POV: Vaan Klein
A hazy world of blue, embedded with green and bronze gossamer fibers obscures my vision as far as the eye can see. I can identify nothing else in all directions, all that lingers here is me and the stench of sulfur.
"Again?! Every night you bring me here!" I yell into the void, an equal mix of anger and resignation clouding my thoughts. "Every night I'm forced to stand here and be subjected to your stench. Reveal your intentions to me or begone from here you damned void of odorific ass!" I stop my angry rant from going any further, realizing to my embarrassment that I'm yelling at air. Even more embarrassing is the fact I'm doing it while dreaming.
On further reflection, I am also perplexed. I've dreamt of this same place for years. I had never been able to speak or move whenever I dreamed of what I termed the "stinky void." Until now that is.
I instinctively genuflect, reciting a standard prayer to the patron saint of my hometown so that I may escape this stench. It's a desperate last resort as I was never one for the religious side of things.
"I never told anyone other than my brother, not wanting to come across as a nihilistic emo or something equally unattractive. it always just seemed too illogical and read like a comic book to me. But in this instance, I'm not exactly in a logical situation, am I? I would say this is a pretty comic book-like situation."
Shaking me from my reverie the veil around me begins to ripple like raindrops hitting a still lake. The gossamer threads of green and bronze slowly rusting over, taking on a crimson hue.
"Was this in response to my prayer?" I think to myself, taking note that maybe I should visit the church soon and pray my brains out if it gets me away from this crappy place. I continue to watch the spectacle before me as part of the veil rips open violently with a loud thrum.
"Odd as usual, this dream continues to confound me. I cannot see the other side." The rift seems almost like it's consuming the light around it, appearing to be of the blackest shade available.
The stench reaches a crescendo. I decide to do away with my caution and enter the hole to escape my sulfuric prison, coughing and gagging along the way. Once on the other side of the rift I stop to take a deep breath and instantly regret it.
Bile climbs its way up my throat from deep within and spews forth like a geyser. Interestingly enough it finds purchase on the newly appeared pavement beneath me.
"A welcome change from just floating in a void, but that doesn't make up for the assault on my olfactory receptors. Why did I not associate the rip with the increase in stank smell?" I mutter to myself sardonically. Trying to my best ability to cover my nose and swallow my bile I am unsuccessful, leading to a second puddle of my own design as well as a few streaks of vomit finding a new home on my trousers.
A minute goes by as I try to catch my breath. Finally, I stand up from my kneeling position, my fortitude battered by the waves of nauseating air and cast my eyes upon a truly alien scene. I am standing on a sleek black puke-covered pavement leading from seemingly nowhere. Towering hundreds of meters above me in the distance resides an endless number of individual columns as far as the eye can see, each carved out of the bottom of a mountain of shining black rock resembling obsidian.
Each tower claws into the sky, defiantly holding up the entirety of the mountain above against all logic. Ancient and forgotten runes etched in silver adorned the sides of each tower of rock, telling an indecipherable story of an unknown magnitude. Even from so far away, a single glance at the unfamiliar language sends a screaming bolt of pain into my very being.
Looking away from the writing quickly, I hear a whisper from the same stone pillar I had looked at. sometimes feminine and sometimes guttural the voice continued for a few seconds before gradually fading. "Over my dead body!" I scream out, turning on my heels to reenter the rift.
Only, the rift I entered through had already closed, leaving only a faint line as evidence it had once existed. I decided to wait a few hours to see if the rift would reopen or if I would wake up eventually. The line periodically convulsed but other than that it showed no signs of reopening, my only reward being a somewhat mid laser show.
My mood understandably sours at the idea of what I have to do. "Fine. let's walk into the creepy maze of columns, it's just a dream anyway." I console myself in vain, noting that the pain and stench here is too real for any normal dream. Turning towards the looming towers I subconsciously glance at the writing again, resulting in another wave of pain and nausea. "Nice job, idiot" I whisper through gritted teeth, now keeping my gaze focused only on the pavement in front of me.
