The chalice slips from her trembling hands, clattering against the tile floor. That isn’t right… The grass… Blinking rapidly, she struggles to adapt to the terribly bright room, lowering her head weakly. Teetering atop two useless legs, Xiah watches the chalice spin round and round, its scraping sound echoing all through the room, all through her ears, round and round and round.
Where the hell am I.
The pristine white-black tiling glimmers, even as dust particles float through the painfully strong light. Falteringly, a single hand brushes against her stomach, ribs, throat, before running across her mouth. She barely notices the trail of blood left behind, though the taste lingers on her tongue. She can barely see at all in the harsh light.
Her breath comes out in a cough, and enters like three sharp stabs.
(In, in, in, out, in, out, in, in, out).
Face contorting as the rolling of the chalice mounts to a metallic screeching, Xiah raises her silver eyes. Immediately she stumbles backwards (feet slipping, arms flying to her ears, body losing balance) only to be caught by an excruciatingly plain white wall; for the sight before her may not be withstood.
Kida (Jude) stands in the centre of the unfurnished room, silver eyes piercing Xiah’s. The screeching of the chalice comes from the depths of her mouth, depths which are black, putrid, oozing. Spine-like teeth protrude from tearing lips, lips too small to accommodate the nightmare’s fangs. Dislocated arms taught behind her, body tilted awkwardly forward, Kida advances, each step a snap.
Sobbing, Xiah scratches the ordinary wall, the blank canvas begging for red paint. The fingertips of her right hand brush against the corner of an arched doorway (the corner of what may be her last escape). The young girl latches on to the corner and flips herself around to the other side of the wall, narrowly avoiding Kida’s villainous fangs as she lunges to the where Xiah used to be.
“GET BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE WRETCH!”
Xiah does not comply. Especially since her sister’s light-monster cannot enter this… Place.
The new room crawls in ink, thick, impenetrable ink. (In, out, out, in, out). Silver eyes burning as they strain to see, Xiah slips her left hand back towards the white room, forgetting the immediate danger found therein. Fingers slipping around the cool corner, a horrifying shlunk precedes her dolor. Instantly her hand returns from the white room, twitching sickly before her night-blind eyes. As Kida cackles into a silent oblivion, Xiah’s screams mimic her sister’s demonic wailing; for though she may not see, before her eyes quakes her left hand, complete save for the second knuckles of her pinky and ring finger.
Dancing pitifully through the pain, Xiah pulls vainly at her shift before managing to tear off a dirty strip. Shaking uselessly, her sobs are the only sound as she fumbles to make a poor, improper tourniquet. (Twist, twist, twist, dear me, that’s quite slippery to touch). Her good fingers slide against her wounds, struggling to tighten and tie off the tourniquet. Finally she manages to halt the bleeding, though at this point, to give in to the darkness seems her most friendly option.
“Xiah?” Calls a far-away voice, one of bone-chilling familiarity. Hope breaks the girl’s heart. “Xiah!” And yet she finds herself responding, legs moving towards the motherly noises, heart responding to her father’s call. Sobbing now through a bloody smile, she runs blindly towards the voices, arms outstretched towards them.
The air of her lungs explodes through her ribs when she hits them, the cold, unforgiving figures. Instantly her fear returns. Hands (mangled and bloody) scramble against the stone-like beings; their invisible arms suddenly envelope her, trapping her in their embrace, pinning her into the nightmare.
“Oh darling, we’ve missed you quite terribly.”
(I missed you too mommy, but I have to go, I have to leave).
“Now, now, don’t squirm, it’s been ages since our last meeting.”
(Oh please daddy let me go, this isn’t you, stop, you’re hurting me!)
“Well now, about that. Why haven’t you been to see us?”
Their voices begin to darken, distorting from those of her mother and father’s. Squirming beneath their iron grasps, Xiah’s tears corrode their metal, her cries echoing their wrath.
“You little ungrateful brat, running away from mummy and daddy dearest.”
