Vision2 by Kristi Brooks Page A

down here, just like I was….
    Roger ’ s eyelids flipped open in one solid movement, exposing his eyes to the stale air in the room. The damp sheets tangled around his legs and held him prisoner when he tried to move. They were wound so tightly around his knees and calves that his feet were tingling. In an attempt to push the haunting images from his mind, he rubbed his fingertips vigorously against his temples and swung his feet over the edge of the bed and slid them onto the cold floor before he had a chance to hesitate.
    When he felt the packed dirt under his toes, he immediately stumbled away from the bed, and as he took the first step, the room tilted and the floor shifted so violently that he had to reach out with his right hand and brace himself against the wall. As he leaned against the wall, his breathing echoed through the room and bounced back at him.
    When he regained his balance, Roger made his way around the room lighting every candle and turning up the flame on every oil lamp until the room was bathed in flowing swatches of light that danced and flickered across the walls, making the darkness a memory. Roger sat on the edge of the bed, holding a candle in front of him like a talisman.
    Something stroked his calf, ankle, and foot in one swift motion, and he jumped away from the bed, dropping the candle. Its weak flame flickered and died with only a small strand of smoke to testify to its existence.
    He backed into the far corner of the room, staring into the inky black hole just under the mattress. As he leaned down to get a better look, the roar of his racing pulse throbbed in his eardrums. It was a 6-inch slot so small an Obawok wouldn ’ t even be able to fit under it. Just then something scuttled under the bed, and two bone thin hands reached out toward him. A moment later his mother ’ s face appeared at the small gap. A ripe maggot fell from her eye and was crushed by her scrabbling hands as they struggled to free her from the makeshift prison. Roger shrieked and stumbled back until his body once again crashed into the wall. The figure under the bed screamed back at him, causing several more maggots to fall from its face before it shrank back into the darkness.
    After a few tense moments, he noticed that he was pinching his shoulder so hard that his flesh was tingling as if it were on fire. He wasn ’ t sure how long he ’ d been standing like that, but his flesh was now branded by two deep red indentions. Keeping his back pressed firmly against the wall and his eyes on the bed, he slid across the room until his knees hit the edge of the orange armchair and he collapsed onto its velvet covering, picked his feet off the floor, and hugged his knees under his chin.
    After a few minutes in that position, his legs and feet began to tingle, but he didn ’ t move. He continued to stare at the gaping mouth under his bed, waiting for the thing that had once been his mother to find a way out.
    The minutes stretched out in front of him and he drifted into a stupor as he stared at the small black patch. He was so intently focused that he barely noticed when Tigaffo came into the room to collect him the next morning.
    The pair of socks he ’ d worn yesterday was still lying across the arm of the chair, and he slowly pulled them on his numb feet. His knees creaked when he moved, eliciting an involuntary groaned. His shoes were also sitting next to the chair, and for the first time, Roger found himself thankful for his poor housekeeping habits, and he also pulled them on before lowering his unsteady feet to the ground.
    Because the cave was much cooler than he was accustomed to at night, Roger had been sleeping in the sweat suit he ’ d found after his first day there. He elected not to change clothes so that he didn ’ t have to walk around the room.
    As he was leaving, he realized that he hadn ’ t blown out any of the candles or even bothered to comb his hair or brush his teeth, but not even the idea of