Chapter 20: House of the Collector – Part 3

The woman was alone, and the slamming of the door still echoed in her mind as she peered into the dark, empty corridor. Salvation, whispered her memory of the younger man’s last word. That was what he had seen, and she had been right to doubt it.

She crept forwards, listening to the creaking of the house around her, her breath caught in her throat as she waited for any other sort of sound. But none came. She wondered if the others were alive, perhaps whisked away to other parts of the house, wandering alone and confused like her. Maybe, if she walked far enough, she would come across them again.

Strangely enough, she was already beginning to miss their company. She hadn’t thought she’d liked any of them much, especially not the younger man, but the hollow corridors around her were something much worse than him. There was a comfort in numbers, a strength, the thought that even if danger was slinking its way through the shadows towards her, there was still someone by her side. And conversation, no matter how grating, was at least some sort of anchor for her sanity amidst the insidious quiet.

In an effort to ignore her solitude, she focused her full attention on the house itself ― on the labyrinthian manner in which its corridors and rooms all fitted together, as though they were a jumbled puzzle that had not been assembled in quite the right way, resulting in strange places where a corridor twisted suddenly back on itself, or a door was positioned slightly up the wall so that she had to step over the frame, or one of the many curling stairways wound down into a room which led to a door that opened, impossibly, onto the same corridor she’d just left.

She decided that what she was facing was an illusion. A trick. She was being deceived by some unseen opponent; how, she didn’t know, but she would not let it overcome her. Steeling her will against it, she pressed onwards, looking for the way out. She had not fought her own perception before, but she imagined somewhere there would be a crack in the wall, or some other small imperfection that once prodded would widen more and more until she could step through.

And it was as she was searching for that imperfection that she came upon the blood.

At first she wasn’t sure she was right about what it was. In the darkness it looked black, but so might anything else, so it was only when she knelt down for a closer look that she saw the drops leading away, down the corridor and around the corner, just the right distance apart to have been separated by the footsteps of someone hurt and fleeing.

When prey fled, the predator usually followed, so it was not a good idea to follow mysterious trails of blood. Straightening up, she gazed after it. Sometimes the prey got away. Sometimes it lost the predator or even outran it. Sometimes the prey survived. And an injured companion was still a companion. Someone with whom to pass the time, someone to help search for a way out, to forewarn her of the dangers they had befallen. Someone to run slower than her.

She set off after the trail of blood, keeping her pace slow and trying her best not to put much weight on the floorboards as they creaked gently beneath her wait. With a bit of luck, that sound would be lost against the groaning of the walls, and if there was danger ahead, it would not sense her approach.

But as she was walking, her hope began to shrivel away like a summer blossom in the darkening autumn nights. With each turn into a new corridor or a new room, the drops grew in size. She almost felt she could step into the shoes of whomever had fled this way… their desperation as their wound grew worse, the shambling gait that was evident in the way the drops wavered from one side of each corridor to the other, and perhaps the unrelenting sound of whatever was chasing them.

If, something was chasing them, she reminded herself. It was not beyond anyone to die without help, and alone. Maybe it would not be beyond her.

She shook her head a little, hoping such thoughts might dislodge themselves and fly from her mind, but instead they just sunk a little further back into obscurity, waiting for the right time to resurface.

Following the corridor, she slowly began to realise that it was growing smaller. The walls leant ever inwards, the floor sloped up, and the ceiling curled down as though buckling under a great weight. When she turned one last corner, she saw ahead that the corridor grew so tight it became a tunnel, and at the end of it was a small door.

She came to a halt, glancing back the way, but there was nothing she could see in the darkness behind her, and the blood led onwards, so with a sigh, she followed it. At first she was able to walk hunched, but before long she was forced down on to her hands and knees, and as she drew close to the door, she found herself crawling on her belly. Each time the walls of the ceiling creaked or groaned, she froze, fearing it would cave in on her… or just shrink around her.

When she pushed on the door, it swung outwards, revealing a far larger space beyond. A flamboyant, patterned carpet stretched away into shadows, stained by a dark splotch just past the threshold of the door.

