Inside the House of Shadows, Friday Evening (Probably? Maybe?)

[pocketpretzels]

Watts	Watts wasn't sure how long it had been- two days? Maybe three? His pocket watch was still ticking, but it was impossible to read without a light source. Shortly after the lights had gone out, he'd pulled his mobile telephone from his pocket and tried using that as a flashlight, but that had only worked for so long before the battery died. So he kept walking, because what else was there to do, until he couldn't walk any more and then he curled up on the ground and slept. He's six years old, and his mother is singing a song in a language he now knows is Yiddish as he drifts off to sleep. He doesn't know this is the last time she'll do so; in the morning, she'll complain of feeling ill but will go to work anyway, and by evening both his parents are in hospital and they never come home. He's twelve years old, and the sun is rising and Clarissa isn't home yet. He hasn't slept all night, too scared of shadows made by the oil lamp and the noises from outside. There's a knock at the door and he startles, thinking it's the police come to drag him off to an orphanage, because Clarissa was supposed to come home and she didn't and he knows, somehow he knows that she isn't going to ever again. He's twenty-six years old and he's just found out that the knife that killed a man who was in every way his brother, the knife that should have been the damning piece of evidence to lock away his killer, has been wiped clean of fingermarks. Because he was foolish enough to send Constable Baxter out to deal with the clearly staged fight that had broken out outside of the Station House. Daniel Marks is never coming home, and it's the least he can do to try and make sure Nigel Baker doesn't either. He's twenty-seven years old and he's reunited with his sister after searching for her for fifteen years. Her disappearance is what motivated him to become a police officer, after all. Only it was all for naught as it turned out she'd left of her own volition. She'd never wanted him. She's leaving Toronto again and she's not telling him where to. He's twenty-nine years old and staring at the photographs of Hubert Marks's mutilated corpse, killed in the same way Daniel had been three years prior. He was supposed to have been their protector and now they were both dead. He promised justice would be done and instead set in motion a series of events that let a killer go free. Hubert was the last of his family and now he's gone too. He's thirty-one years old and the man he loves is telling him he's gone and gotten engaged to a woman. His heart is broken not because someone doesn't love him anymore, but because this someone isn't allowed to love him. He doesn't want to feel this pain and so he tries to bury it, tries to cure himself, but it doesn't work, none of it works, and instead there's just an aching empty feeling. And then he woke up and he kept walking even though he had no idea if he was even headed in the right direction anymore. If there was a right direction. He kept walking until he couldn't walk anymore and then he curled up on the ground and slept.
So Many Doors	As he slept, the space around Watts changed. The floor and ceiling and walls reshaped themselves so that this time it was not just an unending hallway, but rather a hallway lined with doors. Lots and lots of doors. Doors on the left and right, each perhaps no more than a foot away from the other. Each looking exactly alike with dark wood and tarnished brass doorknobs. There was light. The faintest light. Something that barely qualified as light except to one who had been in darkness for days. Just enough to make the doors themselves visible, and perhaps invite the question of where the light might be coming from.
Watts	Watts woke again, and stood up, doing his best to stretch the stiffness out that came with having slept on the floor. Which was how he noticed that the light- after a fashion- had returned. He could actually make out the shape of his hand as he lifted it to run through his hair. And was that- was that a door? He reached over to twist the knob.
Mysterious Door	The knob rattled. It moved only enough to suggest it could turn, but as though something blocked or locked it. If Watts looked down he might notice that the faint light was less faint by his feet, as though the light was coming from something behind the door.
Watts	When the tugging didn't work, Watts tried using his shoulder to shove the door open.
Mysterious Door	The door was solid. It did not give at the shove the way a more flimsy modern door might. There was movement enough to confirm it was a door, that in theory could open, but it remained closed, like all the other doors along the hallway.
Watts	Watts tried again, with a little more force behind the shove this time.
Still Very Annoyingly Closed Door	There was a thunk as Watts's shoulder connected, but still no movement. If anything, the door felt more solid in response to the effort. Still a door, but still very much closed.
