The first part of The Interview left my creativity going, so here's a Part 2! I tried to wrap up the teaser nicely for you guys; any further writing for this concept will be going into a book called The Door With No Key. Once I'm done with my current project I might start working on it next, so if you like the teaser keep an eye out for the title!
-Part 2-
Silence. The room was assuredly vacant. Our tea was still there, but the kettle looked a thousand years older, and flies sat on the rims of our cups. The chairs were rotted. The couch had holes. Curtains were torn and shredded up in pieces, many of them missing entirely. The carpet, walls, and even the ceiling were stained and filthy, and the windows were obscured by dirt and rain splatter. It was eerily silent, more silent than it was before, and despite the light flooding into the room, it felt cold... unreal.
I took a step forward in utter disbelief, looking around. I blinked a couple of times, then pinched myself to make sure I was awake, and winced at the very real pain. I strained my ears to pick up any sign of the woman, but it was so quiet that my own breathing seemed to fill the room.
I thought I must be hallucinating. Maybe Ms. Harrier put something in the tea; but no, I didn't drink my tea. She only took a few sips. I didn't eat or drink anything unusual before driving up here. Was it my contacts? Except, even if they had anything to do with it, contacts don't affect your nose or ears, and this was definitely different... musty, and somehow grim.
"Ms. Harrier?" I tried to call out, but it came out much quieter than I intended, yet still my words echoed in the room, unanswered. I walked out into the center of the room, careful not to touch the coffee table that was now infested by black mold. "Ms. Harrier?? Are... are you in the kitchen?" I called a bit louder, but again, there was no response. I felt cold, and looked around, bemused and, quite honestly, a little bit scared.
I peered out into the entry, which had now transformed to peeling, cracked linoleum, trampled carpet, and dirty walls. The beautiful dark stain that decorated the front door was now faded and scraped off in large, unusual stripes. I took a few steps toward it, intending to go outside and see if Ms. Harrier had left the house, but I stopped in my tracks as my eyes traveled up the wall beside the stairs.
Huge gouges tore it up, following the stairs, as if someone with impossibly-large knives had cut it open while going up. Mold littered the exposed edges of the drywall. I felt another cold blast of air, and shivered, but dismissed it as simply a breeze in this completely bizarre place. Maybe I really had eaten something... maybe I was narcoleptic and didn't know, and now I was dreaming... no matter what, it didn't make sense that it was real, so it must be safe. I just had to find Ms. Harrier and ask her what she put in the tea... ah, yes, it must have been a drug in the aroma, disguised by the lavender. That makes sense.
I walked up to the stairs, stiff and nervous. My dress shoes sounded incredibly loud against the linoleum. I grabbed the banister - what part of it I could distinguish as not being rotted - and peered up the stairs, the prickling sensation on my skin returning.
The stairs ascended up into an indiscernible blackness.
"Ms. Harrier?"
I heard a rustling sound penetrate the silence, and quickly I put a foot up on the first step, suspecting it was her, but the step screamed out an objecting creak. I pulled back my weight, instantly regretting the decision, and listened for the rustling... but no, it was silent again. I scolded myself under my breath about not checking the step first, and peered up into the darkness.
I couldn't see anything... but I could hear something. Not the rustling, but a breathing, so faint I wouldn't have caught it without the thick silence. An animal?... No. Not Ms. Harrier, either. It was too loud, too... big, but it might be a man, someone else in the house.
The prickling sensation was growing, and I couldn't make sense of why a man would be in this place, nor whatever place this was, but if there was a person here then he might be able to tell me. So I called up the stairs, "Hello? Who are you? Do you know where we are?"
The breathing stopped, and I strained to listen for an answer. I leaned over the landing, hoping I could see the person.
Instead, I was surprised by abrupt footsteps! They raced away from me, further into the blackness. "Wait!" I called, running up the stairs, "I'm with Farfield Weekly! I can't hurt you! Please, I just want to know..." I grimaced, my words dying in my throat, and I slowed to a stop halfway up the stairs. I knew I had already lost the person. "Darn it, Flora! How did this happen? How could you not only lose your client, but your potential help, too?"
