Exchange Fic #7: Vanishing Act (4/4)
The actual identity of the writer will remain secret until all the submissions are in and posted.
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Title: Vanishing Act, Part Four
Author: rachael1918
Recipient: themsmine
Prompt: A Labyrinthian ghost story - give me the creeps. Jareth/Sarah preferred, but not absolutely necessary.
Rating: T
Plot Summary/Author's Notes: Sarah is gone and Toby makes it his life's mission to find her.
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Chapter Four
I was deep into middle-aged and years past my second divorce when my mother died, leaving my childhood home empty. When I returned to the house after the funeral, I was shocked by how fresh it seemed. Nothing about the place indicated two people had died there in the last three months. It was all exactly as I remembered it, from the rigid position of the doormat to the tacky, artificial lilies in the vase by the stairs. It even smelled clean. When I sniffed, I could detect the whiff of polish in the air.
As I moved further into the hall, I found that everyone looked immaculate. Though my mother had been bed bound for the weeks leading up to her death, the appearance of the house gave the impression she'd died clutching a duster and a bottle of cleaning solution. Everything gleamed, from the tiles of the kitchen floor to the glass coffee table in the longue. I almost expected to see my parents sitting stiffly on the sofa, staring at the TV screen and stringently avoiding eye contact.
After checking that the rooms downstairs were in good order, I walked upstairs to check the rooms there. I went through them one by one, and found them all spotless . The bed in my parents' room looked freshly made, the bathroom reeked of anti-septic, and my old room had the gutted look of your standard guest bedroom.
I hesitated before opening the last door, the door to Sarah's room. I hadn't entered it since I was seven. The reality of my sister's disappearance - of the mysterious man who had vanished along with her, her vain, cold-hearted mother - made my childhood imaginings of cackling monsters and phantom sobs embarrassing in their naivety. I could accept that such things had frightened me as a child, certainly, but as a grown man? I would have to be a fool. I told myself I'd experienced an unlikely combination of real sounds and real sights - rats scrabbling about amongst the rafters, wind trapped in the walls, a dark, cavernous shadow. Even Linda's derision couldn't match up to my own. Turning the key set in the lock, I opened the door and walked inside.
Though the rest of the house had seemed vaguely weird in its perfection, the strangeness of Sarah's room was unmistakable. It didn't simply look well kept, it looked lived in. The window was half-open, inviting waves of cool, summer evening air. I could smell flowers. The duvet was turned over, the sheet covering the mattress riddled with veiny creases. I walked further into the room, marveling at it. Every detail of the room exuded life. Toys - a rag-doll, teddies, stuffed-animals - had been arranged on Sarah's bed in a ring, as if they were being used in a game.
My initial sense of amazement was quickly replaced by anger. I was baffled by how someone could have gotten into the house to play such a disturbing trick. The only person with a key to the house had been my parents' solicitor, who had the appearance and general demeanor of a corpse.
I was about to leave and call the solicitor's office to demand an explanation when I noticed the source of the sweet smell in the room - flowers, fresh and dewy, were scattered over Sarah's dresser. They had clearly been picked earlier in the day. I approached them with a lump in my throat . It was just too bizarre. The solicitor had given me the keys to the house days before, when I first returned; no one had been in the house since. I approached the dresser cautiously, reaching out to touch one of the flowers - the petals were soft, tactile.
Recalling the decayed flowers that I'd seen as a child in the top drawer of the dresser, I yanked the top one out. There were more flowers inside: daisies, bluebells, chicory. They rested above Sarah's possessions - make-up, the odd novel, a few china ornaments - all of which appeared as fresh and vibrant as the flowers. There wasn't a speck of dust in sight. I left the drawer open as I moved away, gradually turning to look at Sarah's wardrobe.
Though I was fifty-six, the sight of it made me feel like a little boy again. I had to fight an urge to shrink back from the thing, as I had hidden behind my father as a child. The other aspects of the room - the perfumed air, the unmade bed - heightened the dread. I don't know why I didn't run from the room then, but something compelled me to stay, walk forward, and open the wardrobe.
Sarah's clothes were still stored inside, clean and sweet smelling. When I pushed them aside to look at the back of the wardrobe, I found they were still soft. I gripped the clothes as I stared at the back of the wardrobe. It was whole. That, I think, was the biggest surprise of all. The strange and illogical had almost become expected - I had anticipated a hideous gash in the wood but instead there was nothing. Though the rest of the room had sunk into strangeness, the wardrobe was entirely normal.
In that moment, I realized what my father had seen on the day my nightmares had started: - a perfectly ordinary wardrobe and a confused, hysterical child. Though many elements of the room were odd - the flowers, the scattered toys, the open window - none of them were truly supernatural. Looking back, I knew I'd made a terrible mistake. I had imagined the hole in the wardrobe, the gleaming animal eyes and my sister's sobs. My father had known all that, tried to comfort me, be kind to me. The truth was that I had scorned my parents over a delusion.
Something about the quality of the air struck me, catching in my throat. A woozy sensation overtook me and I staggered away from the wardrobe. Feeling thick-headed I moved towards the bed, sitting down in an attempt to collect myself. Sitting helped resolve the dizziness, but did nothing to combat the regular, thudding pain that had developed in my head. I lay back, lifting my legs onto the bed. I had to bend them sharply because the bed was too small to take me. With my body cramped up and balanced perilously amidst a tangle of stuffed toys and sheets, I felt faintly ridiculous. Nonetheless I closed my eyes and willed the pain to stop, only for it to intensify. Worse, I could hear laughter coming from the wardrobe.
