Venting in anger, Benjamin stormed upstairs. Edmund rolled his eyes and sulked back into the parlor. He collected his writings, wondering if he should continue this obsession. He laughed at his stupidity and shook his head. He looked over his shoulder and grimaced in anger at the spot where he and the editor had parted.
Shaking with resentment, he gathered his novel and thundered up the stairs. His eyes were locked on the spare room. With a pounding heart, he whisked around the corner and hurried down the corridor. He stopped in front of Benjamin’s door and knocked.
"Who’s there?” Benjamin asked.
"It’s Edmund. We have to talk this instant.”
The clunking of idle feet hitting the floorboards was the response he received.
"Benjamin, please. I’m sorry.”
The door creaked open just wide enough for a partial view of Benjamin’s face to be seen. “What?”
"Please, you can’t stop—,” Edmund began, his face filled with a deep hopelessness.
"Edmund, I told you; I will not repeat myself again. Your book cannot be published.” Benjamin drew himself back into the room and began shutting the door before Edmund planted a foot in the way. Benjamin clenched his jaw and shot narrowed eyes at him. “Remove it, or I’ll slam—,”
"I won’t let you leave this house unless you edit this novel!”
Benjamin’s eyes widened and he pushed the door open. “You’re so childish. Are you crazy, or something? You want to threaten our friendship over a petty novel?”
"I never asked for a friendship, I asked for an editor. And you will edit my story.”
Benjamin, knowing he couldn’t strike Edmund, took it out on the doorway in frustration.
“Don’t do that!” Edmund ordered, pointing at the doorframe.
Benjamin shoved Edmund hard enough to slam him against the wall behind him and held him there. “You better start listening to yourself and realize that I am a human being as well. I’m not one of your characters to be manipulated into doing what you want!”
Edmund wriggled out of Benjamin’s grasp and stepped away from him. Keeping his arm out in front of him in case another confrontation rose, Edmund spoke hastily, “I want an honest answer to why you won’t finish it.”
"It’s absurd! The more I read, the more I find myself believing it to be real. When I read it, I don’t know where I am. I don’t know if I’m here, or in the story. And I can’t sleep at night either.” Benjamin sunk to the floor. He looked up at Edmund, whose eyes were moistening. “You’re just a child, Edmund. You haven’t seen the world like I have. There’s life beyond these walls, and you’re missing it.”
Edmund slid to the floor as well and cradled his own head in his hands. He whimpered for a while before looking over at Benjamin.
"Can't you finish the novel?” Benjamin asked. “Every story has to have an end.”
"I can't. The last pages are still in process.”
"That’s what you said last time.”
Edmund laughed softly. He had to cough several times before his voice was clear enough to be heard. “I told you, I can’t stop this. I just went to sleep one night and it happened.”
Benjamin’s brows furrowed and his voice became a whisper. “What happened? You keep saying, ‘it happened.’ What happened?”
"I entered this void.”
Benjamin dropped his head. Sitting there, he couldn’t help but believe that his friend was a madman. Edmund could not distinguish between what was real and what was just the fabrication of the imagination. Benjamin stood up and looked down at the boy. Feeling sorry for him, he leaned over and gave his friend a gentle pat on the shoulder and retreated back to his room.
Standing in his room, Benjamin thought about slipping away in the night while Edmund slept. He would take only his coat—for he had arrived at the estate with nothing important except himself. He reconsidered, though, waiting for the right time.
The next days passed by like a tired wind; neither of the boys ventured out of their rooms, for they didn’t want to chance seeing each other. Benjamin couldn’t help but pity Edmund. The boy had immersed himself in a land so complex and detailed that Benjamin couldn’t pull him out of it. He knew the only way to save his friend was to destroy the novel, but, to his own horror, Benjamin couldn’t even bring himself to the brink of doing so. He was fascinated by the content and wanted to know what would happen next. And to his contentment, Edmund was always able to deliver the next chapters.
Edmund remained in his room, his mind churning with ideas for the next chapter. As he let his thoughts roll through his mind, a flash of strange imagery upset him. In uncontrollable tremors, Edmund felt both his imagination and reality being twisted and wielded together with a pain so strong he felt as if he would pass out.
