BOXES

BOXES

Stephen M. Larson

--for Rose

Something caught her attention. She blinked; looked around. What was it? A sound? A movement? She frowned, trying to think of something her mind wouldn’t grasp. It was there, and then—her face cleared. She forgot whatever it was and sat down to dinner.

She stared at the sapphire velvet drapes, so pretty against the pale blue wall and behind the creamy-gold plush couch. A breeze was nudging them, ever so slightly. She shivered. Where was it coming--? The question died, to be replaced by another thought. The couch. It was there—why? Because she wanted it there. So she couldn’t reach the drapes. And open them.

Fear began to tickle her stomach. If she opened the drapes, she would see only the gray mists suckling up to the windows. That’s all that was out there. So what was that fleeting non-memory of rolling green and white-flecked blue and…and…something. But it was gone. She frowned at a ball of lint clinging to her pretty drapes. The place needed a good cleaning. She bustled about, humming happily.

iii

He was looking at her. The drapes were drawn and he was standing there, looking in through the window at her. She was vaguely aware of soft green mounds behind him, and a blue above him that shone like her walls never did, and a bright, bright light over all. But mostly she saw him. He was smiling, he was beckoning, he wanted her to come through the window. But that was impossible! She couldn’t leave her room! She wouldn’t be--!

She woke, trembling, wanting to cry, not sure why she wanted to. Darkness was all around her; warm, comforting darkness. She needn’t be anxious. She was—safe. She fell back into a dreamless sleep.

She was admiring her hair in the mirror when the door opened. She froze. She had never seen the door open before; had even forgotten it was there. Something warned her not to appear to notice. But she watched, frightened, out of the corner of her eye as she primped. They were both dressed in gray (she thought of the mist), and they wore gray gloves and gray shoes that made no sound and gray helmets with dark faceplates that hid their faces. They set her table and brought her food and then vanished through that same door, all in silence. She stared for some time at that forgotten door before she slowly sat down to eat.

She lay awake, staring into the warm, comforting darkness. These were her rooms, her place of safety, furnished over a lifetime with cozy furniture and candles and silver and beautiful clothes and dozens of mirrors. And now her rooms had been invaded. From—out there. Out there!

She clenched her fists, digging her immaculately coloured nails into her powder-blue satin sheets. Her mind skittered from terror to fascination, fascination to terror. She saw silent figures draped in gray, and she saw a man with a beautiful smile who beckoned her to come out. Out there.

Out there. That’s what frightened her, excited her. For the first time, she realized that something existed beyond her pretty, pale blue walls. But what? She remembered the smiling man and hoped it was nice. She remembered the gray mist and feared it was horrible.

She lay awake and stared into the darkness. And as she lay there, a new emotion crept in. Yearning was unknown to her, until now. Now she suddenly yearned to know what was—out there.

The next time the door closed, she stood in the center of the room and stared at it. Her food cooled, but she ignored it, feeling the yearning of last night once more. She walked unsteadily across the room and seized the cold doorknob. Fear almost overwhelmed her. She took a deep breath and turned the knob.

vii

It was horrible. But not so horrible as she feared. She could have been in another room, except that the floor stretched endlessly to the right and left, and there were only two walls, the one at her back, and the one across from her, two or three room-widths away.

She glanced left, right. She couldn’t see very far. The floor, the walls, the ceiling were all gray, like the figures that had invaded her rooms, or the mist outside her window. A muted light came from somewhere above her, illuminating only a few hundred paces to either sided before fading to murk. Empty murk? She had a sudden, terrible feeling of being exposed to watching eyes. She took a step back, feeling for her door. Her heels clicked loudly on the floor, and the hollow echoes fluttered away beyond hearing. She cringed. The desire to hide in her bed welled up. She fought back, stood without moving, almost without breathing. Nothing stirred in either direction.

When she finally crept away from her door, she left her shoes—and their clicking heels—behind.

viii

There were other doors on both sides. They were not very far apart, only about the length of her rooms. She slipped silently past them, afraid they might open, but there was no sound or movement besides hers. She grew a little less frightened, until she realized that she had no idea which of the doors behind was hers. She nearly panicked and ran back, but she didn’t know where she would run. She crept on.

She eventually thought to try one of the doors. It was locked. (Hers wasn’t. Why?) She listened at it, but could hear nothing. She crept on, wondering what she thought she might find behind that door.

The next one was unlocked.

It was a room, like and unlike her own. A man sat in a deep armchair against the heavy brown drapes, smoking a pipe and reading a book. Bookshelves lined every wall, tall bookshelves crammed with volumes bound in leather and stamped with gold. She tried to read the titles, but the words made no sense to her.