Sleep was setting in, as well as a vague, cauterized sense of terror that swelled with the laughter. The laughter seemed to split somehow, coming from different parts of the room and rising steadily in pitch and volume. I feared I knew what the pain in my head was a symptom of - the onset of madness, the return of my delusions. Consciousness started to leave me yet an intense prickling sensation ran through the length and breadth of my body, as if I were being pricked by dozens of tiny claws. The sensation stopped when my eyes closed.
When I opened them again I was no longer in my sister's room. That struck me immediately, for I woke on stone rather than sheets. My whole body felt stiff, as if I'd been wedged in the same spot for hours. The air was stale and thick with dust. From the moment I became conscious, I had no doubt that everything I was experiencing was real.
Though the ache in my neck was considerable, I lifted my head to take stock of my surroundings. The entire room was formed of rough stones, most of them covered with dirt and strewn with straw and broken feathers. It had a high ceiling which was split into jagged shapes by a network of cracks. I was caught up in a pit in the floor which was just large enough to take the full length of my body. Summoning what little strength I had left, I sat up to take a better look. Besides the filth, the room was empty except for a wide throne formed of bones. Sarah was sat on the edge of the throne, staring ahead - I immediately noticed her eyes for they were a solid, impenetrable black. With the light and color of her eyes gone, she didn't quite look like my sister anymore. I only knew it was her by her beatific smile, the staple of her photos.
If I had been in a rational state of mind (and not, of course, dismissed the whole encounter as a nightmare), I might have wondered why she still appeared to be seventeen. As I was not, I simply stared. Her body was rigid and she did not react to the sight of me. She was wearing the tatters of a golden dress; the fabric was ripped and filthy, displaying wide slices of her stomach and thighs. She smiled slightly and her face, though streaked with dirt, glowed with health.
Spurred on by the sight of her, I got to my feet and approached the throne. I climbed the steps that led up to her, stopping as soon as I was within touching distance. "Sarah?" I called out, hoping for some alteration in her expression. There was no change; she continued to stare and remained still.
Her arm rested limply on the thick curling bone that served as the back of the throne, and I grabbed her hand. I flinched at how cold she felt, but didn't let go. "It's your brother, Sarah - Toby," I felt oddly moved by how small she seemed to me as a grown man - my hard, weathered hand looked clumsy when set around hers.
I squeezed her fingers, hoping to animate them with force. The pressure made her eyelids drop to a close. She muttered my name, "Toby?" I couldn't help but think how changed she sounded from when she had called out to me when I was a child. She had been shocked and alert then. Now, she merely sounded distant.
"Yes, it's me - your brother."
"Your skin feels rough." Her smile levelled out, becoming a frown.
"I'm old now. Middle aged."
"That's strange. I don't like thinking about that - it's sad. You were very young when I last saw you, weren't you?"
"I was three."
"I didn't want to go. You know that, don't you?" Her voice was strained; it seemed odd since her pose hadn't altered and her lips hardly moved at all.
Before I could answer, I heard a distinct scuttling noise and a solitary laugh. It sounded as if claws were cracking against the stone floor. I whipped my head away from my sister, but saw nothing. "Did you hear that?" I asked, looking back at her.
But Sarah didn't answer. If anything, she looked more rigid than before. I reached for her hand, but it was clamped around the bone of the chair. I tried to prize it free, but it wouldn't move. "Sarah!" I called out, my nails digging into her fingers as I tried to free them.
"She can't hear you. Nor will she move - I would prefer if you did not attempt to make her bleed."
I turned towards the speaker. He was dressed all in black, the component clothes so dark they blended into one another. Though too shocked to register it at the time, he had features in common with Jeremy - blond hair, a thin, elegant face and thin, slanting eyes. Though they were similar, I must stress this - they were not the same. I've never quite been able to work out the connection.
"Who are you?" I asked, alarmed by the violent thudding of my heart. "What have you done to her?"
A ripple of laughter swept through the perimeter of the room, the originators of the sound invisible in the shadows.
"I will be keeping my identity a secret. You don't look like the sort of man to be familiar with lore, but if you were you would know that names hold power. My name, in particular. Believe me; the last thing Sarah would want is for you to have the sort of power it can give."
"This is real, isn't it? This is where Sarah has been all this time."
"Of course it's real. You have touched your sister, haven't you? She is solid as anyone in your world - there would be no joy for me in possessing a ghost." He smiled broadly, as if he found the idea amusing.
"I was hearing my sister, then; she's been trapped here all this time." I spoke more to myself than the man. That realization, though I had always half-believed it, gave me a pang of sorrow. It was hard to breathe. I was shocked by the realization she had been imprisoned in some impossible palace of stone for decades. I was terrified by the thought she was being held under some terrible thrall that kept her cold and stiff. I despaired at the knowledge that I had no idea how to save her.
"You heard her reaching out to you, nothing more. She is attached to her family - you, her mother."
I moved towards him, Sarah almost forgotten as I focused on the man who had taken her away. He had an aura of strangeness so powerful that I felt thick-headed when I got too close to him. The sensation was familiar from when Sarah had called out to me when I was seven, from when I'd had a vision of her at her mother's house. I realized what it had been in a moment of astonishing clarity - I'd experienced the taint of another world.
I scrutinized him blearily. He was neither a prince nor a monster. He wasn't even a cackling sorcerer with a stiff, villainous beard. No, he looked appealing in the manner of an exotic creature contained in a glass case at a zoo - though he appeared attractive and his smile was inviting, I instinctively knew he was to be feared, avoided.
"This is too much," I said, shamefully close to tears, "None of this makes any sense."
