Elmer pried his eyes open while air made its way into his lungs as his breathing stabilized.

His body felt weak and his eyes were blurred with bits of drowsiness. It was as though he had just woken up from a long sleep.

But if that was the case, then why was he not lying on his bed, why was he instead surrounded by, and standing barefooted, on things so thin and feathery. Where exactly was he?

The drowsiness clouding his eyes gradually cleared up, and Elmer slowly made out where he currently was.

He towered over a field where bees and butterflies danced upon varying blades of soft grasses and wildflowers which crept up to his shin, spreading out as far as he could see—bar the lushness of the greenery of trees circling at the far end.

Then, a gentle breeze whooshed past him, bringing with itself a soothing blend of the scent of the flowers that covered the area. They almost filled Elmer with peace until he caught a whiff of a light and fresh scent, and it was at that moment he saw them. Hiding beneath the green and cream colored grasses were little sprouts of purple—the purple of lavender.

Elmer shuffled backward in fright as the haziness muddling his mind elucidated.

This was… No. That was in no way possible.

He examined the area, squinting his eyes just enough so he could glimpse anything to confirm his suspicion. And when they widened again, it was in shock as he saw an oak tree exposing its roots while teetering in something of a tricky balance between standing and falling. Elmer felt his insides quiver at once.

This was the meadow in Meadbray…

But how.

Elmer suddenly recalled what had happened prior to now. He had taken the elixir, and he was in the bathtub when—

He glanced down at his exposed stomach, his eyes frantically searching for the fists that had been punching them from within, though he saw nothing. It was almost enough to relax him, but his mind immediately raced again in fright as more thoughts stormed it.

Was he dead? Elmer wondered as his heart palpitated. Had he turned into a Lost? Was this what it felt like to be a Lost? That was not possible, was it? The landlord had said he would see a door or something. How could he have died or became a monster without seeing any?

Elmer threw his eyes around, searching for the door, stairs, and even himself—for anything that would give him confirmation that he was in the illusionary dream world his landlord had told him he would go to after taking the elixir. And that came when his eyes unknowingly went up to the sky and glimpsed the sheer absurdity of what hovered above him.

Ten suns curled about one another rested in the cloudless blue, each as golden and beautiful as the other.

Elmer shivered, almost collapsing from the sight when something of a sweet whisper—one he felt a strange, but strong connection to—came without notice from behind and blew through his ear with a weirdly hushed call of his name, “Elmer.”

He instinctively responded to the call by swiveling to where it had come from, but just as he changed his position so did the time of day.

The whole scenery which had been brightened warmly suddenly had itself cloaked in a cold, crimson darkness. And this time Elmer collapsed into the meadow with a sharp gasp as he looked up at the starless sky to see ten dismaying blood-red moons circling about one another in the place of the suns.

His breathing quickened for a short while before he stopped it with a deep exhale as he reminded himself that he was in a dream world, nothing more, nothing less. He just had to find the door—or stairs—go through it and it would all be over.

Elmer rose to his feet and turned back to where the whisper had come from, and some ways away from where he stood was a small cottage which loomed in the shadows.

He let out a breath and took in another, the cold air blowing through the night doing nothing to make him shiver more than he already was.

Where there was a cottage there was a door. That was his door. Elmer told himself as he strolled toward the looming building, ruffling the flowers of the meadow with his steps.

As Elmer found himself before the door, he tilted his head with a shallow sigh at the sight as a tingle pricked his heart. There was something fairly familiar about it, but he could not guess what exactly.

He would have believed that this dream world was made up of everything he had ever seen, if only the suns and moons had not made sure to disparage that thought.

He stretched his hand and took hold of the door knob, turning it open and making his way into the complete darkness that made up the cottage’s inside.

Elmer stood stiff and silent in the pitch-black of the cottage unsure of where to take his next step or what next to do? He had passed through the door already. How long was it going to take for him to wake up as an Ascender?

As he cuddled himself in his thoughts, then did the room suddenly light up, laying bare who and what made up its interior. And with the prior concealment of the cottage’s interior ripped apart came chants of words Elmer had never once forgotten.