Watts	Well that was- ineffective. Discouraged, Watts slid down until he was sitting with his back against the door. It was only then, this close to the ground as he was, that he noticed the sliver of dim light (light was perhaps generous, it was slightly less dark) spilling out from the bottom of the door. He's twenty-eight years old and he's found a woman whose company he enjoys. She's quick-witted, clever, and independent. He thinks perhaps he could grow to love her. He does all he can to try and convince her to stay but as interested as she is in him, it's not enough to tie her to one place. He hides her bicycle, hoping its loss will convince her to give up on completing her journey but even that doesn't hold her back, she purchases a new bicycle. Defeated, he gives her back her original bicycle and says goodbye to vague promises of seeing each other again one day. "Hello?" he called out. "Is- is someone there? Please?"
Spooky Shadows	There was a pause. Long enough that it may have felt as though the question had been a tree falling in an empty forest. Perhaps long enough to wonder if the question had been spoken aloud. But then the light changed. Gradually, so slowly that it might not be noticed unless one's eyes were closed for longer than a usual blink. It seemed both darker yet richer somehow? As though the shadows showed more than they hid? If that was even possible? And there was a single sound: that of a familiar bike bell.
Watts	Watts took a deep breath. With nothing but his own company for days, it was hard to be certain if the sound of the bell was real or his mind playing tricks again. "Hello?"
Spooky Shadows	As if in answer, the bell rang again. Then again. Then again and again and again as though whoever was ringing it had no idea that the thing that needed to work in combination with noise was silence. The sound came from one end of the hallway, though. And if Watts looked in that direction very intently he might have noticed tiny red pinpricks in the far distance.
Watts	Watts pushed himself back up to a standing position, and then started not quite running but certainly moving faster than he had in days, towards the sound.
Ring, Ring, Ring	The sound grew louder the further Watts went. Not painfully so, more the increase in volume that confirmed he was heading in the right direction to find the source. The ringing grew faster as well as though to match his speed. The red pinpricks did not grow larger, but they were still there, steady. Almost... watching.
Watts	"Please," Watts said, raising his voice to be heard over the increasing sound. "Is- someone..." and that was when he noticed those red pinpricks. "Someone there?" he finished, a little hesitantly.
Spooky Room	The ringing stopped, the two red pinpricks hanging in the... air? Darkness? steadily. As though watching. Staring. And then, from within that same darkness, there came the sound of metal, and gears. Not a machine. Not exactly. But something mechanical. Something moving. Something like... A bike. Which rolled out and then fell to the floor in the space between the darkness and where Watts was standing. Wait - had this space always been a large, circular room with no doors?
Watts	Watts would notice the room in a second, right now all his attention was occupied by the fact that what had rolled into the room wasn't just any bicycle, but one with a banner that read BICYCLE WORLD TOUR hanging from the frame. Which didn't make any sense. He hadn't seen or heard from Fiona Faust in years, why on Earth would her bicycle be here, over a century in the future. "... Fiona?"
Spooky Room	Silence. The kind of silence that made it difficult to tell if the question hadn't been heard or if the silence was the answer. Then there was the sound of metal and gears again, and from the darkness appeared... The exact same bike. Which fell beside the first. Making a total of two.
Watts	All right. Definitely not Fiona then, not that he'd really thought it was her to begin with. He stared down at the two bicycles. "I'm afraid I don't understand," he admitted. "Who are you?"
Spooky, uh. Something?	There was a longer pause. But this time it was a pause. Something about the silence felt different. Purposeful. Then the shadowy room around Watts didn't transform as such so much as it... had a visual echo? A trick of the eye, like those drawings that changed subject depending on how you looked at them: vase or two faces, young woman or old. In this case room or... mass of some kind. Fleshy. Organic. But nothing that stayed visible too long compared to the view of the room as a normal, albeit shadowy, room. Almost like an eclipse that was not meant to be stared at directly. But these glimpses were not coy or secretive. If anything, they felt much like using the brakes on a bike: a measure of safety to prevent harm.