A few seconds of walking later the realization strikes me, my face paling considerably. "The whispering voice... why didn't the whispering voice return when I looked at the pillar a second time?"
I had assumed that the whispering was coming from the pillar itself, the reasoning behind my assumption being that the pillars already seemed mystical, what with the strange writing and me being in intense pain every time I looked at it. A new theory was forming in my head.
It now felt like there were thousands of formless gazes set upon me. behind any of these pillars could be whatever voiced those hellish whispers. "Look, there is no way I'm going in there. dream or not I care too much about living." Engaging in the old pastime of talking to myself I decide to pray to the same saint that got me into this mess, slightly modifying the standard prayer to fit my query.
"Oh, patron saint of abundance! The six-winged herald, the bane of the child of pestilence, a devotee of the Chained Creator! I beg of thee, heed my-" Before I can finish my prayer the entire mountain and its pillars seem to shudder, a powerful shriek reverberating throughout the area. although fearful of what creature just made that noise and the fact that it seems to have set its sights on me, I can't help but notice my arms.
My once pale ivory hands have now become saggy and grey like the back of a shriveled deer tick, adorned with bulging rust-colored veins that pulse rhythmically to the tune of my heart. Bzzt! From behind me, the rift reopens, a corona of arcing rust-colored bolts flaying everything in its path.
The droning whispers of myriad voices from before now return with a vengeance, seemingly drilling into my very being. looking towards the rift's corona I ponder my choices. "I can either take my chances with an unknown, yet clearly dangerous creature or I can risk getting electrocuted by an angry door" Interrupting my thoughts another shriek echoes throughout the area seemingly closer and more offensive to my sense than it was before.
"Alright, door it is" I mumble before turning and running to the rift at breakneck speed. within 5 yards of the door the corona seems to object to my presence, thousands of tongues of crimson snaking around me. bypassing my physical body the lightning seems to flay my very soul piece by piece, time slowing to a noticeable crawl. 3 yards. 1 yard. with one foot through the rift, something strikes a blow to the left side of my head.
Falling through the rift, my consciousness fading, I turn my head to see a second projectile zooming toward me. A brown lump resembling a giant sprouted seed of some kind with rusted thorny metallic vines wrapping around it is only meters away from my face. I close my eyes, knowing I may never open them again.
The last of my consciousness fades away, only the primal instinct to live being the last thought that enters my mind. a kaleidoscope of colors, an unknown passage of time. a buzzing sensation followed by the periodic stabbing of a spike into my mind. I awaken with a blood-curdling scream. Sweating bullet, my eyes trace around a darkened room, the imagery only revealed by the weak rays of a half-moon sky. absent-mindedly my mind registers a door to my right and an antique desk of Victorian origin resides to the left of it.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
"My room? oh god, of course, it was only a dream" Finally my new situation registers amidst the rhythmic spikes of pain. "Perhaps the headache is a byproduct of my stress?" Amid my thoughts, an intense thirst clouds my mind, an unusual taste of iron registering amidst my taste buds. slowly, I rise from my bed on both hands and look towards my nightstand, spotting a pitcher of water and a lone empty glass.
Pleased by my proactiveness I quickly fill the glass with water before downing it with gusto. downing glass after glass my thirst cannot be satiated. aggravated and feeling even thirstier than before I grab the two-quart pitcher, draining every last drop down my gullet. the buzzing in my brain intensifies and so does my thirst.
I look back down at the now-empty pitcher. momentarily pausing in thought before nodding my head, I rise from my bed and walk past the desk, opening the door next to it. the door leads me into a hallway, rays of moonlight weakly illuminating the outlines of a dim L-shaped hallway. Passing the rooms of my brother and sister on the left I continue to the end and enter the ajar door of the washroom.
