A.N. General disclaimer for all things copyright. I do not own the characters, setting, or lore utilized in the creation of this piece. My work is inspired by the creative thought of the original authors
She awoke to the smell of blood and rot.
She gagged, cringing at the terrible stench, her mind heavy with a drowsiness. She blinked heavily and sat up, leaning on her knees, and looked around.
She was back. Back at the school. Back to the locker.
She screeched, an involuntary shout at the horror, and jumped to her feet, her body already moving toward the far wall. She hit it with a force that knocked the wind from her lungs, her eyes wide as she stared at the set of lockers before her, as if they would come alive and rend her apart.
They had already been the death of her once, she supposed.
It took a minute to calm down, her breathing changing to erratic to barely controlled, hitching with anxiety and fear. Why was she here? What about the workshop? The field of flowers? The doll and the creepy white creatures?
Did she really die? Was it all a dream?
One look at the vents of her locker, clogged with filth, dripping with rotted strands of blood, told her otherwise.
She saw a roach exit one vent, near the bottom, and enter through one near the top, where she had been screaming out of.
She turned and ran.
Her lungs burned and her legs ached, her body flushed from her flight. She blew through the doors of the school with but a moment's pause, squinted at the blinding sun as her eyes adjusted.
It was daylight. It couldn't be past five.
Her mind whirled and she looked down at her watch.
4:36pm
That made no sense. She had spent hours at the workshop, exploring every nook and cranny of the place, and the books alone had taken more than a couple. What was going on? Did time work differently in the workshop?
That brought up another question: why was she back? What had happened? She remembered nodding off, soothed by the calm of the fire and the sweet smell of the flowers. Next she was on the floor, just feet from where she died.
She felt a spike of worry. How would she get back? Could she even get back? It was such a good place, free of problems and stress. More, it was her space, a location that nobody could touch, that no one knew of. What would she do without it?
Tears prickled at her eyelids and she inhaled deeply, gathering resolve.
Focus. Your back home. Its just a little over an hour after school. Get home before dad worries.
She briefly appraised herself. Her clothes, once dirty from the filth of the locker, were just as fresh as when she at the workshop. Her personal affects were likewise untouched. It was like she was never there, just a bystander to a terrible event.
She would never forget how it felt.
She took a step and started walking.
She didn't stop till she got home.