Watts	"Perhaps what are you is a better question?" Watts wondered out loud.
We Heard You Like Bicycles	The flickering visual stopped, once more settling into a shadowy round room with no doors and two pinpricks of red light. There was no answer to Watts's question. Or perhaps there was - or an attempt at an answer - because in a moment there appeared yet another, completely identical, bike. It fell into place beside the first two. There was a single sound of a bell. Perhaps a question of its own?
Watts	Watts couldn't help but feel a little relieved as the visual settled back down. Nothing about it had seemed malevolent, exactly, but it had still been unsettling. He stared at the third bike, sighing a little at the sound of the bell. "Are you- trying to tell me something?" he wondered. Perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him after being alone (?) in here for so long, but that last ring of the bicycle bell had sounded almost- plaintive?
Spooky Shadows	There was more shifting of shadows. A figure so faint it was almost see through flickered in the darkness near the red dots. Around Watts came a sound that was distorted, as though from far away and on a warped phonograph cylinder besides. Even so the voice sounded familiar. Like it belonged to the person who had owned the bike. Y-y-yesterday??
Watts	That sounded- enough like Fiona that it gave Watts pause. "What about yesterday?" he asked, trying to think about how yesterday had been any different from any of the other days he'd been stuck here.
Spooky Not-Fiona Shadows	The shadowy figure remained. The word echoed around the room, just as distorted as the first time. "Yesterday? Yesterday? Yesterday? Y-y-y-yesterday?" Then, joining it as though each word had been taken out individually: "You - You - Going - Couldn't - My - No - Really - Me - Were - To - Dream - Deny - " The words echoed and bounced around the room, twisting and overlapping each other until it was a constant noise much like the never ending ring of the bell had been until suddenly, clearly: "No you couldn't. Were you really going to deny me my dream?"
Watts	Oh. It (she?) hadn't been literally asking about yesterday, but conjuring a fragment of the memory it had dredged to the forefront of Watts's mind. "I liked you. I didn't want you to leave. I thought- I thought perhaps in time I could even grow to love you," Watts said.
So Many Doors	The bells on all three bikes rang out, the sound discordantly joyful. The single shadowy figure was joined by more as there were now flashes - He's six - he's twelve - he's twenty-six - he's twenty-seven - he's twenty-nine - he's thirty-one - Mother, Father, Clarissa, Daniel, Clarissa, Hubert, Jack, Mother, Father, Clarissa, Daniel, Clarissa, Hubert, Jack, Mother, Father, Clarissa - Again and again and again the images flashing and circling until like a zoetrope they solidified into the shadowy figures of each person standing around Watts, their backs to him as they walked forward to the walls that were no longer had walls but had doors. One for each of them (two for Clarissa at each of her ages) and again and again each one walked through the doors, walked away from Watts over and over vanishing through the doors without a second glance until - SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! - echoed out as each door shut in turn, turning into gates, turning into paintings of doors with chains and bars over them and no knobs... And the shadowy figures, shadows once more, stood silently in front of the doors that were no longer doors. Each one of the figures was still. The two pinpricks of red light just stared.
Watts	Watts shut his eyes, trying to banish the images. He knew they were illusions, knew it wasn't real, but to be reminded, to watch them leave over and over and over, as he'd done these past few days... "Stop!" he cried out. "Stop, please."
Spooky Room	One by one the shadowy figures, the pictures of the doors, and two of the bikes faded away. All that was left was the room, the one bike, and the dots of red. The bell in the bike rang once, the pitch of the sound rising at the end like a question.
Watts	... Watts hadn't actually expected that to work. "Thank you," he said tentatively. "It- it hurts. Seeing them leave repeatedly like that. I don't like it."
Spooky Room	The bell rang again, the note staying level. Not a question. A statement.
Watts	"I'm sorry," Watts said. "I'm afraid I don't understand. Can- can you speak again?"
Spooky Room	There was a long pause. Then, in the same echoing and distorted way that Fiona Faust's voice had come through earlier, there an even more familiar voice. His own. I-I-I found it yesterday.
