The High King of the Mountain

An Allegorical Short Story

Joy's back pressed firmly against the wall behind her, the planks of wood scratching her skin as she slid to the ground. The front door was paces ahead of her, down a long hallway, beckoning her to come and open it. But she'd been stuck inside this house for years, alone and afraid. To leave now would surely be her doom. Wouldn't it?

* * *

It hadn't always been this way. In the early years, Joy had only stayed in one room on the second floor, a small space with thin, wispy curtains on the windows and oak paneling on the walls. The sun liked to dance beyond the windowpanes, creating familiar shadows and speckled sun spots on the floorboards. The room felt safe, a refuge, a place where she'd talk to the High King of the Mountain. Little did Joy know that it was the makings of a tomb.

As she grew older, the shadows filtering in through the windows became something less familiar and more foreboding. They shifted in form and grew thicker, darker, hungrier. The room no longer felt safe.

Joy nervously ventured from the familiar room and into the corridor, searching ardently for another safe-haven. The next room over seemed to provide some solace for a little while, the same oaken paneling and wispy draperies reminding her that all was well. The High King of the Mountain even followed her. There was comfort in the familiar, in the things she could control.

So there she stayed for a few more years, breathing deeply in the supposed peace. Until the shadows found her again.

This time, they began to claw at the glass outside her window, relentlessly scratching to get in. This lasted all day and night. Joy ran from the room, panting heavily as tears streaked down her face. How could this be happening? What was going on to her home of peace?

Room after room provided the same result. No matter where she went, the shadows writhed outside every window, baring their teeth and rattling the bones of the house. Their unearthly cries echoed amongst the empty rooms and bounced off every ounce of timber framing—a cacophony so deafening that Joy was sure her soul would cave in on itself.

How long would this darkness last? Would she never have peace again? Where was her High King of the Mountain in the midst of it all?

And then a thought hit. She needed to get out of this house. She needed to escape this prison that was sure to be her grave. But how? The shadows were outside, and surely, if she even approached the door, there was no way she could open it. The monstrous beasts would storm the only home she'd ever known. Either she'd die inside out of fear or she'd die once the shadows got her for good.

The screeching formations sent her head to spin as Joy pressed her hands against her temples. She ran down the stairs, stumbling back and tripping over her own feet. There were the shadows in the windows by the door! And more toward the kitchen! They surrounded her from all sides!

The tears fell heavily down Joy's cheeks, blurring her vision as she crumpled into a heap on the floor. A cry of her own burst from her lips to mingle with those of the shadows. Where had her King gone? "Why did you leave me? How much longer will this last? Please make it stop!"

The fear was consuming her being, the walls closing in—all hope but a distant speck on the horizon. Joy cried herself to sleep, exhaustion stealing her strength. It was only in her dreams did she glimpse the peace she had once known.

It was here that Joy pictured herself walking down the staircase of her home, the sun shining happily through the windows and cascading its light around the house. It was warm and calm. She approached the front door, twisted the knob, and before she could see what was on the other side, she was jolted awake by a gut-wrenching scream. The temporary hope she had experienced dreaming soon dissipated with the reality of what lay before her.