![]() stairwellsA Story by Prescilla![]() wrote this in the late hours of night, the first time id written in a long time, and it felt so good to stay up late with all the lights off and music blaring, my fingers typing madly on the keyboard. this is only the begining of the story, im going to co![]()
I walked down the hallway, deserted though it was, I couldn’t but help feel some presence behind my back, lingering on my neck, kissing the air with electricity. I closed my eyes for a moment. It was no mistake, something was there. Before I could take a deep breath, I felt a jolt of shivers up my left arm, and a breeze brushed strands of hair across my cheek. I whirled around and stood facing only the hallway and a door about 100 yards away, slowly closing out the sunlight that peeked through. It shut with a metallic bang and left me wondering if someone had opened it, or if it was just the wind. I watched the door suspiciously, as if it would soon burst open and shine the brightest sunlight into the dark hallway. I felt a prickle on my hand, and then a touch. I turned and looked into the face of a stranger, his hand on mine, eyes clear and brown but with dark circles underneath. He put a finger up to his lips and whispered a very long “shhh”. He cast his glance behind me onto the door and pointed the same bony finger over my shoulder. “There’s someone coming.” He said it so quietly, I wasn’t sure he had said anything at all. I slowly turned my head to look at the door, and held my breath. Suddenly he grabbed my hand tighter and pulled me down the hallway. There was a door on the left that opened to a stairwell, and he pushed against it, pulled me through and led me on, letting the slam echo loud on the linoleum floor, our footsteps, and the gentle swish of clothing. He led me quickly down the stairwell, so quickly I thought I would surely lose my footing, but I kept up, whisking downward in a loud patter. The man must’ve dragged me down ten flights, I thought it was never to end, until suddenly he pushed open the door to the sixth floor, and shut it quickly behind us. We leaned against the wall near the door, as if pressing ourselves closer would hide us from any wary eyes.
We waited, breathing hard, but quietly. I observed the man more closely to see if I should trust him, as if there were a way to find out who he was by looking at him. He had thick skin that was deeply tanned and rough. He had let go of my hand, and I saw that his were strong, callused, with dirty fingernails. His clothing hung on him like they were two sizes too big, and he was wearing so many layers, it was impossible to think there was a body underneath them at all. He wore a dirty green beanie, and out from under it stuck longish brown hair covering his eyes. His face was very frail-looking, with an unshaven pointed chin, and a bird-like nose; you could see his cheekbones were very defined, but they seemed able to break at the fall of a raindrop upon them. He turned suddenly to look at me with his clear brown eyes, and as I looked into them, I saw they were oddly warm. In fact they were on fire. His eyes were ignited with electricity, and I saw that he was intensely alive, though his body would say otherwise. I noticed that I had made a mistake; this was no man, he was young, he was not yet 23. I stared at him for a moment, and we stood without a word until he said this: “come with me”. He gently took my hand and I felt the calluses of years of work on my raw barely touched skin. The way he had said those words; come with me, like said to a lover, not follow me like said as an order, echoed inside my bones.
He walked at a more even pace this time, and pulled me along a fluorescent-lit hall, with many grey doors, not numbered but lettered in silver. I glanced sideways at them as we passed, and followed the letters to a very red door named “S”, where we stopped. He glanced down the hall both ways, and then knocked twice on the door. He let go of my hand, and I felt the cold air fill the spot where his skin was on mine. He fished around for something in his pocket and came up with a blue lighter, then held it up to the metal letter and lit it. I watched in wonder, not knowing what he intended to happen next, but waited to see if there was a change in the door. He must've held the lighter up to the letter for five minutes, until I noticed suddenly the paint on the door was bubbling, boiling, and finally melting. The paint dripped onto the white linoleum floor then, as if gravity had controlled it, formed a blood-red pool and slipped itself underneath the door. As soon as all the paint had melted and vanished, leaving the door a clean clear white, he clicked off the lighter and put it back in his pocket. I looked at him, as if expecting an explanation, but he just glanced at me and threw me a half-hearted smile and chuckled once to himself. He looked at the door, waiting, then said “should be any minute now” and took a pocket watch out of one of the folds in his clothing. I glanced over his shoulder at the watch, and noticed that it was not ticking. The time held 6:55 and the second hand was just past the seven, frozen in place.
