Cycle - A Short Story

[Zonorhc]

Oriel awoke with a splitting headache. It was as if he had just been assaulted with a club - no, six - then robbed of something. His consciousness, obviously, but there was the feeling of something else missing; it was just too difficult to focus his thoughts on anything. He had been here for days, or possibly weeks or months or years - he was not exactly sure. He was not exactly sure of where 'here' was, for that matter. Some days he was not sure of anything, and the only certainty in life was that he still existed, though he did sometimes doubt that - not a soul gave much attantion to him or anyone else, so his own existence was nothing more that a debatable certainty at best. Or maybe not; Oriel's senses had been relaying inconsistent information lately - or was that just his mind? He was almost certain there was indeed a dim lantern in the room, on a desk just past the bars of his cell. Now that he though about it, he was actually certain that he was in a cell. He half-heartedly raised a hand to rub his aching head, almost certain that a manacle - yes, he did have a pair of those, he was sure - would restrain him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The dull sound of heavy iron striking old stone made him jump. He frantically scampered to one side of the cell, and another of the sounds sent his heart jumping up his throat. He reached for his dagger, then realised it wasn't there on his belt where he had left it. At this point, adrenaline pumping through his body, he realized that his manacles had slipped off, and by the lantern's dim illumination, Oriel noticed them swinging where they had been bolted to the stone, clinking and thumping as they struck the wall.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He stepped out of his cell, barely noting that the door was wide open, and tentatively picked up the lantern, almost certain that its rusty handle would break. Just as he turned away from the desk, his eyes caught sight of a book. He felt that he should ignore it, but at the same time, he felt a compulsion to read its contents. He gave in to the latter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The book appeared ancient. Its brown leather jacket was smoothed with age, and bore no title. He opened it carefully, unsure of whether he should touch the pages lest he destroy them. It appeared to be a diary, but only had three entries in it. Something about the handwriting was oddly familiar to him, and he found it quite an easy task to read.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At the house.

 

 

 

Nothing here. The house is empty. Don't know why I even bothered to take on the contract. At least the pay is good for so little work. It's late. I should spend the night here. He said not to sleep in any of the upstairs bedrooms. Normally I'd follow instructions, but the only alternatives are the dungeon, the study and the sitting room. I don't like any of them. Study and sitting room are too big for my tastes, and the walls feel like they're watching you. Don't want to sleep in the entrance hall either, can't stand the hellish shadows the glass paintings on the ceiling make. Don't like the dining room, the mural on the ceiling disturbs me. Definitely won't sleep on the balcony.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Second day in the house.

 

 

 

Barely slept. Felt like the walls were watching. Always feel like the walls are watching. Could have sworn the glass above the entrance hall was shifting last night. Might have just been the clouds passing over the moon. Won't sleep upstairs anymore. I'll try the dungeon next time. Have to search the house again to check if I missed anything, anyway. The whole place gives me the creeps. Feel like there's something in here. I'll try to remember the rest of those things he said. Don't sleep in any of the upstairs bedrooms. Don't touch the black books in the study. Don't touch the glass after the sun sets. Don't stare at the walls. No idea why. Broken one of those already, and I didn't like it. Better leave tomorrow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Last day in the house.

 

 

 

Barely remembered I was going to leave today. Dungeon's so cold I can't think. Definitely nothing in the house. Waste of time. Think I touched one of those black books anyway. Can't be that bad. Better get ready to leave. Hope my horse hasn't go - the flowing hand ended abruptly, and was replaced by a more jagged, rough script - YOU DO NOT LEAVE. YOU STAY. YOU FORGET. YOU REMEMBER. YOU LIVE. YOU DIE. I WILL WATCH YOU. I WILL MAKE YOU STAY. I WILL MAKE YOU LIVE. I WILL MAKE YOU FORGET. I WILL MAKE YOU REMEMBER. I WILL TORMENT YOU. ARISHNETHA K'THUN ARISHNETHA K'THAKNA O-SIL RGUSH TLI'AST. DGRUSKNA ISK-ISK HARGRUUMTS NAVENDIS ORASHK-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oriel shut the book. He realized that he had been shouting as he read the foul text. Something in the letters chilled him to the bone, and he found that he could barely stand. He shook his head to clear it. Why was he feeling like this? He faintly remembered shouting a few moments ago, but not about what. Thinking nothing of it, he mounted the stairwell in the opposite corner of the room. He opened the door at the top, and found himself in what looked like an entrance hall. The vast chamber was made completely of marble, with several pillars supporting the elaborate stained glass ceiling above. The panes of glass were all uniformly dark blue around a single, clear, lens-like circle in the exact middle, and became lighter towards the edges. A shifting, perhaps caused by the flickering light of his lantern, or possibly the clouds moving over the moon above, caused a shape to form - something Oriel could not identify, but it made his skin crawl, and aroused a such a terror inside him that he almost collapsed. The terrible visage disappeared after a moment, and Oriel wondered why he felt so weak. He vaguely remembered something about a horrifying image, but thought nothing of it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He turned back and descended the stairwell. It was too late to go around and explore, anyway. Besides, his lantern looked like it was almost burnt out. He set it on the desk again, and went back into his cell.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oriel awoke with a splitting headache. It was as if he had just been assaulted with a club - no, six - then robbed of something. His consciousness, obviously, but there was the feeling of something else missing; it was just too difficult to focus his thoughts on anything. He had been here for days, or possibly weeks or months or years - he was not exactly sure. He was not exactly sure of where 'here' was, for that matter. Some days he was not sure of anything, and the only certainty in life was that he still existed, though he did sometimes doubt that.