The Spaces In-Between

Part One

In the vibrant chaos of the suburban mall, Emily, a nine-year-old with wild curls and wide, curious eyes clung to her mother's hand like a lifeline. As they walked, Emily hummed along to a song playing on the malls overhead and watched the world with the earnest intensity only a child possessed. Her mother, a tall woman named Katherine, who looked much like her daughter with laugh lines framing her eyes, stopped at a summer dress shop called "The Summer Wave". While browsing through racks of clothing, her attention deviated momentarily by a summer dress crafted from a lightweight, breathable fabric with features of a vibrant floral print that dances across the material in hues of sunshine yellow, lavender, and soft candy pink, reflecting the trending colors of the season.

Eager to try the dress on, she turns to look at Emily and says with a serious tone, "Sweetheart, I'm going to go try on this dress. I'll be back in a few minutes. Do you think you could wait right here for me?" Looking up to meet her mother's gaze, she smiles wide and replies enthusiastically, "Yes, I can wait!" Minutes passed as she grew bored. Glancing around the store she suddenly notices the toy store across the way beckoning her, its window displaying the very doll from the TV commercial that had captured her imagination. Emily's gaze now affixed on the toy, followed her feet, each step taking her further from safety. The floor, once solid and sturdy, now looked like it weaved and contorted eventually opening up beneath her, a gaping maw that swallowed her whole. She fell, not with a scream, but with a gasp, as pain radiated through her head.

Emily awoke sometime later in a place that defied nature. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of ozone and something else—something otherworldly. She stood up slowly, her headache now a dull thud. Surveying the dimly lit area she saw a corridor that stretched endlessly, its walls pulsating with a faint, bioluminescent glow. Emily's small, hesitant steps echoed through the corridor, a stark contrast to the silence that enveloped her. The walls, slick with blood and an unidentifiable substance, seemed to pulse with a life of their own. She could hear her heartbeat, a frantic drumming in her ears, as she navigated the narrow passage.

The air was thick, filled with a metallic scent that made her stomach churn. Shadows clung to the corners, their shapes shifting and twisting into forms that defied logic. Emily tried not to look, but her eyes were drawn to the movement, to the fleeting glimpses of things that should not be. She felt a cold draft, and a shiver ran down her spine. The temperature dropped with each step, and her breath became visible, a mist that seemed to be snatched away by unseen hands.

Continuing on down the corridor she noticed that it branched off in multiple directions, each path darker than the last. With certain consideration, she decided upon the path that continued closest to the wall which she used to guide her through these grotesque halls. Soft whispering sounds filled the air, voices that were almost human, but not quite. They seemed to be calling her, beckoning her to venture deeper into the labyrinth. Emily pressed her hands over her ears, trying to block out the sound, but it was inside her head, a relentless murmur. Stumbling upon a room to her left, she saw a door hanging off its hinges. Inside, the remnants of what might have been furniture lay scattered, covered in a thick layer of dust. In the center of the room, a chandelier hung crookedly, its crystals dull and lifeless.

As she moved forward, her foot caught on something soft. Looking down, she saw a doll, its porcelain face cracked, one eye missing. It was a grotesque mockery of the toy she had wanted, and she kicked it away, screaming, as her heart pounded wildly. The corridor seemed to stretch on forever, and Emily felt a growing sense of despair. With tears in her eyes she wept, "I'm lost, so very lost. Is there no end in sight?" The whispering grew louder, more insistent, and she started to run, her footsteps a desperate rhythm in the oppressive silence.

It was then that she entered a vast chamber, the ceiling lost in darkness. The floor was a mosaic of tiles, each one depicting scenes of horror that made her avert her eyes. In the center of the chamber, a fountain stood, its water black and viscous. Drawn to it, she approached the fountain, her reflection distorted on the surface. She reached out a hand, touching the liquid, and it was cold, colder than anything she had ever felt. The whispering stopped abruptly, and she knew she was no longer alone.