Inside resides only a six-legged freestanding tub and a small Venetian fountain that my brother had salvaged and modified into a sink. The bronze wall-mounted slate fountain has intricate reliefs circling a corroded and blackened silver faucet. Under the faucet a small half-bowl drains into a final larger bowl. Brother always brings home strange objects that he has obtained from working at the antiquarian society.
I am pretty sure he's not supposed to keep or alter any of them though. Another pang of thirst overcomes me, my trembling hand rises to the faucet spigot. Turning it, the half bowl slowly fills with water before pouring out through three separate channels. Impatience and thirst override my sense of decency. licking my lips I put my mouth to one of the bowl's gulleys, slurping relentlessly.
As the minutes pass the water trickles down my chin, soaking both my shirt and trousers before eventually pooling around my bare feet. the fog in my mind intensifies and so does my headache but finally, my thirst dissipates. "I am glad the taste of iron is gone, but now my clothes are soaked. who am I kidding? why did I just do that? what the hell is going on with me?"
Mumbling to myself with a non-small amount of fear and puzzlement, I turn off the sink and return to my room to change. "It is too dark. I need to light a candle." Reaching into the desk's left-most drawer to pull out a translucent jasmine-scented candle and a metal tin. Popping the tin open with a clink reveals six matches and over a dozen striker sheets.
"Man, I need to buy more matches unless I want Sister hogging up my bed again." Our neighbor, Derrell the local coroner, always chews out me and Brother, saying that a six-year-old being afraid of the dark is simply a result of us being unable to "rear" her properly. a surge of anger engulfs me momentarily. "We are all she has you piece of shit" I whisper, grabbing the match and striking it against the striker sheet.
I push down too hard, causing the head of the match to snap off. inhaling and exhaling slowly I try to calm myself before pulling out a second match. two strikes are all it takes before the match ignites, revealing my hands. Blood. layers of dry and wet blood almost entirely coat my hands and shirt. Streaks and flecks course across my pants and arms.
Freezing in shock I let the match burn too long searing my finger before going out, plunging me in moonlit darkness once more. My heart beats out of my chest, my body involuntarily shaking. my teeth are gritted so hard I can feel the shifting bones begin to ache. "Did I not escape the dream? How do I escape!?" The thought thunders into my mind, accompanied by the renewed feeling of a railroad spike being jammed into my head.
"I need to assess my condition!" I yelp, unbuttoning my shirt and removing my trousers. I grab the third match and effortlessly ignite it, bringing it to the jasmine candle and lighting it. holding the candle in one outstretched hand I turn to the opposite side of the foot of my bed and approach a triangular full-bodied mirror in the corner. the mirror, given to me by Brother, is always covered in a tarp when not in use.
If I leave it uncovered it will shine rays of light onto my headboard, be it sunlight or moonlight. Unfastening the rope that is binding the cloth to the mirror, I proceed to yank down the cloth before backing up. A gut-wrenching sob involuntarily escapes my throat.
Standing before me lies a twisted mockery of a man once considered among the vainest. my skin, once white as ivory and bearing not a single blemish, was now the same as my arms had been in the dream. sagged and shriveled with rusted bulging veins shooting throughout, the only marked difference being the pus-filled sores that now adorned me, leaking in small but endless streams dripping down my body.
My navel, once covered in abs you could trace your fingers through, was now bloated and distended to seemingly impossible proportions. indeed, it was now so distended that it could not contain itself, the skin cracking from the strain of such rapid growth. looking closely at the blood gushing from my navel I noticed viscera poking through, wriggling as if alive.
I continue looking but I am forced to move on as incessant whispers begin to voice themselves from the shadows in response. looking upwards I see that my godly pectorals remain, but something beneath the skin wriggles, reminding me of maggots. it is hard to tell due to the unrealistic amount of blood dripping across my neck and snaking down around the front of my body.