Reaching her arms past her head, the woman was able to take hold of the sides of the frame and pull herself slowly through the door, out into the large room. As soon as her feet were clear of it, the door slammed shut and shrank away into nothing, leaving only a stretch of plain, bare wall where it had once been.

The woman slowly clambered to her feet and surveyed the room. In front of her, a large stairway rose and split into two arms that curled away towards the walls, where she glimpsed walkways with carved railings. Above, the ceiling was lost away in shadow, but she could hear the slow squeaking of metal, and she imagined a chandelier on an iron chain somewhere up there, swinging gently back and forth.

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Wherever she was, it did not feel like a cabin any longer… and yet, the walls were just the same as ever. Though everything else in this space was elegant, expensive, luxurious, the walls were made of planks of wood, nailed together, groaning like old trees swaying in the wind.

Unsure, she started forwards again, following the trail of blood as it led towards the stairs and up. She did not like the immensity of this room. It felt like an entrance hall of some sort, and the sheer volume of open space, filled with so much shadow, made her certain there was something watching her. She had been nervous before, but now she found herself paranoid, constantly glancing over her shoulder, taking each creak of the walls as if it were a footstep.

When she came to the top of the stairs, however, a new worry drifted over the air to her; the faint, faint sound of muffled voices. At first she quickened her pace, thinking of her companions, hoping they were unhurt, but then she slowed and stopped halfway along the walkway as it curved to meet the other. The sound was drifting from the hallway that opened up at that meeting point, and now that she was a little closer, she realised that it was the sound of far too many voices to be just her companions.

Were they people like her, lost people looking for escape, fighting for the memories of who they were and where they had come from? Or were they something else? Something like the shuffling in the garden? But even that, even that, she did not know was dangerous. They’d fled from it before they had a chance to find out.

Taking a deep breath and gritting her teeth for confidence, the woman pressed on towards the voices. Whatever it was, it was something new, and if it was a danger then she could just run and escape. So she made her way to the hallway and set off down it, listening carefully as the voices gradually grew louder, closer.

Eventually, she reached the end, where there was a double door with gold handles, and right on the other side were the voices. With just a moment of hesitation, the women reached forwards and pushed the doors open. They were heavy, but not too heavy, and she stepped through them and into a tall, long, bare room.

There was no carpet here, no furniture, no other doors in the walls. But there were people. So, so many people, stretching down the length of the hall until they were swallowed by the shadows.

And the people were wrong.

Each one was like a reflection in a broken, grimy mirror. Their figures were unsure, shifting, almost seeming to flicker and crack in places. They had features; different faces, different clothing, different heights and weights, but they were obscured by that odd, intagible veil of uncertainty. The corruption of the reflection blurred them, confused proportions, moved things around in ways they weren’t supposed to be.

And the voices were just akin. Though there was nothing but air between them and the woman, they were still muffled, mumbling, the words blending each into the next so that she couldn’t make out what any of them were saying.

And they just stood there, talking to each other. None of them moved or showed any awareness of the woman’s presence, and after a few moments she spotted drops of blood leading down the hall, so with a quick glance over her shoulder, she set off after that trail once more.

She had been expecting a long journey, but the room disappointed, for as she followed the blood around one clump of figures, all huddled together and murmuring at each other, she came face to face with a far more solid shape, slumped against the wall, head down, dry blood pooled around it. She hurried forwards at the sight of it, hoping, but already knowing the hope was in vain, that its chest might be moving.

With a sigh, she pushed the black hair out of the way and tipped up its head. The face was as pale as snow, and the eyes were glazed and gazing, like polished marbles. Dried blood ran from the mouth, down the chin, and darkened the fine clothes. Frowning, the woman reached out and pulled down the lower lip. Inside, the teeth had been torn out, and the mouth was full of blood.

The woman let the head slump back down, mimicking the action with her own. She didn’t know any prayers, so she didn’t say any. Instead, she stood up and turned around, and found herself face to face with a wall of broken reflections, all standing still and silent.

As she pressed her back to the wall, a new sound met her ears. Something heavy, perhaps a stick, thumped against the wooden floor, and shuffling footsteps began to approach, ever so slowly. Over the heads of the reflections, she saw a mass of shadows, shifting like smoke, pouring over a shape ten feet tall, clutching a long, long rake at its side.

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