"It won't and it never will. I can only apologize for your being here. Though she may not appear it, Sarah is powerful in some ways. She misses you, and summoned you accordingly. I will return you now, if you like."
He raised his arm in a strange gesture, his eyes flaring. I shouted - "No! I have questions. You have to answer my questions."
His lips twisted in annoyance. He sneered at me naturally, as if it was his default expression. "You may have three questions, and I am being generous with that offer - I owe you nothing."
"You owe me my sister. I thought she was dead. I've spent my whole life thinking I was hearing a ghost, going mad even. You've ruined everything."
"Have I really?" His voice was thin yet full of spite. "Then it is your fault for allowing loss to crush you. You have pined for something that is lost to you forever. Understand that this is your sister's home now. It has been for over fifty years."
I closed my eyes and took deep breaths. It was hard, but I managed not to shout again. "Why?"
"Why what?"
I opened my eyes to glare. "Why did you take her?"
"I had the best of motives - love. If you could recall a single myth or fairy-tale from your youth, you would know that dark lords generally kidnap maidens out of desire. If you cannot understand that, it is the fault of your mother for not reading you enough stories."
"If you love someone, you don't trap them. I heard Sarah crying - she just told me she didn't want to leave me."
"It is natural to be homesick, to miss one's family," I was repelled by how sincere he sounded. It wasn't a casual falsehood, no, it was a falsehood he had invested with belief. "She is, after all, a long way from her first home. You ought not to call me cruel for taking her from there; everyone has to leave their family at some point. Besides, you ignore how generous I have been. I have allowed her to remain in touch with you - I have given her every imaginable gift - I have even given her her mother. She has everything she has asked for that it has been in my power to obtain."
I had to bite my tongue not to ask about Linda. As much as I wanted to learn what had happened to her, I wanted to learn what had happened to Sarah more.
"How did you bring her here?"
"Simple - I took her. I offered her gifts, and she accepted them. In doing so, she indebted herself to me." He turned to look at Sarah and I followed suit. I started when I saw her - she was glowing, glowing so brilliantly it was almost unbearable to look at her. The scraps of her dress were knitting themselves together, the light healing the tears in the fabric. By the time the glow receded, the dress was whole again - a golden gown that shimmered when she moved. She smiled as she had when I had first looked at her, rising carefully from the throne and descending the steps to join us. She would have looked like an idyllic, storybook princess if her eyes hadn't been the same solid black as before. "Isn't she beautiful?" The man reached out for her hand, squeezing her fingers tightly when she offered it to him. "I gave her this dress, and she chose to wear it."
"But she didn't know what would happen when she put it on."
"No, but that's quite beside the point. Now, ask your final question. " There was a hard edge to his voice - it seemed strange alongside Sarah's unrelenting smile.
I panicked then, as I knew that I'd be sent away as soon as my final question was answered. Though I had no clue where I was, I was aware I was in another world. If I were in a normal place, Sarah's dress wouldn't have repaired itself; her eyes wouldn't have been black. Once I was sent away, I would have no sure means of getting back again.
To calm myself, I shut my eyes and breathed slowly. It was too much to look at Sarah and think at the same time, far too much. "What - exactly - have you done to Sarah?"
"Surely the sight of her speaks for itself. Look at her." It was hard to resist, but I did not open my eyes at his instruction. "She is well and healthy. I have shown her nothing but kindness."
"Her dress was in pieces," I kept my voice hard, set on answers.
"The fault of my servants. They can be most affectionate, but tend to forget how sharp their claws are."
As soon as he finished, Sarah spoke. Her voice wasn't quiet as it had been, no, it was shrill, urgent even. I opened my eyes only to find her smiling sweetly. The man continued to clutch her fingers and look at me steadily, oblivious to the fact she was speaking. "He is a liar. My dress was torn when I ran - torn by hedges, branches, his fingers when he caught me."
I felt unnerved by the way she spoke without speaking, but knew I had to continue. I had to maintain the dialog to keep him from sending me away. "Her face was filthy."
"She likes to explore. I tell her to desist, but she pays no attention - she is nothing if not defiant."
Sarah spoke again, voice high with indignation. "He is a liar. My face is dirty from the times I have tried to escape. I have endured every imaginable indignity in my attempts to leave this place. I have squeezed through tunnels, pressed myself into hedges and ran until I dropped down into the mud from exhaustion."
"Her eyes are black."
"A symptom of her journey here. She came a long way - such a journey does not leave one unscarred. Indeed, there is always a physical change, though the nature of it is unpredictable. Still, I find there is a certain loveliness to them. Don't you agree?"
Sarah spoke once more; her voice saturated with fury. "He is a liar. He left my eyes to begin with. He only plunged them into darkness because he couldn't bear their light, my sorrow. When he took my eyes he took my fight, leaving me calm, suppliant. The only part of me he has not destroyed is my mind. He cannot change it - it is the one part of me that remains true."
I went quiet. I had to swallow to calm my nerves. "You haven't told me the whole truth, have you?"
He said nothing, merely scowling. I saw his eyes dart to Sarah, and I think he might have muttered a few words while he was looking at her. Though free to twist the truth surrounding my sister, he seemed powerless to lie outright.
"I demand that you return Sarah. She hates you - she hates this place. You have no right to keep her here."
"Maybe according to your laws. What you fail to understand is that my laws are different- they submit to my desires. As long as she remains here, she will always be mine." He turned to look at my sister and the look he gave her made my blood run cold. There was a softness in his eyes that sat uneasily amidst the rest of his features. He extended a hand to touch her face.