Watts	"That's right," Watts glanced down at the bicycle. "Her bicycle had been stolen. And I found it." But there was more to it than that, wasn't there? Oh. Oh. "I didn't want her to leave."
Now We're Getting Somewhere	The bell of the bike rang once. Not a question. Confirmation.
Watts	"I liked her. I thought- I might even grow to love her. But that couldn't happen if she left- Just like everyone else had left me."
Figuratively, Anyway.	A faint, shadowy figure appeared. It didn't have enough shape to it to be identifiable as anything but humanoid. It walked in front of Watts towards a door. As the figure reached for the knob, there was the snick of a lock, forcing the figure to stand in front of it uselessly. Unable to leave.
Watts	"Is that you want?" Watts wondered out loud. "You don't want me to leave either?"
Because Nobody's Leaving, Get It?	More shadowy figures appeared, each with their own door. One looked faintly like Watts. the others rapidly flickered in multiple shapes and faces. Perhaps some managed to register in Watts's mind as those who had gone missing on the island, but there were far too many to fully keep track of. The concept was the same though: neither Watts nor any of them would leave.
Watts	Indeed, he managed to spot a familiar face or two amongst the 'crowd', as it were. At least that was confirmation that this was where the missing people- the other missing people, he supposed he counted as one of them at this point- ended up. Given that he'd seen neither hide nor hair of anyone, he'd wondered. "It isn't right," Watts said, though his tone was sympathetic. "Trapping people like this."
But I Want To Keep Them!	The echoing, distorted voice came again. This time the words managed to sound more like disbelief. Were you really going to deny me my dream?
A Hungry, Hungry House	The shadowy figures vanished, along with all the other features of the room save the red pinpricks. A mist filled the room, then began to form shapes, the shapes themselves cycling through different sizes and styles, mixing and matching in a way that seemed to make no sense except - - no. Wait. These too were memories. Memories of sinks and chairs and cupboards and cabinets and fires and stoves and tables and - They were all from rooms. Mismatched in time - a cupboard from one, a table from another - but all with a common theme. They were places in Watts's life in Toronto where he had lived, and rooms in those places where he'd gotten something to eat.
Watts	Watts frowned, watching the bits and pieces of mismatched kitchens flicker by, until it seemed to- settle? On the kitchen he remembered from his childhood. With Fiona's bicycle still, somewhat incongruously, leaning against the table. He reached out tentatively to touch one of the wooden chairs. It felt solid, real, beneath his fingertips. "Well," he said. "This is- nicer than the endless hallway, I suppose." It was also clearly meant to be an answer to his question, even if he couldn't quite put his finger on what the answer was.
A Cool Drink of Water	The furniture was real. It was stuck in position if Watts tried to move it, but there was enough room between the chairs and the table for him to sit if he wanted. Over by the sink there was the squeak of metal as fresh water began to flow.
Watts	The sound of running water made Watts realise just how incredibly thirsty he was. Which was rather odd when he thought about it, he couldn't remember eating or drinking anything since he'd arrived, and yet- he wasn't starving, and until now, thirst hadn't registered either. "Is that for me?" he asked, gesturing to the running water.
Mmm, Refreshing	The water stuttered, then kept flowing as though that was the answer.
Watts	There was a teacup beside the sink, and Watts held it under the flow of water until it was full, then reached for the tap to turn off the water. "Thank you?" he said, still a little uncertain.
Somewhat Less Spooky Room	There was no response that could be heard. Though the light in the room became a warm, soft yellow. Like the light of a late summer sun. There were no looming shadows, no ghostly figures, no horrible sounds. Just the kitchen, and Watts. And the two pinpricks of red that watched him.
Watts	"Right," Watts said, with a nervous glance at those two red pinpricks. Since there was a chair right there, he figured he might as well sit down and be somewhat comfortable while he drank his water.

[ooc: NFI & NFB, but OOC welcome. Preplayed with the fabulous hasaknightjob.]

Comments

[bushwah]

What does "NFI & NFB" mean?