She entered, trembling slightly. The man puffed at his pipe, turned a page. She cleared her throat. He smiled at something he was reading. She spoke.

“Hello?”

He turned another page.

“I—I don’t mean to bother you….”

A cloud of smoke, the colour of her walls, drifted past.

“Your room is very nice….”

He closed the book, set the pipe in an ashtray on a small chair-side table, leaned back, and closed his eyes.

She slowly backed out of the room.

She found another unlocked door further down and across the way. The room was almost twice as big as hers, with many people in it, people who sat around a huge table and ate and drank and laughed. Every so often one person would seize another’s hand and the two would vanish, giggling, through a dark doorway to one side.

“Come in!”

“What?” She jumped.

A huge man with merry eyes and quivery jowls approached her, hands outstretched. “Don’t just stand out there in the corridor! There’s plenty here!”

She shrank back. “I don’t….”

“Nonsense! You’ve been alone too long. You need a little fun.” He thrust a cut-glass goblet into her hands. “I dare say you were trying to find something better? So were they!” He waved a plump hand at the table. “And here they are! There’s nothing better than this! Here you can fine something—or,” he winked, “someone—to satisfy every whim!” He guided her to the table, and then bustled away.

She sipped a little from the goblet. It tingled her mouth, burned her stomach. She took a bite of food. The spices brought tears to her eyes. She lay the fork down and stared at the others. They all ignored her. She slipped from the chair, tiptoed unchecked to the door by which she’d entered.

She didn’t notice one pair of eyes following her.

“Wait!”

She whirled, jammed her fist into her mouth to stop her scream.

“Don’t be afraid!” He came out the same door. “I want to go with you.” He was young, barely out of his teens.

“I—don’t know where I’m going.”

“That’s okay.” He had an easy smile. “I was tired of that place."

“How long were you there?”

He shrugged and took her hand. “I don’t know. Not too long. Long enough.”

They crept along, speaking in whispers.

“Why did you leave?” she asked.

“I heard there was something. Out there. Outside the windows.”

She thought of the man at her window, and what she had seen behind him. “There’s nothing out there. Only mist. Gray mist. Forever.”

“They say someone found a way out. Long ago. He’s out there now.”

“I don’t want to talk about it!”

He smiled quizzically at her. “Why did you leave?”

She was silent a long time.

“I don’t know,” she said at last. “I don’t know.”

xii

They tried other doors, on both sides. Some were locked, some weren’t. One room didn’t even have a door, only an empty doorway. It didn’t have any furniture, either. The walls were gray, like the mists that could be seen through the tiny window, the window without curtains or glass. But the thin, sad man in that room didn’t try to get through the window, or through the door that wasn’t there. He sat in a corner, curled up, staring at nothing.

They found other people. Some talked to them, some didn’t. Some knew of the man who had found a way out there. Some laughed at the story. Some didn’t. Most wanted to stay in their rooms, where they were safe.

A few came along.

xiii

They walked until they lost all track of time. There were twelve of them now, men and women, young and old. They all followed her, as if she were their leader. She wished they wouldn’t.

They were getting hungry. They talked about going back to their rooms, but none had counted doors. They were getting tired. They were beginning to doubt the story of the man who had found a way out. They wanted to go back. So, reluctantly, she told them of the man outside her window. They became excited. They went on.

Then she screamed.

They were all around them. Dressed in gray. With gray gloves. And gray shoes that made no sound. And gray helmets with dark faceplates that hid their faces.

She screamed again as they reached for her.

xiv

They were brought to an empty room and made to stand while the gray figures blocked the door to the corridor. They weren’t allowed to talk.

They stood for a long time. Then another door to the side opened. Delicious food smells rolled out and surrounded them. It was a moment before they noticed the man that also came through the doorway. He had kindly blue eyes that twinkled and soft white hair and a face that crinkled in a thousand places when he smiled. She saw his smile, and felt afraid.

“Well,” he said, and his voice was like his eyes. “I hear you’re not happy, eh?” He chuckled and waggled a finger at them. Then he took an old lady by the arm and led her through his doorway.

He was still chuckling when the door closed.

They stood for a long time, waiting. The scent of food still lingered in the air. Their stomachs growled.

The door opened again, and the rich food odors reached out and caressed them and bade them enter. Then they saw the old woman.

She walked at the kindly man’s side. They were forbidden to speak to her, but there would have been no use in trying. She shambled past, empty-eyed, smiling, not looking at them.