"Stop that!" I yelled, but my rage had no bite to it. As much of the idea of his showing affection to my sister repelled me, there was something so tender about the gesture I struggled to object. The part of Sarah that had spoken to me before - the rage, the spite - had fallen silent. The Sarah he was touching had closed her eyes, a smile stretching across her face. With her eyes closed, she was easier to recognize. She was a simply a smiling young woman with black hair and a divine face. The gold of her dress seemed even more blinding than before in that moment, scorching me with its brilliance.
"I have already told you that I love her. Why are you surprised?" He asked the question with utter seriousness, stroking her cheek with his long, bone-white fingers. "You must see how content she is - how lovely. How young. You are old now. If you were to take her back with you, how would you explain her? Would she be your daughter? Your niece? Even if you could lie to others, you would not be able to lie to yourself. She has no place with you."
Though I hated myself for it, I knew he was right. Maybe things would have turned out differently if I had found her as a child. At seven, I could have perhaps pulled her through the wardrobe to safety if I'd been brave, ignored the eyes and reached in far enough. As it was, I was about fifty years too late.
"You have had your questions. Though I may have been selective with the truths I offered you, you have not been deceived. Now, it is time for you to say goodbye."
"Please, just allow me one more question. If you give me that, I'll leave without another word. I'll never return. I'll never go back to my parents house - I'll have the building knocked down, the room destroyed. Without that, there will be no way back for me. That's right, isn't it?"
"Yes," he conceded, a smile on his lips, "If the house is destroyed, there will be no way for you to return. I will accept your terms as long as you can swear to them."
"I swear."
"Perfect. Go ahead, ask your question."
"Did she ever ask for me?"
"She asked many times," he answered eventually, speaking carefully, "But I never took you."
"You brought Linda here, but not me. Why?" I couldn't help but wonder at the injustice of it. I wasn't really aware that I was asking another question - in retrospect, I'm surprised it was answered.
"Linda was unwanted - her career was fading, her family gone. You, on the other hand, have been a son, a husband, a man of purpose for your entire life. You must understand that I can only take those who have drifted to the margins of society - the aimless, the forgotten."
"You took Sarah; she was anything but unwanted."
"You misapply my logic. There are different kinds of magic - the magic that allowed me to take Linda is different from that which allowed me to take Sarah. There will be no more questions now - you will say goodbye and leave." His voice was taut, and Sarah's fingers had gone crooked from the intensity of his grip.
I couldn't bear it. For all his talk of love and gifts, he was cruel. He had eroded her life - her future was a blank, her past a muddied blur. Though I knew I was bound to fail, I had to make an attempt to save her. My promise forgotten, I reached out to grab Sarah by the wrist and tried to yank her hand free. I stared at her terrible, vacant expression as I pulled, despairing when it didn't change. There was no flicker of life, no trace of consciousness. I squeezed harder, and started to shout, "Wake-up, please. You have to-"
Before I could finish, my body was wrenched backwards by some invisible force, my back slamming against stone.
Darkness was above me, wiping out every feature of the room. When I finally made out the man, only his pale face was visible. His eyes glowed in the darkness, blazing with power. "Since you broke your promise, it seems I will have to keep it for you." With that, the darkness became total. Laughter resounded in my ears; my failure stung even as I slept.
When I woke up, I started to cough instantly. The room - Sarah's room - was filled with black smoke. When I got to my feet and staggered to the door, I saw flames licking the door to my parents' bedroom across the hall.
Though it was a struggle to breathe, I made it to the stairs. I could just about reach them without succumbing to the wall of heat that barred me from the rest of the corridor. Dripping with sweat, I half ran, half stumbled down the stairs. My back felt the full force of the heat, throbbing from it. I fell upon the front door and staggered out. As soon as I was on the blessedly cold, ice-crusted lawn, I dropped down in a dead faint. It was a different kind of unconsciousness from before - calmer, more restful.
I came to in a hospital. My whole body was sore, and when the doctor came over to speak with me he told me every inch of my back was bruised. "You had a hard fall. Can you remember what happened?"
I lied of course, telling him I did not. The bruises were thus dismissed as being tangentially connected to the fire. When I reflected upon the situation later, I found it appropriate that the bruises were explained away so easily. Everything strange and supernatural I had ever experienced had been made to submit to logic; over the years my parents, Linda and my doctor had all dismissed me in turn.
Before the doctor left I asked him what had happened to my parents' house. He didn't know, so I rang their solicitor as soon as I had the opportunity. The man's astonishing dullness proved to be a credit to him, having something of a cathartic effect on my nerves. His voice was a passionless monotone that managed to suck every trace of jeopardy from the situation, and that was exactly what I needed. "Much of the upper floor was lost. Everything that was not destroyed by the fire was soaked by the efforts of the state fire service."
"Was anything saved?" I asked, though I couldn't think of anything in particular that I wanted. I had lost all attachment to my old room, my sister's photos. My memories (I still consider them visions in certain moods, though no less real for the distinction) were far more tangible.
"I'm afraid it is not my job to know that, Mr Williams. I'll put you in touch with the insurers - that's what they look after."
It quickly emerged that very little in the way of tangible belongings had been salvaged. Everything that had been pulled from the rubble reeked of smoke and damp -- a weird combination of smells if there ever was one. Most of the objects that had been retrieved were distantly familiar - a favorite ornament of my mother's with its extremities missing, a rippling print of a ballerina in a cracked frame, a small pile of sodden books that I recognized as my father's. When I dug through them, I found one book that was different from the rest. It was small and bound in stiff, flaking velvet. I had never seen it before. When I flicked through the pages that weren't massed together, I realized it was a play. The title on the cover had been worn away by the water, but was still legible inside. It consisted of a single word-
Labyrinth
Though I had no idea why when I first picked it up, that little book gave me hope.