I shook my head, thoroughly annoyed with myself, and turned around to descend the stairs, wanting to go to the kitchen next to find Ms. Harrier.
Except I stopped right away. My eyes widened with confusion, then fear.
The landing was gone. The light was gone.
I was standing on a step in unknown darkness.
Somehow, I was lost.
I took a step forward in utter disbelief, looking around. I blinked a couple of times, then pinched myself to make sure I was awake, and winced at the very real pain. I strained my ears to pick up any sign of the woman, but it was so quiet that my own breathing seemed to fill the room.
I thought I must be hallucinating. Maybe Ms. Harrier put something in the tea; but no, I didn't drink my tea. She only took a few sips. I didn't eat or drink anything unusual before driving up here. Was it my contacts? Except, even if they had anything to do with it, contacts don't affect your nose or ears, and this was definitely different... musty, and somehow grim.
"Ms. Harrier?" I tried to call out, but it came out much quieter than I intended, yet still my words echoed in the room, unanswered. I walked out into the center of the room, careful not to touch the coffee table that was now infested by black mold. "Ms. Harrier?? Are... are you in the kitchen?" I called a bit louder, but again, there was no response. I felt cold, and looked around, bemused and, quite honestly, a little bit scared.
I peered out into the entry, which had now transformed to peeling, cracked linoleum, trampled carpet, and dirty walls. The beautiful dark stain that decorated the front door was now faded and scraped off in large, unusual stripes. I took a few steps toward it, intending to go outside and see if Ms. Harrier had left the house, but I stopped in my tracks as my eyes traveled up the wall beside the stairs.
Huge gouges tore it up, following the stairs, as if someone with impossibly-large knives had cut it open while going up. Mold littered the exposed edges of the drywall. I felt another cold blast of air, and shivered, but dismissed it as simply a breeze in this completely bizarre place. Maybe I really had eaten something... maybe I was narcoleptic and didn't know, and now I was dreaming... no matter what, it didn't make sense that it was real, so it must be safe. I just had to find Ms. Harrier and ask her what she put in the tea... ah, yes, it must have been a drug in the aroma, disguised by the lavender. That makes sense.
I walked up to the stairs, stiff and nervous. My dress shoes sounded incredibly loud against the linoleum. I grabbed the banister - what part of it I could distinguish as not being rotted - and peered up the stairs, the prickling sensation on my skin returning.
The stairs ascended up into an indiscernible blackness.
"Ms. Harrier?"
I heard a rustling sound penetrate the silence, and quickly I put a foot up on the first step, suspecting it was her, but the step screamed out an objecting creak. I pulled back my weight, instantly regretting the decision, and listened for the rustling... but no, it was silent again. I scolded myself under my breath about not checking the step first, and peered up into the darkness.
I couldn't see anything... but I could hear something. Not the rustling, but a breathing, so faint I wouldn't have caught it without the thick silence. An animal?... No. Not Ms. Harrier, either. It was too loud, too... big, but it might be a man, someone else in the house.
The prickling sensation was growing, and I couldn't make sense of why a man would be in this place, nor whatever place this was, but if there was a person here then he might be able to tell me. So I called up the stairs, "Hello? Who are you? Do you know where we are?"
The breathing stopped, and I strained to listen for an answer. I leaned over the landing, hoping I could see the person.
Instead, I was surprised by abrupt footsteps! They raced away from me, further into the blackness. "Wait!" I called, running up the stairs, "I'm with Farfield Weekly! I can't hurt you! Please, I just want to know..." I grimaced, my words dying in my throat, and I slowed to a stop halfway up the stairs. I knew I had already lost the person. "Darn it, Flora! How did this happen? How could you not only lose your client, but your potential help, too?"
I shook my head, thoroughly annoyed with myself, and turned around to descend the stairs, wanting to go to the kitchen next to find Ms. Harrier.
Except I stopped right away. My eyes widened with confusion, then fear.
The landing was gone. The light was gone.
I was standing on a step in unknown darkness.
Somehow, I was lost.