(I never ran, you just left, I couldn’t stop you, oh god please let me go!)
“She never even said goodbye, the bitch.”
Her fists beat against the stonework, summoning blood to her shorn phalanges. Her own screaming seems terribly distant, the sound of her desperate explanations and pitiful arguments the background music to their hit-single.
“She should fucking pay, ought to come see what it’s like in hell.”
(Please, please, please, daddy, I didn’t do anything I swear!)
“After what she did to our Kida, hell wouldn’t be punishment enough.”
(I didn’t mean to kill her! I couldn’t help it, that wasn’t me, you KNOW that wasn’t me!)
“Maybe we should have some fun ourselves, my love.”
Weakened beyond measure by the loathing of her parents, Xiah goes limp in their grasp. Her body collapses, responding to the fear of both ultimate pain and incurable rejection. Her mind recalls play-dates on winter mornings and flight-lessons above the mountain tops, and she wonders what has changed their minds; her eyes see now only darkness, the blackness of her inevitable death, and the hateful faces of her parents, faces which exist only in this reality.
Lifting their daughter into their arms, the monsters bend their graphite knees, leaping mightily into the inky air before crashing through the wood flooring. Xiah expects to slam into their arms and to break some ribs; instead she meets the second-floor red carpet, though it does little to cushion her fall.
Moaning dreadfully, the frail black girl struggles to her elbows and knees, battling with her lungs for air. As the motions of breathing become semi-natural and the bleeding in her fingers cease, her silver eyes chance an upward glance.
About her, expensive gold couches stand pressed against red hand-painted walls. Fringed lamps sit here and there, exposing the setting in a putrid yellow light. The carpet smells of mildew and rot, as though the sitting room has not been sat in for a very long time. Around the room foreign oddities are strewn, “decorations” one might say. Daring to extend her lungs fully, Xiah absorbs the silence, both traumatized and entranced by what it may hold. Unwounded fingers digging into the red fabric, Xiah lurches to her knees, head spinning.
“You look so pretty on your knees.”
Scrambling messily to a crouch, Xiah presses her body upwards, only to fall dizzily into a tall porcelain vase. It shatters upon meeting the carpet.
“Now look what she’s done, gone and ruined our sitting room.”
Clutching her ears, Xiah pierces the disgusting tranquility with her shrieks. She drowns the voices with her own agonized one, staggering in circles until finally her unreactive eyes meet a doorway. Lunging towards it, the intricately designed door slams shut, sending Xiah reeling backwards. An electrical cord lays conveniently at her feet, and in another step, shards of porcelain embed themselves in the heel of her palms and the back of her exposed neck. Eyes clenching, a gut-wrenching cry splits her lips once more, though her parent’s cackling overwhelm the sound of her terror.
Frenzied now, Xiah plants an elbow in the shattered porcelain, pushing herself up to her feet. She begins running before she knows exactly where-to. Her apparent target? A hanging tapestry. Bracing herself for impact, Xiah’s shoulders hunch.
Whoosh.
Squealing angrily, the voices of her demonic parent’s fade into the distance, trapped in the red-carpet room. Barely conscious of herself, Xiah takes no note of the stone passageway she flees through, nor the echoing drips of condensing moisture. No, she simply delves into her remaining adrenaline, pumping her legs and arms despite her blood loss. She bends and twists with the curves of the secret passageway, following the small lanterns which spot the sides like a trail of candy; down, down, down.
Killer… She stumbles at the nearly inaudible word, heart pulsating irregularly.
Murderer... The wall catches her when her feet begin sloshing through an accumulation of water.
Slaughterer… Recognizing the tones of her very own voice, Xiah moans sadly to herself, too spent to scream.
The whispers multiply as she struggles through the inexplicably mounting waters, and they spin cruel tales of her vampiric misfortunes. Denying them through a feeble voice, Xiah begins shivering, for the waters are cold. And one might say the Tundraling ought to be used to the chill; but in this form she wears no fur, and her state of shock and horror only worsens her ability to adapt.
