Page 9 of Fragmented Illusions
The wood is splintered and fractured in many places, making me second guess my decision to explore. I don’t weigh a lot—a benefit of never eating much—but I’m not sure this can hold even my weight without collapsing.
Right as I decide to leave, I see the beam of light again. It’s barely visible as it appears in the window to my left, but this time, it doesn’t disappear. It stays in one spot, and I find myself gravitating towards said window.
I shuffle my feet along the wilting, splintered wood, making myself even quieter with the prospect of another person actually being here. Why the thought didn’t cross my mind before, I’m not sure. But now that I think about it, where else would a light be coming from?
You have always been such a stupid little girl, Fallon.
You never use your brain.
Biting my bottom lip harshly, I press myself up against the side of the cabin next to the window. Glass shards jut out of the frame in every direction making it almost impossible for me to peer inside of the cabin without stabbing myself.
The light reflects on the glass as it remains stationary and when I realize I can’t look inside without being seen, I stay there for a few moments listening before I surrender my curiosity.
I want to see what’s inside. Ineedto see what’s inside; consequences be damned.
This place—or whatever is inside—is calling to a part of me. The deepest, darkest parts. But I’m not going to dwell on that right now. My only focus is figuring out whatever this… thing is.
Taking a deep, heavy breath, I shuffle my body toward the front door. In only thirty short seconds, I make it to the door and grab the knob. My palm is still slick with sweat as I grip the cool, oddly shaped metal in my hand. I can feel every scratch that is etched deep into the handle, the edges sharp as they bite into my skin.
Before I can talk myself out of what is probably a very stupid decision, I turn the knob. The wooden door is surprisingly quiet for the most part as it slowly swings open. I cock my head to the side as I peer just inside of the door frame. I can see the light inside of the small cabin illuminate a small part of the interior, but there is a giant wall running from one side almost completely to the other, leaving only a few feet of a walkway to the other side, so I can’t see anything really.
The only objects on my side of the wall are a chair, which, from what I can barely make out, is covered in dust, and probably cobwebs, and a small wooden table pushed up against the wall near the chair. Other than that, the floor is empty, aside from dirt, dust, sticks, and leaves scattered about.
I take a cautionary step forward, putting myself through the door frame, barely inside the tiny cabin. My heart skitters in my chest with anxiety and adrenaline. My hands shake as I grip the side of the door to slowly push it shut behind me. I spin my body with the door so I can make the motion as quiet as possible.
Once the door is securely latched again, I press my hands against the old wood and rest my forehead against it. I take a deep, shuddering breath to try to calm my nerves before I go investigate.
I don’t even know what I expect to find.
Something?
Someone?
I honestly have no clue, but it isn’t going to stop me.
That’s the thing about me, once I have my mind made up, there isn’t any changing it.
Swallowing down the saliva pooling on my tongue, I spin around and gingerly take a step toward the opening on the other side of the room. The hollow floor echoes my footsteps, the only sound in an otherwise silent room.
I ball my hands into fists at my side to prevent them from shaking even worse than they already are, but it’s no use. Instead, my arms shake instead, forcing my shoulders to tense up as well.
I’m about two steps away from the doorway when I hear a voice.
A voice so fucking deep and raspy, the ball of anxiety, and also the curiosity I was feeling, drops instantaneously into the pit of my stomach, making my entire body feel like I was drenched with a bucket of the coldest ice water.
Every part of my body freezes. My legs, my shaky arms and hands. Even my breathing. And I swear even my heart stops beating.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The voice is muffled for some reason, but it’s still clear enough for me to make out every word as if they were spoken right in front of me—which I suppose in a way, they are.
“I’m still playing. What do you think I’m doing?” A different voice answers and I take an involuntary step back.
Two voices.
Two people.
Two males.
In a cabin alone in the middle of nowhere.
