In Twain, Part 1_Accursed

Darkness. Nothing but black as far as the eye could see. Ishmael Rabin felt weightless drifting among this sea of nothingness, eyes slowly adjusting to the fact that there was simply nothing to perceive. This was not his first time here, he knew, though it was the first time he was so keenly aware of it.

As usual, his last memory was of collapsing into bed with a half-read tome in hand. He’d learned to not fight the sudden drowsy spells after a week of close calls in the university corridors, though he hadn’t learned what caused them. He thought it may have been the weather at first, or perhaps diet. He was a long way from home up in these cold reaches, after all.

But even after a couple months of acclimation, he couldn’t seem to shake them. He considered that he may have become anemic, but that seemed unlikely as well. He was never the most athletic sort, but neither was he particularly frail. Average, one could say. In too many godsdamned ways.

Almost as if reacting to that thought, alarm bells suddenly sounded in Ishmael’s mind. Had something just brushed against his leg? He willed himself to move, but the most he got out of his body was a frantic twitch. Still asleep, he supposed, even if his mind was active.

What other options did he have? His senses seemed dulled. He had assumed it was because of his dreamlike state, but as he felt something brush against his back, he began to suspect it was something sinister. Nothing from his ears…nothing from his nose…what about his eyes?

As he put all his focus into his sight, he found something. A chill ran down his spine, his thoughts dissolving into a mass of panic. It was still nothing but pitch black in his vision, so why? What the hell was going on?

How were there shadowy silhouettes in pitch darkness?

Ishmael felt something wrap around his torso, a tendril of the same shadow that surrounded him. The darkness that had felt tranquil suddenly became deeply claustrophobic, pressure beginning to mount on his body as more and more tendrils wrapped around him.

Within moments, his legs were bound. Another moment and his arms were gone, buried beneath the cloistering darkness. His eyes went wide with panic as one clamped around his nose and mouth. No air.

He began to thrash about, or at least tried to. Not only was his body not listening to him, but even if it was, the tendrils had layered on too thickly to allow him much movement. He was reminded of how his younger sibling had been swaddled when they were children, layers of cloth binding their movement. Of course, they never had their breathing obstructed.

He could feel his heartbeat racing, his eyesight beginning to dim. He had precious little time left.

An eye opened before him, a pupil like smoldering coal ringed with gold.

It was huge. Was it because it was too close? Was it Ishmael’s mind playing tricks on him? Or was it simply that large? It was impossible to tell. It regarded him with what he could only assume was curiosity, at the strange little plaything that had wandered into its realm.

Ishmael was used to feeling out of his depth, but never so utterly and completely as he did under this thing’s gaze. He could feel himself trying to shrink back, to wake up, to be anywhere but here, but it was no use.

One final tendril was snaking its way across his forehead, leaving only his eyes uncovered. He was fading fast from fear and asphyxiation both. And then, a sudden voice echoed across his mind.

“You.”

His mind was suddenly ablaze, a thousand needles pricking into his psyche and unraveling it thread by thread. He tried to scream, to shout, to writhe, but there was nothing. He could do nothing. The last few threads of consciousness began to fade as he managed one final baleful look at his captor. If nothing else, his last act would be defiance.

Ishmael Rabin was undone.

He awoke with a start, bolting upright in bed. Light was just filtering in through the far window of his dorm, the telltale sign of sunrise. Quite a bit too early for his tastes, but there was nothing for it. He was simply happy to be out of that godsforsaken nightmare. His memory was having trouble grasping at the actual contents, but the anxiety in his mind and the trembling in his body were unmistakable.

He cast a glance about, taking in the tranquil sights of his dorm room. Well, tranquil for him. Even among the academics of St. Myriak’s, there were only a few that would call this disastrous pile of tomes and papers home. They covered his desk, his bedside stand, his bookcases…even the floor was home to no few books, stacked up as unobtrusively as possible in the corners.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

He simply didn’t have enough room to store his collection from home and his borrowed library tomes. There was too much to learn.