Swinging her arms in an attempt to maneuver her legs through the now hip-deep pool, Xiah strains her eyes for the next lantern. With each step the passageway grows lower and lower, bringing the waters higher and higher upon her skin. The whispers take on a metallic note, burning into her skull, searing her memories until they no longer exist.
At last she comes to the end of her rope, tip toes barely scraping the bottom of the pool. The cool liquid burns against her many wounds, festering in her finger tips, clawing at the porcelain. She begs the whispering to stop, and yet has not the strength to raise her hands to her ears.
She has not passed a lantern in minutes, and with darkness so does the whispering deepen. Spluttering inhaled water, Xiah sobs, knowing that to turn back is death. Pushing uselessly off of the passageway bottom, Xiah swims weakly forwards, coughing continuously as the black waters claim her lungs.
The whispers become snarls and her soul loosens its grip on her body. Xiah’s forehead gently bumps into the roof of the passageway, for she goes slowly. Tears streaming from her unseeing silver eyes, she succumbs to the growling voices, naming herself killer, murderer, and slaughterer, for naught else remains for her to do. Breathing a final quaking breath (in, in, in, in, in, out), Xiah releases herself to the seething embrace of the black waters.
“Fuck!” The distorted word comes out in a heap of bubbles, bringing fire to her lungs. With a heartbreaking show of final courage, her broken hands scramble against the wooden door she has met with. Her fingertips slip slowly over its edges in desperate search for a handle, clutching at something she begins to doubt is there. Lips parting in a final cry, Xiah has no choice but to inhale.
Click.
At the final moment she unlatches the door, and like a destroyed dam, the passage-way lake floods the basement. Xiah floats along with it, no longer conscious, though her coughs pierce the rushing water now and then as she resurfaces. Unaware of the furious shrieking of all Kida, Lea, Errant and theb Whisperers, Xiah rides upon the waves until, with one final surge, she is pushed through a small exit.
Would she have seen it, she may have smiled; for, as unlikely as it may seem, it resembles a mouse-hole.
Where the hell am I.
The pristine white-black tiling glimmers, even as dust particles float through the painfully strong light. Falteringly, a single hand brushes against her stomach, ribs, throat, before running across her mouth. She barely notices the trail of blood left behind, though the taste lingers on her tongue. She can barely see at all in the harsh light.
Her breath comes out in a cough, and enters like three sharp stabs.
(In, in, in, out, in, out, in, in, out).
Face contorting as the rolling of the chalice mounts to a metallic screeching, Xiah raises her silver eyes. Immediately she stumbles backwards (feet slipping, arms flying to her ears, body losing balance) only to be caught by an excruciatingly plain white wall; for the sight before her may not be withstood.
Kida (Jude) stands in the centre of the unfurnished room, silver eyes piercing Xiah’s. The screeching of the chalice comes from the depths of her mouth, depths which are black, putrid, oozing. Spine-like teeth protrude from tearing lips, lips too small to accommodate the nightmare’s fangs. Dislocated arms taught behind her, body tilted awkwardly forward, Kida advances, each step a snap.
Sobbing, Xiah scratches the ordinary wall, the blank canvas begging for red paint. The fingertips of her right hand brush against the corner of an arched doorway (the corner of what may be her last escape). The young girl latches on to the corner and flips herself around to the other side of the wall, narrowly avoiding Kida’s villainous fangs as she lunges to the where Xiah used to be.
“GET BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE WRETCH!”
Xiah does not comply. Especially since her sister’s light-monster cannot enter this… Place.
The new room crawls in ink, thick, impenetrable ink. (In, out, out, in, out). Silver eyes burning as they strain to see, Xiah slips her left hand back towards the white room, forgetting the immediate danger found therein. Fingers slipping around the cool corner, a horrifying shlunk precedes her dolor. Instantly her hand returns from the white room, twitching sickly before her night-blind eyes. As Kida cackles into a silent oblivion, Xiah’s screams mimic her sister’s demonic wailing; for though she may not see, before her eyes quakes her left hand, complete save for the second knuckles of her pinky and ring finger.