Suddenly I heard a sharp deep noise on the other side of the door; it sounded as though numerous deadbolts were being unlocked. There were so many clicks, there had to be at least twenty locks on the other side of the door. After a very loud metal scraping noise, the silver knob slowly turned. The door opened into a dark room, and I followed the young man in. I couldn’t see a thing, and felt forward into the dark until I found his arm, and grasped him closer to me in fear. The door creaked closed behind us and then again I heard the many clicks of the locks. After a moment of darkness, candles started to light up within the room, revealing inch by inch of the place I was now standing. The candles were white, but the whole rest of the room was covered with red. The light revealed an old red divan, with golden legs, and red wallpaper, and a red glass table with a single red flower laying on it. The floor was red, painted, and I had a flickering suspicion that the paint from the door was the same as the paint on the floor. At least a hundred candles had been lit by now, but the room somehow still seemed dark. I let go of the young man’s arm and walked around the room, observing its red objects. It made me feel hot, like I was blushing, and like my skin was burning from underneath. I walked towards a mirror, the only thing in the room that was not red and gold. I glanced into it, but did not see my reflection, I only saw him standing behind me.
The first time I had spoken to him since he had taken me here, I only said “what is this place”? He looked at me as if shocked at the volume and pitch of my voice, and then his eyes flashed that wild freedom I had seen before. Now in candle-light, he looked like he belonged there in that red room with his fire eyes. “you’ve been here before, no doubt”? was his reply as he took off his overcoat and set it neatly on the back of a red cushioned chair. A picture flashed in through my memory, then vanished quickly, and I closed my eyes to see it shown again on the back s of my eyelids. It was the room, the same red room, the same furniture, the flower, the mirror, and the painted floor. There was a figure laying on the divan, naked, their skin pale and soft in the candle-light. I looked closer, and saw that it was me. It was my own body, my own breasts, my own hips, my own legs, my own shoulders. I gasped and opened my eyes to find him standing close to me. He had taken off many of the layers of his clothing, and now stood only in a white t-shirt and grey jeans, his feet bare on the red floor. I looked at him again, the dark hair hanging in his face, and his arms skinny and lanky. This time I took in his full figure. He was strong. He had small bones, and lean muscles, but strong. He held his chest proud, and I saw the contours of his stomach, the ripples of muscle, the subtle veins in his neck. I was suddenly taken to touch him. I walked around him. He had a back like an angel: shoulders curving perfectly into blades so defined that they seemed to be wings, and the muscles tensed with strength. He stood firm, a few inches taller than me, and bold like a statue. I walked farther around to face him, and let my hand gently brush his arm as I went. He glanced at my hand, with a sharp intake of breath. I barely let my fingertips touch him as I traced up his arm, over his shoulder, and across his collar bone. I stood close to him, so close I could feel his breath on my hand that rested on his chest. “you were here with me, weren’t you”? I asked him quietly. He sighed and looked in my eyes. “it is a shame you do not remember”. He said as he took my other hand in his. I felt the calluses, but invited the warmth of his fingers intertwined in mine.
There was a sharp knock on the door, loud and forceful. We spun around in silent fear for who was on the other side. He turned back to look at me with comforting eyes, then tip-toed away towards the door, slowly letting my hand go. He put an ear to the door, and held his breath. Three more swift knocks echoed into the room. He glanced back at me again, then knelt down to look under the door. He then quickly got up and tip-toed back over to me, put his finger to my lips and motioned for me to follow. I took his hand and followed him to the only other door in the room. It was red of course, but unlocked, and we entered another room quietly. He shut the door quickly behind us.
© 2008 Prescilla |
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Added on December 5, 2008 |