The whispers are now growing louder so I brace myself and stop my procrastination. finally, my eyes reach my face. A sharp nose and chiseled but paradoxically soft outlines hidden under an impenetrable shell of old and new blood. Emerald green eyes pierce into my soul, partially obscured by a mop of crimson unruly hair. Or at least they should be. instead, where the side of my hair should have covered my left eye was gone, and so was part of the skull beneath. Pieces of gray matter and flecks of white cake my hair. Small shards of bone and a single giant thorn sit half-embedded within the exposed matter.
"It wasn't a dream" I mumble absent-mindedly, the shell shock finally setting in. A sigh slowly reaches throughout the room. A sigh so broken and defeated that it takes me a few seconds to realize I was the source of it. changing into brown cargo pants and a blue button-up, I take a deep breath before carefully putting on my silk top hat. A moan of pain exits my lips when the hat pushes the thorn slightly deeper into my brain, but continue putting it in place, hiding the gore beneath. Finally, I turn away from the mirror and stumble into the hallway, the whispers slightly fading. I find myself at my brother's door, clear of my reasoning. "I do not wish for him to see me this way, but if I don't see him now..." I dare not finish my sentence, tears streaking down my face.
Bracing myself for the worst my hand turns the doorknob, pushing the door open. what greets me is a dark and empty room of a similar size to mine. within which is only a small bed, a desk, and a shelf filled with many antiques from different eras. "I forgot, Brother said he was going to the Mercy tavern tonight to see his friend off." A lump forms in my throat at the thought that I will never see him again. "at least this won't be the last memory he has of me" I console myself before closing the door.
Walking to Sister's room I slowly open the door to not wake her before walking in. Inside is a room twice as large as mine, filled to the brim with easels, canvases of all sizes, painting supplies, a mirror, a chair, and a single queen-sized canopy bed with rose drapes. Brother and I had toiled endlessly for many seasons to afford the expensive art supplies Sister had asked for, but regardless of the criminal prices, the smile on her face made it all worth it. She has never known the love of a mother, so we do the best we can.
The whispers that had faded over time now return, my body breaking out into a cold sweat. I grab the chair as quietly as I can and bring it next to my sister's bed before sitting in it. Gazing upon her face I see her gently smiling in her sleep. Perhaps she is having a nice dream? "It looks like I won't be able to be the big brother you wanted me to be, I'm so sorry I can't be here to watch you grow up, Evie" I whisper with a hoarse voice, tears running across my face in streams.
I do not know how much time I spent watching over Sister. Minutes, maybe hours passed. The fog in my mind continued to grow and so did the pain. the only thing that breaks me from my trance is the rumbling of my stomach. "I guess I should go prepare my last meal," I inwardly joke to myself in a morbid tone. Getting up from the chair I freeze. Footsteps! I dart to the side of the door as quickly and quietly as I can, the footsteps growing louder. "Gah!" a faint sound of Big Brother wincing can be heard. "Why did that selfish bastard have to hit me so hard?" I hear him mutter. The doorknob jiggles before slowly turning and opening. Big Brother peeks through the door at Sister for a few seconds and then closes the door before heading into his room, bumping into things along the way. when his door finally closes, I realize I have been holding my breath.
"I changed my mind. I can't do this to him. I'll wait till he's asleep before leaving. It's better if he knows I'm dead but doesn't have to see me like this." Sitting back down in the chair another hunger pang wracks my stomach, making me grit my teeth. "Why does it feel like I haven't eaten in weeks? I've never been so hungry." Part of me wants to raid the pantry regardless of the risk, but a greater part of me wins out and I stay in the chair. As the minutes pass the hunger grows. Five minutes pass. Ten minutes, then twenty. the hunger grows so strong I begin to feel like I'm going to black out and the room becomes tinted with a shade of rust in my vision.
As the next minute passes my vision fades completely, replaced only with rust. I cannot feel my body or anything else other than the sounds of whispering, as if I've entered a dream. slowly, new sensations enter my mind. A scream. A soft whimper. Gurgling and ripping, followed by warmth and a sweet metallic taste that makes my heart race. After that, an impending sense of wrongness, followed by nothingness.