Dancing pitifully through the pain, Xiah pulls vainly at her shift before managing to tear off a dirty strip. Shaking uselessly, her sobs are the only sound as she fumbles to make a poor, improper tourniquet. (Twist, twist, twist, dear me, that’s quite slippery to touch). Her good fingers slide against her wounds, struggling to tighten and tie off the tourniquet. Finally she manages to halt the bleeding, though at this point, to give in to the darkness seems her most friendly option.
“Xiah?” Calls a far-away voice, one of bone-chilling familiarity. Hope breaks the girl’s heart. “Xiah!” And yet she finds herself responding, legs moving towards the motherly noises, heart responding to her father’s call. Sobbing now through a bloody smile, she runs blindly towards the voices, arms outstretched towards them.
The air of her lungs explodes through her ribs when she hits them, the cold, unforgiving figures. Instantly her fear returns. Hands (mangled and bloody) scramble against the stone-like beings; their invisible arms suddenly envelope her, trapping her in their embrace, pinning her into the nightmare.
“Oh darling, we’ve missed you quite terribly.”
(I missed you too mommy, but I have to go, I have to leave).
“Now, now, don’t squirm, it’s been ages since our last meeting.”
(Oh please daddy let me go, this isn’t you, stop, you’re hurting me!)
“Well now, about that. Why haven’t you been to see us?”
Their voices begin to darken, distorting from those of her mother and father’s. Squirming beneath their iron grasps, Xiah’s tears corrode their metal, her cries echoing their wrath.
“You little ungrateful brat, running away from mummy and daddy dearest.”
(I never ran, you just left, I couldn’t stop you, oh god please let me go!)
“She never even said goodbye, the bitch.”
Her fists beat against the stonework, summoning blood to her shorn phalanges. Her own screaming seems terribly distant, the sound of her desperate explanations and pitiful arguments the background music to their hit-single.
“She should fucking pay, ought to come see what it’s like in hell.”
(Please, please, please, daddy, I didn’t do anything I swear!)
“After what she did to our Kida, hell wouldn’t be punishment enough.”
(I didn’t mean to kill her! I couldn’t help it, that wasn’t me, you KNOW that wasn’t me!)
“Maybe we should have some fun ourselves, my love.”
Weakened beyond measure by the loathing of her parents, Xiah goes limp in their grasp. Her body collapses, responding to the fear of both ultimate pain and incurable rejection. Her mind recalls play-dates on winter mornings and flight-lessons above the mountain tops, and she wonders what has changed their minds; her eyes see now only darkness, the blackness of her inevitable death, and the hateful faces of her parents, faces which exist only in this reality.
Lifting their daughter into their arms, the monsters bend their graphite knees, leaping mightily into the inky air before crashing through the wood flooring. Xiah expects to slam into their arms and to break some ribs; instead she meets the second-floor red carpet, though it does little to cushion her fall.
Moaning dreadfully, the frail black girl struggles to her elbows and knees, battling with her lungs for air. As the motions of breathing become semi-natural and the bleeding in her fingers cease, her silver eyes chance an upward glance.
About her, expensive gold couches stand pressed against red hand-painted walls. Fringed lamps sit here and there, exposing the setting in a putrid yellow light. The carpet smells of mildew and rot, as though the sitting room has not been sat in for a very long time. Around the room foreign oddities are strewn, “decorations” one might say. Daring to extend her lungs fully, Xiah absorbs the silence, both traumatized and entranced by what it may hold. Unwounded fingers digging into the red fabric, Xiah lurches to her knees, head spinning.
“You look so pretty on your knees.”
Scrambling messily to a crouch, Xiah presses her body upwards, only to fall dizzily into a tall porcelain vase. It shatters upon meeting the carpet.