THE END
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Title: Vanishing Act, Part Four
Author: rachael1918
Recipient: themsmine
Prompt: A Labyrinthian ghost story - give me the creeps. Jareth/Sarah preferred, but not absolutely necessary.
Rating: T
Plot Summary/Author's Notes: Sarah is gone and Toby makes it his life's mission to find her.
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Chapter Four
I was deep into middle-aged and years past my second divorce when my mother died, leaving my childhood home empty. When I returned to the house after the funeral, I was shocked by how fresh it seemed. Nothing about the place indicated two people had died there in the last three months. It was all exactly as I remembered it, from the rigid position of the doormat to the tacky, artificial lilies in the vase by the stairs. It even smelled clean. When I sniffed, I could detect the whiff of polish in the air.
As I moved further into the hall, I found that everyone looked immaculate. Though my mother had been bed bound for the weeks leading up to her death, the appearance of the house gave the impression she'd died clutching a duster and a bottle of cleaning solution. Everything gleamed, from the tiles of the kitchen floor to the glass coffee table in the longue. I almost expected to see my parents sitting stiffly on the sofa, staring at the TV screen and stringently avoiding eye contact.
After checking that the rooms downstairs were in good order, I walked upstairs to check the rooms there. I went through them one by one, and found them all spotless . The bed in my parents' room looked freshly made, the bathroom reeked of anti-septic, and my old room had the gutted look of your standard guest bedroom.
I hesitated before opening the last door, the door to Sarah's room. I hadn't entered it since I was seven. The reality of my sister's disappearance - of the mysterious man who had vanished along with her, her vain, cold-hearted mother - made my childhood imaginings of cackling monsters and phantom sobs embarrassing in their naivety. I could accept that such things had frightened me as a child, certainly, but as a grown man? I would have to be a fool. I told myself I'd experienced an unlikely combination of real sounds and real sights - rats scrabbling about amongst the rafters, wind trapped in the walls, a dark, cavernous shadow. Even Linda's derision couldn't match up to my own. Turning the key set in the lock, I opened the door and walked inside.
Though the rest of the house had seemed vaguely weird in its perfection, the strangeness of Sarah's room was unmistakable. It didn't simply look well kept, it looked lived in. The window was half-open, inviting waves of cool, summer evening air. I could smell flowers. The duvet was turned over, the sheet covering the mattress riddled with veiny creases. I walked further into the room, marveling at it. Every detail of the room exuded life. Toys - a rag-doll, teddies, stuffed-animals - had been arranged on Sarah's bed in a ring, as if they were being used in a game.
My initial sense of amazement was quickly replaced by anger. I was baffled by how someone could have gotten into the house to play such a disturbing trick. The only person with a key to the house had been my parents' solicitor, who had the appearance and general demeanor of a corpse.
I was about to leave and call the solicitor's office to demand an explanation when I noticed the source of the sweet smell in the room - flowers, fresh and dewy, were scattered over Sarah's dresser. They had clearly been picked earlier in the day. I approached them with a lump in my throat . It was just too bizarre. The solicitor had given me the keys to the house days before, when I first returned; no one had been in the house since. I approached the dresser cautiously, reaching out to touch one of the flowers - the petals were soft, tactile.
Recalling the decayed flowers that I'd seen as a child in the top drawer of the dresser, I yanked the top one out. There were more flowers inside: daisies, bluebells, chicory. They rested above Sarah's possessions - make-up, the odd novel, a few china ornaments - all of which appeared as fresh and vibrant as the flowers. There wasn't a speck of dust in sight. I left the drawer open as I moved away, gradually turning to look at Sarah's wardrobe.
Though I was fifty-six, the sight of it made me feel like a little boy again. I had to fight an urge to shrink back from the thing, as I had hidden behind my father as a child. The other aspects of the room - the perfumed air, the unmade bed - heightened the dread. I don't know why I didn't run from the room then, but something compelled me to stay, walk forward, and open the wardrobe.
Sarah's clothes were still stored inside, clean and sweet smelling. When I pushed them aside to look at the back of the wardrobe, I found they were still soft. I gripped the clothes as I stared at the back of the wardrobe. It was whole. That, I think, was the biggest surprise of all. The strange and illogical had almost become expected - I had anticipated a hideous gash in the wood but instead there was nothing. Though the rest of the room had sunk into strangeness, the wardrobe was entirely normal.
In that moment, I realized what my father had seen on the day my nightmares had started: - a perfectly ordinary wardrobe and a confused, hysterical child. Though many elements of the room were odd - the flowers, the scattered toys, the open window - none of them were truly supernatural. Looking back, I knew I'd made a terrible mistake. I had imagined the hole in the wardrobe, the gleaming animal eyes and my sister's sobs. My father had known all that, tried to comfort me, be kind to me. The truth was that I had scorned my parents over a delusion.
Something about the quality of the air struck me, catching in my throat. A woozy sensation overtook me and I staggered away from the wardrobe. Feeling thick-headed I moved towards the bed, sitting down in an attempt to collect myself. Sitting helped resolve the dizziness, but did nothing to combat the regular, thudding pain that had developed in my head. I lay back, lifting my legs onto the bed. I had to bend them sharply because the bed was too small to take me. With my body cramped up and balanced perilously amidst a tangle of stuffed toys and sheets, I felt faintly ridiculous. Nonetheless I closed my eyes and willed the pain to stop, only for it to intensify. Worse, I could hear laughter coming from the wardrobe.
