A short experimental story.


1. Solitude


As Jack reached for the ice cold doorknob; his breath rising in clouds before him, he felt a slight twinge in his stomach. He always did. He glanced up at the old flaked words “Winter Pleasures” painted along the lodge. He pushed forward the old rusty door, the ominous creaking sound foretelling of the dangers within. He crept along the narrow hallway, flanked by pictures of numerous long gone skiers. One of them, a particularly chubby one, was wheezing, bent over, you could see the impressions made on the side of his cheeks made by the glasses he undoubtedly wore. Jack carried on, glancing behind him every so often, as though the portraits where going to come alive. He crossed his arms and shivered as a stiff breeze rattled through the cracked windows. He hated coming here. He glanced at his watching, glinting in the morning sun, while wondering where Sam was. He pushed open the rotten wooden door bringing a forth a smell of forests. He walked preciously in to the middle of the room, groping on the floor for the ring he knew was there. He felt the ice cold metal upon his fingers and immediately grasped for it. He pulled it up revealing a trap door within the floor. He carefully walked down the ladder letting the trap door fall creating a resounding and satisfying thud. He pulled his coat higher up his body, sitting down in the corner for Sam to arrive, gazing at the ladder before him.

            As Jack sat there, cowering in the corner, he felt an overwhelming sense of fear. It was dark, glooming and dank. He had always had a fear of the dark. He starting glancing, nervously, around him. The concrete, cracked and crumbling, lay all around  him, surrounding him. He thought he could make out faces among the cracks, the chubby man, glaring at him, no longer wheezing but staring threateningly at him. No. It couldn’t be. He quickly averted his eyes, staring instead at the large pit that seemed to be swelling in the ground before him. He gazed into it, it seemed endless, infinite, it was sucking him, there was nothing he could do he groped besides, clawing at the cement next to him; which crumbled at his touch. He frantically flapped his arms. Trying to grasp onto something, anything. But there was nothing he could firmly grasp, he could feel himself falling, spiralling downwards. Everything was black, nothing, no vision, no smell, no feeling, then above him he saw a square, a square of pure light. And a hand, a hand pulling him back to reality.

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