“Praise Azrael. Praise the God of Souls. In the black of night we beseech Thee. With the words of men we call to Thee. Praise Azrael. Praise the God of Souls.”

Elmer shrank backward, his limbs shaking as his heartbeat turned sluggish.

“I’ll kill all of you, and your God too.” Elmer turned his blurring eyes to the end of the room where a boy was chained and a childish figure dressed in a black robe stood before him. “Wherever he is I’ll find him and kill him. I'll spare no one no matter how much you beg. None of you will live.”

No… Elmer felt tears swell in his eyes. I don’t want to see this, please no…

He took a step backward before quickly turning the way he had come in from, but to his heightened dread, there was no door to leave through.

Tears trickled down Elmer’s cheeks as he frantically banged on the wall, punching and kicking as he sought for a way to leave this accursed cottage, but all he did proved futile.

“It’s all your fault,” a soft voice said suddenly, putting a stop to Elmer’s bangs as he creaked around slowly to see the little boy in chains staring at him with protruding eyes. “It’s all your fault.”

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

Elmer shook his head. “No,” he said with a weak voice. “It was not my fault.”

“If you had not taken Mabel out she would still be with us now, she would still have her soul. It’s all your fault!”

“No!”

“Elmer,” the same sweet whisper as before called to him again, and this time he knew why he had felt a strange connection to it. He turned his head to see all the six priests glaring at him, and Mabel sitting down on the table with a glint of sadness in her drab, sunken eyes. Suddenly, her eyes abruptly widened as she bared her teeth at him. “It’s all your fault!”

Then they all chanted the words together. The priests, his younger self, and of all people, his sister.

No. Elmer felt a pain in the back of his throat as their words filled his ears, forcing him to grasp his head while his back slid down the wall as he fell to the floor.

“Please, no,” Elmer begged. “It was not my fault. It was not.” He shut his eyes and curled his head deep within his arms, but the chants of the words kept intensifying, echoing toward him with a growing tempo, until he shouted, “It was not my fault!” Then the voices faded, and even though his eyes were shut he could notice that he was no longer in the cottage.

Elmer hesitantly opened his eyes through his paced breaths and uncurled himself from his cowering before he rose to his feet, his legs still weakened and shivering.

He was not sure where he was, all he could see was a vast tract of pure white which stretched infinitely in every direction.

There was no roof, but there was no sun, moon, or stars either. There were no doors or walls, but there were no ways to leave as well. It was as though he was trapped in a boundless expanse of white.

“You haven’t changed.” Elmer unwillingly froze as he heard those words, while he glimpsed wisps of thick, white smoke swirling about each other to form the outline of a hand creeping over his shoulder.

Suddenly, the hand retreated, and an ethereal figure which looked like it was being blown away by the wind appeared before him. It had the form of a faceless silhouette, made from the coalescing of tendrils of smoke twisting about each other in something of a dance of milky fog.

Elmer creased his eyebrows as he watched the smoggy silhouette float around in what he sensed was a cheerful manner. He surprisingly did not feel fear or pain near this figure. It was as though he was very familiar with it, like he had known it for a very long time, even far longer than he had known his own sister.

That was not possible. Elmer closed his eyes and shook his head. It was this place—this dream world. It was making him feel things.

“Why were you crying?” Elmer opened his eyes to see the silhouette floating beside him, streaming about in the air as it moved from place to place in the vast white. “You know it was not your fault, so why were you crying?” It had a soft voice, like the whisper of wind on a sunny day in the meadows.

“Because I saw her,” Elmer answered. “I saw that scene again.”

The silhouette had flown so far down the expanse, but after Elmer’s reply it appeared in a flash.

“You cried because you saw her?” the silhouette asked. “That’s pathetic, Elmer.” It swirled around him.

“How is it pathetic to feel pain?” Elmer queried, his voice without anger.

“You want to help her, but you cry?” It scoffed. “No wonder you haven’t figured it out. You are a special grade blockhead.”

Elmer was meant to be angry at those words, he knew, but he could not get himself to be vexed. It was as though something was stopping him from expressing his emotions.