Benjamin stood by the window, looking out at the small garden with his hands in his pockets. A rabbit hopped into the patch, making him smile. But the smile faded at the thought of home. He missed it. He’d never thought he would, but now he felt the strongest need to be in his own room, to study or take long walks in the park with his dog. He had been a boy in America, but here, standing so stiffly in a stranger’s house, he felt like a prisoner.
Sighing, Benjamin threw himself onto his bed and folded his arms behind his head. He stared up at the ceiling, thinking of nothing but Edmund’s novel. There was something wrong with Edmund, and there was something wrong with the story. Benjamin knew the boy shouldn’t continue it, yet, he was equally enthralled with it. And, in the crevices of his soul, he wanted to know how it ended.
There was a knock on his door, breaking him out of his thoughts. He sat up and heard a small noise. It sounded like a frightened animal. He swung his legs off the bed and, in skittish steps, approached the door. He opened it and before he could even say a word, a sobbing Edmund came in. Benjamin took him by the arms and held him still.
“Edmund? What’s the matter? What is it?”
"I tried!” Edmund shrieked, breaking into another hysterical weeping session. Benjamin stepped outside and looked up and down the halls, seeing if anybody would come and ask what the problem was. There was no one. Benjamin shut the door. He returned to Edmund and told him to sit down on the bed. He stood across from him.
"What? What did you try?”
"Destroying the book myself, but I can’t. I’m too scared to.”
Benjamin went over to the water basin and soaked a rag. He walked over to Edmund and slapped the wet cloth on his forehead. “Why are you scared?”
Edmund pulled the cloth from his head and began folding it in a triangular shape. “You’ve read it. Can’t you guess what would happen if I did destroy it?”
Benjamin squared himself in front of Edmund and looked him straight in the eyes, trying hard to look past the walls of fear and doubt. “Nothing’s going to happen to you, I promise. Tearing up the book will not kill you!”
"I won’t hear anymore!” Edmund screamed, covering his ears and erupting into a long wail.
Benjamin grabbed his friend’s hands and pinned them to his side.
"Get control of yourself! Stop screaming; it’s annoying.”
Once Edmund had gained control of himself, he listened to Benjamin.
“Now, there’s a way out of this.”
“No, there is not! We’re trapped forever. It’s caught us. And we’ll never be free!” Edmund bowed his
Benjamin looked over at his friend in sympathy. “This can’t go any further.” He stood up to leave before a clammy hand clutched his arm. He turned around and stared at the terrified eyes of Edmund.
In a quivering whisper, the boy spoke. “Do you wish to know why I latch my door at night?”
Benjamin hesitated from nodding his head. From the look in Edmund’s eyes, Benjamin feared that any motion would stop Edmund from speaking.
“Do you?” Edmund repeated in a stronger voice.
Benjamin jerked his arm from him. “Yeah. Tell me.”
Edmund shook his head slowly and began speaking, but his words did not make sense.
Squinting, Benjamin leaned in. “What happened to you?”
"I keep forgetting where I am. I keep wondering if you’re a character or a reality. I’m only sane enough to know that if this continues, there’ll be nothing left of me. It’s a part of me.” Edmund paused and reflected on his next words. He looked up at Benjamin and smirked. “But it has to continue.”
Forgetting about his earlier idea to escape the house, Benjamin offered a brave proposal. “I can sit on the floor in your room, if you’d like? And if anything happens, I’ll be here to stop it…maybe. But if nothing happens, then we’ll know if you’re—.” He stopped himself from saying ‘crazy.’ Sighing, Benjamin patted the boy’s shoulder and left the room to have a moment to himself.
When the door closed and Benjamin had disappeared, Edmund stood where he was with the fountain pen clasped in his fists. He was a captive of his own imagination. He pulled himself out of the room and down the long dark hall, using the walls to anchor his wobbly feet, and returned to his own room. He took the back of his chair and pulled it out far enough to sit comfortably. In robotic motions, he took out a piece of paper and pressed the tip of the pen in the top left corner.
“I’m not going to write…a word.” Edmund thought as his hand moved across the page by a power stronger than Edmund’s voice. “I will not write…anymore.” The pen moved defiantly until the first line was finished. “Every story has an end. Every story has an…” But before he could complete his thoughts, he dotted a period at the end of the paragraph. Edmund dropped his head on the desk and laughed at the absurdity of it all until it seemed no longer funny.