THE IMAGINARY
CHAPTER FOUR: WRONG CEILINGS MAKE OBLIVION A BETTER WORLD
PART 2
I was back in the dark world. It was a huge maze, almost invisible. Deep within were eclipses of light, which seemed screaming. They gave the dark adventure feel. Pretty optimistic of me. I dealt with bad situations well.
We had outlines on the floor, square, jet-black. They were well-polished, shining tiles. Like, probably, marble. The ceiling was abnormal. It could be a floor. On it, jutting out, were towers. Tons of them. Their architects had no taste. They were plain and dull. But they did have this mystery factor: at one side, they looked like skyscrapers, and at another, bookshelves.
They could fall anytime, and flatten me. I soon neglected the thought. Each of their alleys led to a door, same quality as the tiles, but breathing. I was walking here, with no aim.
Sessions time. The world zoomed outwards. I didn’t feel the usual dissolve. But this was more painful. The magnetic force, so powerful, drew me in, like soul extraction. Once the image had soared the farthest, I realized I was back in reality. I had unconsciously closed Julia Skyshell’s diary. It was an unhealthy thing. I had instant headache, jet lag.
"Nothing."
I saw a duplicate of their figures overlap. Mr. Clark was here, right by the desk. Silver was floating reversely, and Madame was roaming around.
"Nothing is Oblivion," said Mr. Clark. "It’s an evoked world, a Reverse created by the Phantom."
"Evoked worlds?" Okay, now we’re dealing with false worlds. Great. "Sir?"
"Normally, it’s the world you see, when you enter the diary’s thoughts. I hear those who can see have other benefits."
"What kind, Mr. Clark?"
"I’ve tried going once," said Madame Graham. "It frightened me, made me feel human again. Truly rotten, I tell you, boy. Those squares and rectangles, and those breathes. They frighten me. I don’t care! I’m not going back to those worlds again."
"Which are what, exactly, Madame?" Mr. Clark’s gaze was unfriendly. It gave Madame the chills. Pretty cold for a spirit. They were hiding something. It could be this "worlds" talk.
"Oh, my apologies, Clarky-boy. I’ve said too much." The stare went on. She covered her mouth. "Oops. Too much, yes."
"What about the doors? Where do they lead to?"
All circles--I mean, eyes, were now on me. They were stricken with confusion. Mr. Clark’s pair was the first one to avert.
"There are no doors in Oblivion, Mr. Blackwood." This had a superior tone to it. He nearly laughed.
"But I saw doors. They were hanging. With the rectangles, up there on the ceiling."
"The ceiling? Wild. Very wild indeed. Your imagination."
"It’s not." But, yes, in a sense, it was. "They’re real."
"Mr. Blackwood, tell me, what is the most common thing you can see in a normal ceiling?"
"The light, Sir." It took a while before I answered it. I was mildly confused, at the start.
"Do you see that light? In that ceiling?"
"Yes, Sir. A bunch. Only eclipses."
"That is real. Do you agree?"
"Yes."
"Then, the doors you saw might be your own shadow play, Mr. Blackwood. They bounce off the light."
"No, Sir, they’re real doors."
"How will you prove it to me, then, that those are real doors?"
"The ceiling could be a floor?" He didn’t speak more. He was impressed by my last counter.
He closed his eyes, as if sighing, probably in deep thought. Then, in its sleepy open, he turned to Silver. My alien friend was awoken from his lazy float.
"Image." His voice was forced. "Go with the boy. The doors might be the thoughts."
Silver had an apparent reluctance. But he morphed, anyway, into a wispy figure. It hovered erratically, in trembles.
"Off to Julia’s den, Jake. Let us find the good stuff." He entered the diary, which was quarter-opened.
Second time today, I opened the diary, and it flipped itself to some random page. The world zoomed, and I was taken to Oblivion. But it felt different. This was outer space. The squares and rectangles were floating. And stars were here, littered. They made the maze brighter, friendlier.
Soon, the figures started to roll. Swish. Multiple swishes. Then, they boomeranged to their original positions. Bam. Multiple bams. A few nearly hit me. I avoided them by running, with a face distorted of panic. The stars one by one dissolved, not leaving even stains of light. The maze then regained its cold ego.
There was another light source. It was on the ceiling: a reversed wisp the size of about three fists clumped together. It had eyes big enough to occupy half of its body, which was smoky and emitted small particles of smoky white dust, like the fireballs of the tales.
"Hey, Jake!" it called. The voice was familiar. It was Silver’s. Fancy that. So he looked like this here. "What are you doing up there? Get down here!"
Down? Karma acted fast. All this time, I was stuck on the ceiling of this world. I descended, then fell flat on the hard-tiled floor. It felt like metal hitting my head.
"Quite the fall. But, at least, this proves your argument correct. Does that make you, I observe, a happy fellow?"
"That place’s dark. There’s no light. It somehow feels sad. And this, it’s the opposite." The narrow walkway led to the light source, making it warm. "It’s shining."
"Which place, Jake?"
"The ceiling. Or, wait, is this new floor the ceiling? Or that? I’m getting confused."
"Were you hit by the pages and the words?" I wondered what those were. "They often go wild, stubborn Runes. They affect the vague labyrinth deeply."
"You look nice." I was amused. I cracked laughter, but stopped when I heard the creepy echoes. "I didn’t know you could grow eyes as big as those."
He constricted his eyes, like Mr. Clark’s, eyebrow-less face compressed.
"It is positive. They grant me concentrated vision. Now, Jake, we are in Julia’s den. Phantom territory. That means the Phantom can easily get into your vague labyrinth, and show you the very beautiful drawings."
"What’s the deal? I’m a lover of art."
"Art? Is that, I observe, how humans call things hard to understand?"
"Uh, never mind."
We passed four rectangles. The doors were shaking, breathing. My skin, I felt, had turned cold, out of fear and excitement. I was cautious of the hisses that traveled it. When we reached the third pair, I pointed to the door of the right alley.
"Look. There it is. One of the breathing doors."
"Jake, that is not my idea of a door, and you ought to know as well. That is empty space. Well, not truly empty, but that is lifeless. That is not breathing. That is what you humans call a wall, Jake."
"You see a wall? That’s abnormal."
"Trust me. I have concentrated vision." Silver, I think there was something wrong with that.
I started walking towards the door. I didn’t listen to more of Silver’s nags. The voice grew louder, and it was speaking in my head. My hands were alert, as if I had objects seized in them.
"Silver, come close."
"No, Jake, you come back here."
"Don’t be a killjoy. The mystery sense is here." I held the doorknob tightly, turned it. There was no click. "It’s heavy."
Then, I had a new sensation. The weight of a hand, invisible, had placed itself over mine. Turning the doorknob became easier.
The door opened. There was only dark space. Nothingness. I entered, Silver followed. I could see, from a glance, that he was much shocked.
"The wall’s opened, Silver."
"Lovely wall. It is one of a kind."
Inside was a dark path, also a lit one. They converged to form one half-dark, half-lit path; and stretched to empty space, to a doorway figure.
Across that was a room, a well-lit one. It had the same dark adventure feel. I called this the Mirror Room. That name was not special. It was a first-impression thing. It was full of mirrors. Some had faithful reflections. Others, extremely distorted. The wisp by my side had no mirror image.
"Is that normal? You have no reflection."
"I am an Image. I already am a reflection." What did he mean by that? Vague.