The guardians of the Labyrinth

Chapter 1

I rang the doorbell about fifteen times before my mother finally opened the door. It had started pouring rain on my way back from school, and now I was soaking wet, waiting in the rain for my mother to make the effort to come down. When she finally did and opened the door, I was able to come in, pretending not to see the man who slipped out the door after me. He had been doing the same thing for weeks, without my father noticing, threatening me if I tried to say anything, but to be honest, I had reached a point where I didn't give a damn anymore.

"If you've ruined that clothes with the rain, I'm not buying more," my mother said as I passed by her.

"Of course not, that's strange," I prayed she hadn't heard me say that reluctantly. If she did, I wouldn't be allowed out for at least a year.

But I wasn't wrong: she never did anything for others. She spent the whole day at home doing nothing, except spoiling my sisters with a lot of expensive things (paid for with the money my father earned working) and getting involved with other men. I often wondered if there was any family in the world as messed up as mine.

I quickly went upstairs to my room, stopping by the kitchen to grab a snack. Just before leaving, something on the table caught my eye: a newspaper. We never usually bought newspapers.

"Sixth child missing in less than four days," read the headline on the front page. I picked up the issue from the counter, thinking I could use the information for my blog.

A couple of years ago, I had created a blog where I wrote about paranormal or uncommon things happening in Poland. The blog was my way of feeling important. Someone who deserves to keep living. Someone, in general. The blog had become my whole life. If I wasn't at school, I spent my time writing on it as much as I could. Some nights, if the insomnia episodes lasted long, I would write as well, even though I knew I shouldn't be on screens at night. The truth is I'm not sure how I started my blog, but I guess it was all because of the books I read, which made me believe that fiction, in some universe, could become real.

When I reached my room, I dropped my backpack on the floor (maybe a bit louder than I should have) and lay face down on the bed, where the laptop was already waiting for me. As it turned on, I started reading the article. To be honest, it didn't contain any interesting information, except that a handful of kids had disappeared in the Tatras mountains in the last few days. Then, interspersed with text, there were some pictures of the missing kids. I couldn't recognize any of them, so I thought the best thing would be to write a simple article, exaggerating some parts to make the disappearances seem like the fault of a supernatural force. I stopped reading when I saw a bunch of laundry detergent and canned food ads afterwards. I got up, looking for some highlighters to mark the important parts of the text. I had already spent a few minutes picking up clothes from the floor and rummaging through drawers when I received another message. I looked at my phone.

It was Alina again.

Once again, I deleted the message.

I continued searching for the markers for a while longer. Once I had them in my hand, I lay back on the bed. I looked at my phone. It was starting to become tempting. I had deleted her messages, but I could reach out to her. I pondered the idea of sending her a message for a while. Then I remembered what she had done to me, and all desire to contact her disappeared. I shook my head a couple of times, as if that would help me concentrate better. After opening a new page to upload a new post on my blog, I put on my headphones again, and all my attention focused on the blank page, hungry to be written. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, and before I knew it, they were already flying over it.

Just as I heard the door open and my father shout that he was home was when I wrote the final period. I quickly published it and went down the stairs to greet him, but before I could finish descending the stairs, my mother stopped me. Her face had a smile that was supposed to be friendly, but it looked more like the Cheshire Cat's grin.

"Dagmara! It's so good to see you now," her voice had taken on the same fake tone she used whenever someone visited the house. "A very kind man called a few minutes ago, he wanted to talk to you. He offered you a summer job. It was going to pay you a lot of money, you know? So I told him you couldn't talk at the moment, but you must be very excited to accept it, so I got you a job. Do you want to know what it is?"

A couple of ideas ran through my mind: trash collector on the dirtiest streets in the city, babysitter for bratty babies, or dog walkers for rabid dogs. Basically anything that wasn't pleasant.

"You're going to be an office assistant! Isn't that exciting?" she said, as if she had just announced that we had won the lottery.

"Bullshit. I'm not doing it. Summer is not for working. Besides, if you want the money so badly, get a job yourself, you'll probably spend the whole summer lazing around the house and fooling around with guys you don't even know."

"That's right. I won't be here. I'm going on vacation! Covjok, the man you saw leaving the house today, invited me on a cruise for this summer."

That b... Not only was she going on vacation, but I had to work. To avoid yelling a couple of things at her and then getting into even more trouble, I decided to keep my mouth shut and approach my father once and for all, pushing my mother aside.

I saw him in the kitchen, drinking a glass of juice. His eyes lit up when he saw me.

"Why don't you divorce her?" I spoke before he could say anything, causing him to almost choke on his juice.

"What did you say?"

"I said why don't you divorce her. You have a crappy relationship with her. She only uses you for money."

He didn't respond immediately, as if he was thinking of a good answer.

"But she's your mother... I couldn't let you guys separate, right?" he said, sounding indecisive.

"I don't care. Separate from her or from the other two spoiled brats. I'm saying this for you. She's ruining your life. Think about it."

I turned around and left the kitchen, but stopped after a few steps.

"And I don't know if she'll tell you or not, but this summer she plans to go on vacation with a guy she's screwing, leaving you to take care of the little ones while she sends me to work as an assistant to who knows where."

Then I went back upstairs. A while later, I heard them arguing, followed by a slam of the door. It seemed I had just brought my father a step closer to what was my dreamed destiny, even though I was still far from the life I wanted for myself. Sending a message to Alina was becoming more and more tempting, even though I refused and immersed myself back into my thoughts, lying on the bed. The truth was, that's where I spent most of my time. I didn't like walking around the house, because there was always the risk of my family being around, instead of out, and making me do chores. However, even though my room was where I spent the most time, it had a sad effect. The unfinished paintings and drawings scattered on the floor, along with all the messy clothes, gave everything a neglected look. Some of the posters were falling off, and there were stains on the walls here and there. I had promised myself a thousand times to tidy up the mess, but I had never been able to.

At that moment, my phone rang again, for the umpteenth time in one day. It was Alina again. I stared at the phone for a while, as if it would help me in some way. In the end, and after much hesitation, I opened the message.

I wish I had never done it.