked at me.
I tried to tell him what was wrong, but words wouldn't come out. My tongue glued itself to the roof of my mouth. It was dry. My lips cracked, letting a rattle of air out instead of words.
By I didn't need to tell him. He already knew.
"He can't get you here. No one can, unless you let them. And I'm here to make sure you don't."
I pried my fingers off my arms, not even noticing the blood I drew with my fingernails. I licked my lips, or at least tried to; my tongue was still made of sandpaper.
"You're safe."
He said what the house had been trying to tell me earlier. But I couldn't believe it.
"It will take time."
I couldn't tell if that last thing I heard was him or the house. Or both.
Finally we stopped walking.
At the end of the hallway there was a mirror. I stretched from the ceiling to the floor. There was no frame around it, just mirror from wall to wall. The hallway inside it stretched on and on.
I was half afraid to look at it. And I don't even know why.
I screwed up my courage, or what little of it there was, took a deep breath, and looked at the mirror.
I shouldn't have.
I wasn't there.
He was.
He was standing with a slight smile on his lips, his hand rising to rest on my shoulder.
My shoulder that wasn't there.
I tried to ask, but my lungs wouldn't give me enough air to finish a word.
"I'll explain tomorrow." His eyes in the mirror met mine. "Sometimes it's better to let things wait for the morning."
He led me through the door on our right into a bedroom.
A fire burned cheerfully in the grate, casting an orange glow over all the room. A deep brown wooden bed dominated the room, heaped with blankets and pillows. All the fabrics were slightly faded, more comfortable for their wear. There was a small table next to the head of the bed with a lamp, some books, a pitcher of water, and a glass.
He offered me a change of clothes, blue and white striped pajamas. I sank into the bed, my eyes closing in spite of the answers I didn't have.
That night I slept.
I slept, but I didn't dream.
AN: So, after nearly 6 months later I have another chapter. I think I've got this whole school/writing thing figured out now. At least until juries. Real life has thrown me for a couple loops in the past while, but I'm pretty good now. And, with any luck, I'll get back on updating in a timely manner.
Kid Blink's Dreamer- Thanks and I'm glad you like it!
Liams Kitten- It is Spot. And I hope it keeps kind of making sense and thank you for reading!
Silky Conlon- It's not even close to the end yet. It's just beginning. And I hope her dad stays safe.
madmbutterfly713- I can work with Ethel… 3. Thanks for reading!
DorkyColaGeek730- Thank you! I'm sorry you had to wait so long for this chapter…
christianrockstar- That's probably one of the best compliments I've ever gotten. Thank you!
Corpus Conlon- I haven't read anything by Alex Garland, but I think I will. The style I was trying to get for this story was a Neil Gaiman meets Charles de Lint meets the Gun Seller…but I'm not too sure how that worked.
