THE JOURNAL OF LUCAS BROWN. PART 5

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I must have fallen asleep

I have lost track of the date and time. Before, when sleep was eluding me, I used the brightening and dimming of the room to gage when one day ended and the next began. When I fell asleep under the bed it was becoming light, now it is a pitch black that seems almost unnatural.

How long was I asleep?

I can just about see that I am holding the journal, hopefully these markings are legible and my hand is actually scrawling what I ask it to. I hope that it too has not succumbed to the engulfing otherness that seems hell bent on….well, I don’t know how to finish that sentence.

I realize now that this is the quietest and most still the room has been since this all started. Everything feel stale and inanimate, even the air, even me.

I edged my way out from my makeshift fortress slowly, none of my movements causing the record to start up again and the faithful dancers to answer the call. I got up to my feet, startled by the reversal of the maddening rhythm into a deathly quiet.

Cautiously, for fear on awakening the now sleeping giant, I tiptoed over to where I figured the light switch should be. I groped at the wall with my fingers, searching for the familiar square plastic signifier but to no avail. I ran the length of the wall with both hands, my search now frantic as my perplexity mounted. I realized that not only was the switch nowhere to be found, but my desk which normally sits against the same wall seemed to have gone.

For a moment I considered the possibility of complete disorientation, trying to assure myself I was actually not where I thought I was.

Then I tripped over something.

I recoiled in anticipation as my body thumped the floor in an unbroken crash, but nothing happened. No one came to dance, no one even sounded the music.

I gathered myself after realizing nothing was coming and searched for what had caused me to fall. Near my left foot I found something small, a base with an elongated plastic beck coming off from it. I shaped it in my hands, trying to
decipher it. Then I found a switch.

As soon as I pushed it a dim yellow glow penetrated the black around me. It wasn’t much, but it bathed everything enough for a pale visibility. It was a small black table lamp.

I have never seen this lamp before. It is not mine, I am more sure of this than I have been of anything since this ordeal began.

I gazed around at what I can only call my new surroundings, for so much has changed that I don’t appear to be in the same place anymore. The contours of the room are the same, but that is all that I can call familiar.

Apart from the bed under which I awoke, all of my furniture has gone. The only thing that is here is the package, which now appears to be roughly six feet tall and three feet wide. I was right.

It leans against a bare wall to my right.

Now that the dancing has stopped, now is the time to open it.
The paper covering whatever was inside was thin, tearing easily with the slightest tug of my hand.

Then, as more paper fell to the floor, I began to notice light bouncing back.

I tore at it more quickly, needing to know if what I had seen was correct. Finally, when the last piece which covered the part directly in front of my face had been shed I stood back to see what I had uncovered.

It was me, standing there, looking back at myself. The dim source of the lamp revealed it clearly enough. I was standing in front of a full length mirror, its dirty glass reflecting the scene of my existence.

But not quite.

It is me and is not me.

As I drew closer towards it I realized it was emitting a low grade hum, barely noticeable, yet definitely a constant drone.

Then, with my face almost touching the glass, the reflection died.

The mirror turned black, no light bounced back, I wasn’t there anymore, just black, a cruel almost viscous black like oil was all that looked back at me.

I reached out my hand and tentatively placed my fingers to it. My entire hand went straight through, passing past the dark into the unknown, feeling only cold and space. I pushed my arm in further seeing if there was anything to feel.

I found nothing.

Petrified by the unreality of these events, I turned and ran to the door, or rather where the door should have been, but nothing was there, only more blank wall. I circled the room realizing now that the window had also disappeared.

This place is a tomb.

I walked back over to what was the mirror, weighing up the decision that seemed to have already been made for me.

So, I clutch this journal to my chest in the hope that it can go through with me.

With no other option, I step into the mirror black.