Sleep was setting in, as well as a vague, cauterized sense of terror that swelled with the laughter. The laughter seemed to split somehow, coming from different parts of the room and rising steadily in pitch and volume. I feared I knew what the pain in my head was a symptom of - the onset of madness, the return of my delusions. Consciousness started to leave me yet an intense prickling sensation ran through the length and breadth of my body, as if I were being pricked by dozens of tiny claws. The sensation stopped when my eyes closed.
When I opened them again I was no longer in my sister's room. That struck me immediately, for I woke on stone rather than sheets. My whole body felt stiff, as if I'd been wedged in the same spot for hours. The air was stale and thick with dust. From the moment I became conscious, I had no doubt that everything I was experiencing was real.
Though the ache in my neck was considerable, I lifted my head to take stock of my surroundings. The entire room was formed of rough stones, most of them covered with dirt and strewn with straw and broken feathers. It had a high ceiling which was split into jagged shapes by a network of cracks. I was caught up in a pit in the floor which was just large enough to take the full length of my body. Summoning what little strength I had left, I sat up to take a better look. Besides the filth, the room was empty except for a wide throne formed of bones. Sarah was sat on the edge of the throne, staring ahead - I immediately noticed her eyes for they were a solid, impenetrable black. With the light and color of her eyes gone, she didn't quite look like my sister anymore. I only knew it was her by her beatific smile, the staple of her photos.
If I had been in a rational state of mind (and not, of course, dismissed the whole encounter as a nightmare), I might have wondered why she still appeared to be seventeen. As I was not, I simply stared. Her body was rigid and she did not react to the sight of me. She was wearing the tatters of a golden dress; the fabric was ripped and filthy, displaying wide slices of her stomach and thighs. She smiled slightly and her face, though streaked with dirt, glowed with health.
Spurred on by the sight of her, I got to my feet and approached the throne. I climbed the steps that led up to her, stopping as soon as I was within touching distance. "Sarah?" I called out, hoping for some alteration in her expression. There was no change; she continued to stare and remained still.
Her arm rested limply on the thick curling bone that served as the back of the throne, and I grabbed her hand. I flinched at how cold she felt, but didn't let go. "It's your brother, Sarah - Toby," I felt oddly moved by how small she seemed to me as a grown man - my hard, weathered hand looked clumsy when set around hers.
I squeezed her fingers, hoping to animate them with force. The pressure made her eyelids drop to a close. She muttered my name, "Toby?" I couldn't help but think how changed she sounded from when she had called out to me when I was a child. She had been shocked and alert then. Now, she merely sounded distant.
"Yes, it's me - your brother."
"Your skin feels rough." Her smile levelled out, becoming a frown.
"I'm old now. Middle aged."
"That's strange. I don't like thinking about that - it's sad. You were very young when I last saw you, weren't you?"
"I was three."
"I didn't want to go. You know that, don't you?" Her voice was strained; it seemed odd since her pose hadn't altered and her lips hardly moved at all.
Before I could answer, I heard a distinct scuttling noise and a solitary laugh. It sounded as if claws were cracking against the stone floor. I whipped my head away from my sister, but saw nothing. "Did you hear that?" I asked, looking back at her.
But Sarah didn't answer. If anything, she looked more rigid than before. I reached for her hand, but it was clamped around the bone of the chair. I tried to prize it free, but it wouldn't move. "Sarah!" I called out, my nails digging into her fingers as I tried to free them.
"She can't hear you. Nor will she move - I would prefer if you did not attempt to make her bleed."
I turned towards the speaker. He was dressed all in black, the component clothes so dark they blended into one another. Though too shocked to register it at the time, he had features in common with Jeremy - blond hair, a thin, elegant face and thin, slanting eyes. Though they were similar, I must stress this - they were not the same. I've never quite been able to work out the connection.
"Who are you?" I asked, alarmed by the violent thudding of my heart. "What have you done to her?"
A ripple of laughter swept through the perimeter of the room, the originators of the sound invisible in the shadows.
"I will be keeping my identity a secret. You don't look like the sort of man to be familiar with lore, but if you were you would know that names hold power. My name, in particular. Believe me; the last thing Sarah would want is for you to have the sort of power it can give."
"This is real, isn't it? This is where Sarah has been all this time."
"Of course it's real. You have touched your sister, haven't you? She is solid as anyone in your world - there would be no joy for me in possessing a ghost." He smiled broadly, as if he found the idea amusing.
"I was hearing my sister, then; she's been trapped here all this time." I spoke more to myself than the man. That realization, though I had always half-believed it, gave me a pang of sorrow. It was hard to breathe. I was shocked by the realization she had been imprisoned in some impossible palace of stone for decades. I was terrified by the thought she was being held under some terrible thrall that kept her cold and stiff. I despaired at the knowledge that I had no idea how to save her.
"You heard her reaching out to you, nothing more. She is attached to her family - you, her mother."
I moved towards him, Sarah almost forgotten as I focused on the man who had taken her away. He had an aura of strangeness so powerful that I felt thick-headed when I got too close to him. The sensation was familiar from when Sarah had called out to me when I was seven, from when I'd had a vision of her at her mother's house. I realized what it had been in a moment of astonishing clarity - I'd experienced the taint of another world.
I scrutinized him blearily. He was neither a prince nor a monster. He wasn't even a cackling sorcerer with a stiff, villainous beard. No, he looked appealing in the manner of an exotic creature contained in a glass case at a zoo - though he appeared attractive and his smile was inviting, I instinctively knew he was to be feared, avoided.
"This is too much," I said, shamefully close to tears, "None of this makes any sense."
"It won't and it never will. I can only apologize for your being here. Though she may not appear it, Sarah is powerful in some ways. She misses you, and summoned you accordingly. I will return you now, if you like."