At least it seemed unchanged from last night. No books knocked over, no papers scattered. He could put to rest the worry of the nightmare extending into the real world. Though the effects on himself were another story. The trembling would stop eventually, he hoped, but he could at least do something about the sweat covering his body. He moved to remove the bed-

…Wait, was there something under his sheets?

He cast his covers off to behold two things. One, for some reason, he was nude; his sleepclothes were squished between him and the bed, along with the half-read book of last night. More importantly, the thing under his sheets revealed itself to be a young woman, curled up under the far side of the large bed. Who was also nude. As he watched, stunned, her eyes slowly opened, looking up to behold him.

“WHAT THE GODSDAMNED-”

Both their voices shrieked in unison, mercilessly cutting through the morning silence before surprise at the other cut them both off. His hand reached out to grab her shoulder, and hers did the same. As they clutched each other, both of their eyes widened.

“What is this?”

Again, in unison. They released one another, seated on either edge of the bed, staring each other down with suspicious eyes. He became dimly aware of a foreign sensation, of something soft brushing against the small of his back. Hair? But his hair wasn’t that long.

He reached up to grip his scalp to confirm, as did the woman. What he found surprised him. His hair wasn’t long enough to create the suspicious sensation, but it was most definitely longer than he remembered. Another oddity.

He cast a glance at the woman again, only to see she was doing the same. He raised a hand, and she followed. Experimentally, he reached behind his head, moving as though he was lifting invisible hair. Sure enough, she did the same, and as she scooped up her own hair, the sensation on his back lessened.

“Oh no.”

A sudden knock on the door startled the both of them, causing the hair to fall back to normal. “You okay in there, Ishmael?! I heard a scream! Maybe two!”

Ah. They’d woken the dorm neighbor. Mellick was a reasonable sort, and in a normal situation they would’ve appreciated the check-in. This, though, was most definitely not a normal situation. Clearing their throat, they called back.

“I’m fine, just a nightmare!”

There was a pause from the other side of the door. “Is there somebody else in there? I didn’t think you were the type to have people over.”

Ugh. Stupid, nosy, perceptive Mellick. They hauled themselves up from the bed, noting again that they mirrored one another. This was going to get complex, fast. Still, they managed to arrange it so that he was up against the door and she was farther back, sidled up against a bookcase. Hopefully with this distance, he’d be able to talk without Mellick hearing them both. “It’s complicated,” he muttered through the door.

“Complicated, eh? Well, I won’t pry into somebody else’s relationships.” A pause. “Are you okay, though? You don’t sound quite right.”

Huh? Was his voice different? He spoke up again. “E-everything’s fine. I promise.”

“I believe you, but I gotta make sure as the prefect. Open up, will you? Just to poke your head out.”

Ah. Mellick was in some position of power like that, wasn’t he? He’d completely forgotten. He opened the door the barest amount, peering through the crack at his next-door neighbor. “This fine?”

Mellick was clearly dressed in his own sleepclothes, but he still managed to look as collected as ever. With tousled brown hair and warm hazel eyes, he stood a head shorter than Ishmael. But as he turned to look, his expression contorted in…confusion? “Who the hell are you? Ishmael doesn’t have hair that long, or eyes that color.”

“I…what? I’m Ishmael.”

“And what’s with that echo? Are you trying to scare me off?”

“No, it’s not like that, I-”

“Okay, that’s enough. Change of plans. I’m coming in.”

He barely had time to react before Mellick barreled through the door, nearly crushing him behind it. Of course, the prefect didn’t make it far before he saw the girl, still naked. Mellick paused, immediately averting his eyes only to see that the room’s other occupant was naked as well. He took a deep breath, turning his gaze up towards the ceiling.

“What the hell is going on?”

“...I don’t know.”

Mellick’s gaze flickered, obviously confused. “I…Okay. They’re naked, talking in sync, and neither of them is Ishmael.” There was an awkward silence as he did his best to look anywhere other than the occupants. “Let’s get you both to the medical office. I think. But put some clothes on first, will you?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll wait outside."

Mellick left, closing the door behind him. They shared another glance, concern writ plain on both their faces. What was happening to them?

In Twain, Part 1

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