“Figured what out?” Elmer asked, and the silhouette flew to wrap its smoggy arms around him from behind.

“Who I am,” it said with a chuckle before floating away again.

Elmer closed his eyes and sighed. “Who are you?” he asked, but the silhouette echoed a laughter instead from wherever it was.

“Figure it out yourself,” the voice appeared suddenly behind Elmer. “If you want to leave here. If you don’t, then I’ll take over your body.” It giggled, but before it could float away again Elmer replied.

“You are me.” And the silhouette halted its flight abruptly.

“Wait, what?” It brought its faceless face toward Elmer’s. “What did you say?”

“That you are me,” Elmer answered.

“You did not even think about it for a moment.” It pointed to its head—or something Elmer chose to see as one.

“Some see gates, some see stairs, some see doors, and some see themselves,” Elmer narrated. “That little man told me this. I didn’t see a gate, no stairs either. I walked through a door but I ended up here instead. And all that’s left is ‘myself’. And also, it’s weird that I can’t seem to get angry at you for some reason.”

The silhouette circled behind him. “And what if you’re wrong?” It said eerily.

“Then I’ll just try again,” Elmer told It. “You never mentioned how many times I could keep going.”

“Blimey bugger!” the silhouette exclaimed while swirling about him continuously, before it came to an abrupt stop close to his face. “Let me take over your body.” It’s voice was still as soft as the whisper of a wind, but this time it was a tone harsher. “You’re weak and pathetic. Give your body to me and remain here instead, that will be far better for both of us.”

Elmer still could not feel anything for his smoky counterpart, and it made his reply easier. “No,” Elmer said. “I have a sister to help.”

“Really?” the silhouette said. “What can you do on your own?” It rubbed its makeshift hand over Elmer’s hair, and to Elmer it felt as though a cold air was brushing down on him from his head.

Elmer raised a brow. “I’ve done a lot on my own. You should be asking yourself that question, seeing as I have the body not you.”

“Are you sure?” The silhouette sprang at him, its voice echoing harshly before dying down.

“I won’t let you have my body. I have no intention of doing such. So it would be better if we stopped wasting each other’s time.”

The silhouette retreated from Elmer’s face. “You said I am you, then aren’t you even a little bit frightened that one day you might wake up and find yourself completely gone, and I’m all that’s left in your place?”

He would have been if he could.

“No,” Elmer told It. “Because that will never happen.”

The silhouette laughed and twirled about in the air. “We shall see.”

As the silhouette’s voice echoed eerily in the distance, the boundless expanse suddenly filled up gradually but quickly with water, and with its unexplainable materialization returned Elmer’s emotions as a gasp escaped him.

He thrashed about frantically as he found himself engulfed wholly by the water in less than a second, forcing him to shut his eyes as it filled his mouth and lungs until he was no longer able to breathe.

But just as he felt his life slipping away slowly from him, then did a voice sweep through the sinking depths of the water, a familiar voice which brought with itself the word: tenant.

Elmer drew in his breath, then coughed out water as his eyes opened up.

“Seems ya did it,” his landlord said as he helped him sit up against the cage’s wall on the outside.

Elmer looked around agitatedly, feeding his eyes with the shelf ladened with glassy materials, the stove standing beneath the window along with the cauldron seated on it. He was back. He survived.

As Elmer’s breathing stabilized slowly, his landlord left him and wobbled back to his table, and then Elmer noticed a warm feeling about his chest. He looked down and saw a crest carved into his flesh. Elmer could not clearly see what exact design it was, and caressing it just felt like he was touching his skin, uninjured and scarless, as though nothing was there.

What was the crest? Elmer pondered through soft panting. Was it something of a trademark that confirmed his new status as an Ascender? If that was so, why was he not feeling any different from before? He was still the same Elmer he had been before crossing into the dream world. He could feel nothing, so exactly what change or metamorphosis had he undergone by becoming an Ascender? And…

What pathway was he in?

Suddenly, his landlord returned and threw his things on him, dispersing his thoughts like strong wind through a shallow fog.

“Leave this city,” the man said, his voice nervy and bitter. “Ya an Ascender of the Pathway of Souls.”