He raised his arm in a strange gesture, his eyes flaring. I shouted - "No! I have questions. You have to answer my questions."
His lips twisted in annoyance. He sneered at me naturally, as if it was his default expression. "You may have three questions, and I am being generous with that offer - I owe you nothing."
"You owe me my sister. I thought she was dead. I've spent my whole life thinking I was hearing a ghost, going mad even. You've ruined everything."
"Have I really?" His voice was thin yet full of spite. "Then it is your fault for allowing loss to crush you. You have pined for something that is lost to you forever. Understand that this is your sister's home now. It has been for over fifty years."
I closed my eyes and took deep breaths. It was hard, but I managed not to shout again. "Why?"
"Why what?"
I opened my eyes to glare. "Why did you take her?"
"I had the best of motives - love. If you could recall a single myth or fairy-tale from your youth, you would know that dark lords generally kidnap maidens out of desire. If you cannot understand that, it is the fault of your mother for not reading you enough stories."
"If you love someone, you don't trap them. I heard Sarah crying - she just told me she didn't want to leave me."
"It is natural to be homesick, to miss one's family," I was repelled by how sincere he sounded. It wasn't a casual falsehood, no, it was a falsehood he had invested with belief. "She is, after all, a long way from her first home. You ought not to call me cruel for taking her from there; everyone has to leave their family at some point. Besides, you ignore how generous I have been. I have allowed her to remain in touch with you - I have given her every imaginable gift - I have even given her her mother. She has everything she has asked for that it has been in my power to obtain."
I had to bite my tongue not to ask about Linda. As much as I wanted to learn what had happened to her, I wanted to learn what had happened to Sarah more.
"How did you bring her here?"
"Simple - I took her. I offered her gifts, and she accepted them. In doing so, she indebted herself to me." He turned to look at Sarah and I followed suit. I started when I saw her - she was glowing, glowing so brilliantly it was almost unbearable to look at her. The scraps of her dress were knitting themselves together, the light healing the tears in the fabric. By the time the glow receded, the dress was whole again - a golden gown that shimmered when she moved. She smiled as she had when I had first looked at her, rising carefully from the throne and descending the steps to join us. She would have looked like an idyllic, storybook princess if her eyes hadn't been the same solid black as before. "Isn't she beautiful?" The man reached out for her hand, squeezing her fingers tightly when she offered it to him. "I gave her this dress, and she chose to wear it."
"But she didn't know what would happen when she put it on."
"No, but that's quite beside the point. Now, ask your final question. " There was a hard edge to his voice - it seemed strange alongside Sarah's unrelenting smile.
I panicked then, as I knew that I'd be sent away as soon as my final question was answered. Though I had no clue where I was, I was aware I was in another world. If I were in a normal place, Sarah's dress wouldn't have repaired itself; her eyes wouldn't have been black. Once I was sent away, I would have no sure means of getting back again.
To calm myself, I shut my eyes and breathed slowly. It was too much to look at Sarah and think at the same time, far too much. "What - exactly - have you done to Sarah?"
"Surely the sight of her speaks for itself. Look at her." It was hard to resist, but I did not open my eyes at his instruction. "She is well and healthy. I have shown her nothing but kindness."
"Her dress was in pieces," I kept my voice hard, set on answers.
"The fault of my servants. They can be most affectionate, but tend to forget how sharp their claws are."
As soon as he finished, Sarah spoke. Her voice wasn't quiet as it had been, no, it was shrill, urgent even. I opened my eyes only to find her smiling sweetly. The man continued to clutch her fingers and look at me steadily, oblivious to the fact she was speaking. "He is a liar. My dress was torn when I ran - torn by hedges, branches, his fingers when he caught me."
I felt unnerved by the way she spoke without speaking, but knew I had to continue. I had to maintain the dialog to keep him from sending me away. "Her face was filthy."
"She likes to explore. I tell her to desist, but she pays no attention - she is nothing if not defiant."
Sarah spoke again, voice high with indignation. "He is a liar. My face is dirty from the times I have tried to escape. I have endured every imaginable indignity in my attempts to leave this place. I have squeezed through tunnels, pressed myself into hedges and ran until I dropped down into the mud from exhaustion."
"Her eyes are black."
"A symptom of her journey here. She came a long way - such a journey does not leave one unscarred. Indeed, there is always a physical change, though the nature of it is unpredictable. Still, I find there is a certain loveliness to them. Don't you agree?"
Sarah spoke once more; her voice saturated with fury. "He is a liar. He left my eyes to begin with. He only plunged them into darkness because he couldn't bear their light, my sorrow. When he took my eyes he took my fight, leaving me calm, suppliant. The only part of me he has not destroyed is my mind. He cannot change it - it is the one part of me that remains true."
I went quiet. I had to swallow to calm my nerves. "You haven't told me the whole truth, have you?"
He said nothing, merely scowling. I saw his eyes dart to Sarah, and I think he might have muttered a few words while he was looking at her. Though free to twist the truth surrounding my sister, he seemed powerless to lie outright.
"I demand that you return Sarah. She hates you - she hates this place. You have no right to keep her here."
"Maybe according to your laws. What you fail to understand is that my laws are different- they submit to my desires. As long as she remains here, she will always be mine." He turned to look at my sister and the look he gave her made my blood run cold. There was a softness in his eyes that sat uneasily amidst the rest of his features. He extended a hand to touch her face.
