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“He is waiting for you on the other side.”
The figure is shrouded in shadow.
It’s hard to see what it looks like - hard to see anything, really, but this figure seems to almost bend what little light there is away from itself. It clutches a ghostly candle in one hand - is that a hand? It seems too pale - but the sputtering flame does nothing to pierce the darkness surrounding it. A sickly, stretched, emaciated grin peeks out from underneath the figure’s hood. Not a happy grin. A grimace, more like.
“Who is he?”
The figure gestures into the darkness. “You know who he is.”
“I don’t think I do.”
“You’ll find out soon enough if you don’t, anyway. I’m sure you do, though - maybe you’ve just forgotten.”
“Me? I don’t forget things.”
A rattling sigh from the darkness of the figure. “Of course you don’t.”
Silence falls. Nothing moves. The darkness is absolute.
“Where am I?” A voice echoes into the void.
“You really don’t know?”
Something shakes its head.
“Well, then.” The figure doesn’t offer anything else.
“You really aren’t very helpful.”
“No,” it says sadly, “I suppose I’m not.”
The shapes in the darkness are becoming clearer. The figure, first of all - a ragged hoodie, a torn pair of jeans hanging off an almost skeletal frame. A bright light peeks out from under the hood, but it’s hard to tell what it is. It notices something watching it and waves, its candle burning suddenly brighter and casting spiralling shadows all across the floor. Revealing…
Revealing a door.
It’s ornately carved, stretching higher than the eye can see - much taller than the reach of the candle’s light. The black stone it’s carved from is crumbling and old, nearly falling right apart, but there’s an uneasy feeling of power that surrounds it. The carvings tell a story. Now is not the time for stories.
“Who are you?” The voice is almost accusatory this time, the harsh words directed at the figure making it step backwards into the door.
“I…“ It scratches its head. “I think I’m here to help.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“I’m a helper. Does that help?”
A sigh. “No. I mean - I mean your name.”
“Oh. Um. Right.”
Silence falls yet again, the candle swinging a little sadly from the hand of the figure. The air - what little air there is in this place - is filled with dust. The ponderous uneasiness is so absolute you could cut it with a knife as the figure struggles for something. A word, maybe, or a phrase. Itself, perhaps.
“I’m - I mean, my name - my name is…”
Something clicks in its head.
“Wait, you’re not supposed to be the one asking me questions, are you?” it says to something. “I’m the one who’s in charge here. In charge of helping.”
“Oh, you should have told me earlier. Sorry. I didn’t mean to inconvenience you.”
It feels as though the figure is raising an eyebrow.
“I genuinely cannot tell if you’re being sarcastic,” it sighs.
“Good.”
This is a rather interesting one, isn’t it?
The figure doesn’t remember much. It remembers the door, and it remembers darkness, and it remembers the travellers, and it remembers him. Everything seems to have blended together in some unholy amalgamation of faces and sounds that makes it want to scream if it thinks about it too much. The past was too loud - it prefers the quiet, the here and now.
Or, at least, it thinks it does.
It used to have a self. A long time ago, there was something there, something other than the door and the darkness. Maybe it was one of the travellers - or maybe it was just created to help them. Or him. It’s all the same, really, when you think about it.
“Well,” something says, “I think I should get going, don’t you? Places to be, and all that.”
“Wait -” The figure starts to say something, and then stops.
Something turns to look at it.
“Hmm?”
“I -” But whatever it was going to say has slipped from its mind. “I - I hope it goes well.”
“Hope what goes well?”
It points to the door. “This.”
“Oh, that? I’m not ready for that just yet.” A laugh. “I’m going back up. To the light, you know?”
“The… light? Like the candle?”
“You don’t know what light is?”
It has to think about this one. “No. I don’t think so. I might have, a long time ago, but not anymore.”
“That’s… sad.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. Very sad, actually. Light is awesome.” Silence. “Like the candle, but… everywhere, all the time.”
“Oh. That sounds nice.”
“Yeah.” A smile. “It is.”
The figure looks back at the door. “He’ll be angry with you.”
“Oh, sucks to him! I’m not ready yet.”
“He’ll - he’ll be angry with me.”
“Tell him about the light. I’m sure he’ll understand.”
Footsteps walk away from the figure. Before they fade from earshot, a sudden pause.
“I’ll see you again. You know that, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Tell him I’ll be back soon enough. Important business comes first.”
“I will.”
The footsteps start again, but this time back towards the figure.
“Um, just wondering - you can leave here, right?”
“Here?”
“This place. The darkness.”
“If I really wanted to, I’m sure I could.”
A slight smile. “Well, if you want to, there are some people up in the light I think you might like. Come visit sometime.”
“I - I might.”
“Good. Looking forward to seeing you again” - the smile turns into a grin at this point - “buddy.”
Buddy.
That’s not its name, but it’ll do for now.
Footsteps.
A flash.
Something leaves, and all is still.