“Now look what she’s done, gone and ruined our sitting room.”
Clutching her ears, Xiah pierces the disgusting tranquility with her shrieks. She drowns the voices with her own agonized one, staggering in circles until finally her unreactive eyes meet a doorway. Lunging towards it, the intricately designed door slams shut, sending Xiah reeling backwards. An electrical cord lays conveniently at her feet, and in another step, shards of porcelain embed themselves in the heel of her palms and the back of her exposed neck. Eyes clenching, a gut-wrenching cry splits her lips once more, though her parent’s cackling overwhelm the sound of her terror.
Frenzied now, Xiah plants an elbow in the shattered porcelain, pushing herself up to her feet. She begins running before she knows exactly where-to. Her apparent target? A hanging tapestry. Bracing herself for impact, Xiah’s shoulders hunch.
Whoosh.
Squealing angrily, the voices of her demonic parent’s fade into the distance, trapped in the red-carpet room. Barely conscious of herself, Xiah takes no note of the stone passageway she flees through, nor the echoing drips of condensing moisture. No, she simply delves into her remaining adrenaline, pumping her legs and arms despite her blood loss. She bends and twists with the curves of the secret passageway, following the small lanterns which spot the sides like a trail of candy; down, down, down.
Killer… She stumbles at the nearly inaudible word, heart pulsating irregularly.
Murderer... The wall catches her when her feet begin sloshing through an accumulation of water.
Slaughterer… Recognizing the tones of her very own voice, Xiah moans sadly to herself, too spent to scream.
The whispers multiply as she struggles through the inexplicably mounting waters, and they spin cruel tales of her vampiric misfortunes. Denying them through a feeble voice, Xiah begins shivering, for the waters are cold. And one might say the Tundraling ought to be used to the chill; but in this form she wears no fur, and her state of shock and horror only worsens her ability to adapt.
Swinging her arms in an attempt to maneuver her legs through the now hip-deep pool, Xiah strains her eyes for the next lantern. With each step the passageway grows lower and lower, bringing the waters higher and higher upon her skin. The whispers take on a metallic note, burning into her skull, searing her memories until they no longer exist.
At last she comes to the end of her rope, tip toes barely scraping the bottom of the pool. The cool liquid burns against her many wounds, festering in her finger tips, clawing at the porcelain. She begs the whispering to stop, and yet has not the strength to raise her hands to her ears.
She has not passed a lantern in minutes, and with darkness so does the whispering deepen. Spluttering inhaled water, Xiah sobs, knowing that to turn back is death. Pushing uselessly off of the passageway bottom, Xiah swims weakly forwards, coughing continuously as the black waters claim her lungs.
The whispers become snarls and her soul loosens its grip on her body. Xiah’s forehead gently bumps into the roof of the passageway, for she goes slowly. Tears streaming from her unseeing silver eyes, she succumbs to the growling voices, naming herself killer, murderer, and slaughterer, for naught else remains for her to do. Breathing a final quaking breath (in, in, in, in, in, out), Xiah releases herself to the seething embrace of the black waters.
“Fuck!” The distorted word comes out in a heap of bubbles, bringing fire to her lungs. With a heartbreaking show of final courage, her broken hands scramble against the wooden door she has met with. Her fingertips slip slowly over its edges in desperate search for a handle, clutching at something she begins to doubt is there. Lips parting in a final cry, Xiah has no choice but to inhale.
Click.
At the final moment she unlatches the door, and like a destroyed dam, the passage-way lake floods the basement. Xiah floats along with it, no longer conscious, though her coughs pierce the rushing water now and then as she resurfaces. Unaware of the furious shrieking of all Kida, Lea, Errant and theb Whisperers, Xiah rides upon the waves until, with one final surge, she is pushed through a small exit.
Would she have seen it, she may have smiled; for, as unlikely as it may seem, it resembles a mouse-hole.