"Stop that!" I yelled, but my rage had no bite to it. As much of the idea of his showing affection to my sister repelled me, there was something so tender about the gesture I struggled to object. The part of Sarah that had spoken to me before - the rage, the spite - had fallen silent. The Sarah he was touching had closed her eyes, a smile stretching across her face. With her eyes closed, she was easier to recognize. She was a simply a smiling young woman with black hair and a divine face. The gold of her dress seemed even more blinding than before in that moment, scorching me with its brilliance.
"I have already told you that I love her. Why are you surprised?" He asked the question with utter seriousness, stroking her cheek with his long, bone-white fingers. "You must see how content she is - how lovely. How young. You are old now. If you were to take her back with you, how would you explain her? Would she be your daughter? Your niece? Even if you could lie to others, you would not be able to lie to yourself. She has no place with you."
Though I hated myself for it, I knew he was right. Maybe things would have turned out differently if I had found her as a child. At seven, I could have perhaps pulled her through the wardrobe to safety if I'd been brave, ignored the eyes and reached in far enough. As it was, I was about fifty years too late.
"You have had your questions. Though I may have been selective with the truths I offered you, you have not been deceived. Now, it is time for you to say goodbye."
"Please, just allow me one more question. If you give me that, I'll leave without another word. I'll never return. I'll never go back to my parents house - I'll have the building knocked down, the room destroyed. Without that, there will be no way back for me. That's right, isn't it?"
"Yes," he conceded, a smile on his lips, "If the house is destroyed, there will be no way for you to return. I will accept your terms as long as you can swear to them."
"I swear."
"Perfect. Go ahead, ask your question."
"Did she ever ask for me?"
"She asked many times," he answered eventually, speaking carefully, "But I never took you."
"You brought Linda here, but not me. Why?" I couldn't help but wonder at the injustice of it. I wasn't really aware that I was asking another question - in retrospect, I'm surprised it was answered.
"Linda was unwanted - her career was fading, her family gone. You, on the other hand, have been a son, a husband, a man of purpose for your entire life. You must understand that I can only take those who have drifted to the margins of society - the aimless, the forgotten."
"You took Sarah; she was anything but unwanted."
"You misapply my logic. There are different kinds of magic - the magic that allowed me to take Linda is different from that which allowed me to take Sarah. There will be no more questions now - you will say goodbye and leave." His voice was taut, and Sarah's fingers had gone crooked from the intensity of his grip.
I couldn't bear it. For all his talk of love and gifts, he was cruel. He had eroded her life - her future was a blank, her past a muddied blur. Though I knew I was bound to fail, I had to make an attempt to save her. My promise forgotten, I reached out to grab Sarah by the wrist and tried to yank her hand free. I stared at her terrible, vacant expression as I pulled, despairing when it didn't change. There was no flicker of life, no trace of consciousness. I squeezed harder, and started to shout, "Wake-up, please. You have to-"
Before I could finish, my body was wrenched backwards by some invisible force, my back slamming against stone.
Darkness was above me, wiping out every feature of the room. When I finally made out the man, only his pale face was visible. His eyes glowed in the darkness, blazing with power. "Since you broke your promise, it seems I will have to keep it for you." With that, the darkness became total. Laughter resounded in my ears; my failure stung even as I slept.
When I woke up, I started to cough instantly. The room - Sarah's room - was filled with black smoke. When I got to my feet and staggered to the door, I saw flames licking the door to my parents' bedroom across the hall.
Though it was a struggle to breathe, I made it to the stairs. I could just about reach them without succumbing to the wall of heat that barred me from the rest of the corridor. Dripping with sweat, I half ran, half stumbled down the stairs. My back felt the full force of the heat, throbbing from it. I fell upon the front door and staggered out. As soon as I was on the blessedly cold, ice-crusted lawn, I dropped down in a dead faint. It was a different kind of unconsciousness from before - calmer, more restful.
I came to in a hospital. My whole body was sore, and when the doctor came over to speak with me he told me every inch of my back was bruised. "You had a hard fall. Can you remember what happened?"
I lied of course, telling him I did not. The bruises were thus dismissed as being tangentially connected to the fire. When I reflected upon the situation later, I found it appropriate that the bruises were explained away so easily. Everything strange and supernatural I had ever experienced had been made to submit to logic; over the years my parents, Linda and my doctor had all dismissed me in turn.
Before the doctor left I asked him what had happened to my parents' house. He didn't know, so I rang their solicitor as soon as I had the opportunity. The man's astonishing dullness proved to be a credit to him, having something of a cathartic effect on my nerves. His voice was a passionless monotone that managed to suck every trace of jeopardy from the situation, and that was exactly what I needed. "Much of the upper floor was lost. Everything that was not destroyed by the fire was soaked by the efforts of the state fire service."
"Was anything saved?" I asked, though I couldn't think of anything in particular that I wanted. I had lost all attachment to my old room, my sister's photos. My memories (I still consider them visions in certain moods, though no less real for the distinction) were far more tangible.
"I'm afraid it is not my job to know that, Mr Williams. I'll put you in touch with the insurers - that's what they look after."
It quickly emerged that very little in the way of tangible belongings had been salvaged. Everything that had been pulled from the rubble reeked of smoke and damp -- a weird combination of smells if there ever was one. Most of the objects that had been retrieved were distantly familiar - a favorite ornament of my mother's with its extremities missing, a rippling print of a ballerina in a cracked frame, a small pile of sodden books that I recognized as my father's. When I dug through them, I found one book that was different from the rest. It was small and bound in stiff, flaking velvet. I had never seen it before. When I flicked through the pages that weren't massed together, I realized it was a play. The title on the cover had been worn away by the water, but was still legible inside. It consisted of a single word-
Labyrinth
Though I had no idea why when I first picked it up, that little book gave me hope.
THE END