An aspiring eighteen-year-old author realizes she is a character in an unwritten horror novel and must use her storytelling knowledge to survive.
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Eighteen-year-old romance writer, I...
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I opened my eyes to the insidious darkness of four walls and a ceiling. Where I was, I did not know. Slowly the light penetrated my vision, and the room became well-lit with a floor lamp toppled over in the corner. The lamp looked familiar, a dingy white shade around the warm yellow light bulb. I sat up, recalling the space I was in. I lay in the mysterious cabin in the woods, but this time felt welcoming. Like home.
I spotted words written in marker on the wall behind the dresser. It was my name written in my handwriting. The lowercase I in Ima had a dot above it that looked more like a dash. The tail of the G in Paige curved and looped, just like the title font of my favorite fairytale Little Red Riding Hood.
Somehow, I made it back to our house. The house was on a remote mountaintop near the city but tucked away from the commotion by forests and foliage. Clay and I would do our homework, or he would help me with mine, in this room, away from distractions.
Mom and Dad had appeared in this room when touring the cabin in the woods with Atem. Where they had argued and decided to live their lives to the fullest, without us.
This was the room where Clay said his farewell, tying an extension cord around the support beam on the ceiling to take that last journey.
This room was where I located my notebook on the dusty dresser, stared at the page where Clay had written his letter, and watched as my life had ended with his.
"Why did you leave me, Clay?" Just the thought of him making the conscious decision to go on without me was too much to bear. And now, with Atem gone, it triggered something deep inside that threatened to incapacitate me. I needed Atem just as much as I needed Clay, but unlike Atem, Clay could never come back.
Atem wasn't gone yet.
Slightly dizzy and off balance, I made my way to the door and tried the knob to open it, wondering how I made the long journey to return to this place and what I will find on the other side of the door.
It wouldn't budge. In fact, the hinges on the door were missing. On second look, I realized the door was just a slab of wood with a knob on it. The wood could have even been part of the wall, a façade, a fake.
I was trapped.
"Get me out of here!" I cried to no one and anyone at the same time. A part of me knew only myself could free me, but a piece of me hoped all I had to do was ask and the door would open. I banged the wood with the butt of my fists, attempting to make it budge.
After a while, I paced the length of the deserted room. My thoughts on all the people I lost on this journey and prior. Being trapped in this prison was enough to drive anyone insane. I wandered back and forth, thinking, planning. The floorboard creaked and whined with every step.
I might not be able to do this. Maybe I didn't have it in me to continue, to live, laugh, or love. Maybe the only way out of this turmoil was the inevitable.
