Nothing At All

4.1

I stayed in the room for the rest of the day, mostly in bed. Whenever my legs grew numb, I would get up and wander around the enclosed space. There wasn't much to keep me entertained, and I often ended up staring out the window. I fell asleep around the time the sun disappeared.

My sleep was restless and I woke up numerous times, but strangely I had no dreams or even nightmares. When I woke up for good, I first noticed the feeble light streaming in through the window. What I saw next was Mircalla, in the same cloaked outfit as yesterday, standing silently by the door.

I screamed at the sight of her and clutched my chest. "Fucking creeper!"

She stepped forward, keeping from the light. "My apologies. I was hesitant to be the one to rouse you."

"Better than just watching me sleep," I grumbled. With a frown, I looked up at her with a cautious eye. "What do you want? It's too early in the morning for this."

"I do not sleep, so the time is never too early. I am here to request that you follow me."

She continued to stand as still as a statue in the corner as she watched me get out of bed. My bare feet recoiled at the feeling of the cold marble floor. My tennis shoes, dirty and bloodstained, were the only option if I didn't want to walk around barefoot, so I slipped them on. I was still in the same clothes from the wreck, but I didn't mind. Tattered as they were, they were a reminder that none of it had been a dream.

Mircalla led me from the room and into the corridor, which I had not seen yet. At first, it seemed like a stereotypical castle hallway that I would see in a brochure for some European vacation, if not darker than normal. Thick curtains lay heavy over every window. Suits of armor and elaborate paintings rested on the cinder wall. Oriental rugs covered the floors, muffling our steps. There were no openings to the outside world, so the air was stale and hot.

Upon closer inspection and once my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, I noticed that everything was covered in a layer of dust. Even the rugs, save for the middle where people walked, looked gray. Cobwebs lined the walls, stretching from floor to ceiling. The paintings' colors were dimmed not from age, but from the sheer number of webs swallowing them. Just looking at it all made my skin crawl.

"How long has it been since this place was last dusted?" I asked, keeping a close eye on where I stepped.

"There has not been servants in this house for many years," she responded. Her answer wasn't harsh, but it certainly did not invite more conversation.

We made a few turns and went up a tower. The only thing in the tower was a spiral staircase barely two feet wide and with no handrail. I rested both hands on opposite walls to steady my balance. We turned for what felt like hours, and I got dizzier and dizzier before we were spit out into a dark room.

Not only were the windows blacked out, but dark bookcases covered every single piece of wall space. An ashen table, twice as long as I was tall, occupied the center of the room, and numerous smaller tables orbited around it. There were too many books to fit on the already cram-packed shelves, so they spilled out on the floor and tables. One workbench, pushed into the corner, only contained primitive science beakers filled with odd-colored liquids.

"What is this place?" I asked in awe. What had at first looked like a darkroom was now revealing itself to be a library of sorts.

Mircalla made her way over to one of the work benches and began digging through the pile on top of it. "This used to be my grandfather's study. It is where he came to practice his magic."

I picked up a book that was lying next to my foot. Thumbing through the worn pages, I looked at the words. They weren't Romanian as far I could tell. "What's in these books?"