Clutching The Darkness

Chapter 23: The Boy

Back in the temple, the walls had changed to dusty grit. The architecture of the building had changed. Intricate carvings of what seemed like maps were spread around the walls. A deep, golden hue flowed through the borders of these images, amplified by the dying glow of torches. Unlike the other hallways and floors that I had roamed of the temple, this was the first with actual lighting.

The torches were varied in size, and by the time that I reached what I assumed to be the center of the floor, a crossroad emerged. Different corridors leading to different sections all with different shaped torches. It seemed that a torch size corresponded to a specific section. The map on the walls diverged and stretched into these halls.

The most mystifying thing about the temple is that it slopes up and down, and has a few staircases so you truly never know if you're ascending or descending. The message rang in my mind however: '...when the floor ascends, so does the continuation of our descent.'

Why was it written to begin with? What part of it was integral for it to be born into this world? I have come to realize that for something to be made here, it must have affected my psyche or my unconscious mind in some shape or form. So the why persists the most. What is it trying to tell me?

"These maps. Do you recognize them?"

What about the maps? I went off in the direction of the largest torch, finding myself chasing after the tapestry. Rows of gridded lines all of which seemed to divide parts of the map's vertical sections. Both the top and bottom part of the map in the hallway were straight lines that ran horizontally across the wall. The middle or interior of the map was filled with small, little, district-shaped blobs.

Upon closer inspection of these 'districts', I found that they were labelled and named. 'Rejection', 'Pain', 'Anger' as well as many other emotions were listed, all of them corresponding to a different district. These places dotted the map like subdivisions of a nation; like provinces.

Confounded, I found myself tracing my finger across the edges of the borders that separated each district. Immediately, I felt an unnerving sense as the map had a fleshy, spongy texture to it. The hairs on one of my arms tingled and I couldn't make out if it was due to discomfort or leftover static. The more I walked further, the more I found myself intrigued by the map's existence. And that intrigue was what led me into the depth of that hallway, into the small gallery that hosted several bizarre items.

Six large paintings hung on the wall. In the low glimmer of the flames, I saw six portraits of people, three of them presumably female, what with the positioning of their shoulders and collarbone, and the other three perhaps male. Their faces were hollowed out and ripped from the portraits, leaving a dark, empty abyss where their expressions should be. Name placards were below these paintings but each of them harbored empty depressions with no engravings or title cards. All but two of them at least.

Below the placard of what looked like a woman with brunette hair and frosty skin, was the name: Z E N A I D A. I scratched my head with a mental itch for trying to decipher who this woman was. A part of me recognized her, but the rest of me couldn't piece it together. The next portrait, a gent, was a man whose fiery locks I instantly recognized. It had to have been the same man whose photo I carried in my wallet. The name on the placard revealed this: C A L I D R I S.

I didn't recognize him before but now I was certain that this was me. It was an obvious fact, but a realization that shocked me still. My image was displayed on a shattered mirror whose whole canvas etched around the walls of the room like a silver, tinted banner. To prove to myself that this was indeed my image, I retrieved the pocket knife from my pants, and flicked the blade open. Muddled with blood, I could see my own reflection peer from the red visage.