“Take her back to her rooms,” the kindly man said to the figures in gray. “She’s changed her mind.”

The gray figures vanished into the corridor with the old woman. Others replaced them.

The kindly faced man turned back to the group. “Now,” he smiled. “Who’s next?”

xvi

He was looking at her. His eyes bored into hers. His smile filled her mind. She thought of the man outside her window. He was younger, and yet his face was so similar to this man’s. Was this he?

But in this man’s smile, she saw only ice.

He reached out to take her hand and lead her into his room.

She ran.

xvii

She was stunned to find herself out in the corridor, unmolested by the figures in gray. Their helmets were turned quizzically toward her, their dark faceplates followed her, but they remained otherwise motionless.

She paused, heard footsteps in the room behind her. She glanced to the right. The old woman and her escorts were vanishing slowly into the gloom. She ran to the left.

There were more footsteps now, growing louder, catching up with her, drawing even. She glanced to the side in terror.

The young man smiled at her. Her friends were with her.

Behind them, the kindly faced man roared, “Stop them! Don’t let them go that way!”

They ran faster.

xviii

There were no more doors. The walls of the corridor were an unbroken gray. They ran. She glanced back. The figures in gray were gaining on the last of her friends, the older ones. They caught an old man. He fell to the floor.

They ran faster.

xix

The corridor ended.

They could see a wall ahead of them in the gloom. Still they ran, they couldn’t say why; they had no hope. But they didn’t stop.

They drew near the wall. A crack ran down the center of it, with a small, square panel on either side of the crack. Even as they reached them, they realized that these were doors, large doors, totally unlike the ones to their rooms. They had no time to wonder what lay beyond these new doors, for even as they recognized them, she and the young man reached them. She struck the panel on the right with the flat of her hand. He struck the one on the left with his fist.

The doors swung open.

They burst through the opening, and then stumbled to a halt, forgetting their pursuers. The corridor continued a short distance before ending in a cloud of gray mist.

A man waited at the edge of the mist.

She stood hand-in-hand with the young man by her side, panting, staring at the man before them. She couldn’t see his face. She didn’t have to. She knew the warmth of the smile that would be there.

She glanced back. The gray figures stood motionless, their faceplates looking beyond them. The kindly faced man was there, also staring at the man at the edge of the mist, but he wasn’t smiling any longer.

They stood, all of them, and waited.

xxi

“Come.”

His voice was soft, almost a whisper, almost not a voice at all, but a thought in their minds.

“Come.”

He stretched out his hands to them.

“They belong in here!” The kindly faced man’s voice was no longer jovial.

“They belong out there.”

“They must not leave! Seize them!” The gray figures began to advance.

“The choice is theirs!” The voice of the man at the edge of the mist rang out, not loud, but with authority. “They have come this far, the choice is now theirs!”

The kindly faced man didn’t answer. The gray figures grew still again.

The man at the edge of the mist spoke again, and his voice was soft once more. “The choice is yours,” he said. “You may return to your rooms. Or you may come with me.”

“The mists,” whispered someone.

“They are not real. Come with me.”

The young man glanced back. “Won’t he stop you?”

“He has done all he could to me. He knows he has no more hold over me. And he will have no more hold over you, if you’ll only trust me.”

“Is it—dangerous out there?” The voice was hers.

“Very dangerous.” His smile was in his words. “And very wonderful.”

“Our rooms are safe,” she said.

“Yes,” he replied. “They are safe.” The smile was gone. “And you will be in them forever. This may be your only chance to leave them.’ He paused. “The choice is yours,” he whispered. “You must decide.”

xxii

There was a shuffling of feet, a rustling of clothes. They looked at the man at the edge of the mist, who stretched out his hands to them. They looked at the kindly faced man, who smiled at them. They looked at the gray mist that rolled at the end of the corridor. They looked at the gray figures that stood and waited.

They chose.

xxiii

They walked together. She held the young man’s hand tightly; so tightly. They walked slowly, their hearts pounding.

They looked down at the hands of the man at the edge of the mist, and hesitated. Horrible, red scars showed vividly in the flesh of his palms. They glanced up, and saw his smile.

They took his hands.

xxiv

They watched as the doors closed and hid the gray figures, the kindly faced man and four of her new friends who went back to their safe rooms.

She turned her back to the wall. She and the young man and the five that stayed with them stared at the mist. It swirled and thinned.

There was green beyond the mist, and blue, and a light brighter than any they had ever seen.

“Come,” said the man with the scars on his hands, the man who had found a way out. He smiled and walked straight ahead.

They walked with him, and did not look back.

THE END