The Armrest Button

Comfort's not really comfortable. - Michelle Liew

**********************************************************

Darla had basked in the coziness of her apartment her whole life. Nothing in it had changed over the decades-she had shunned the outside world since a rough breakup revealed life’s cruelty. She worked remotely, shopped online and consulted doctors via Google Meet. Her sanctuary was safe, ideal, and comforting. 

Thunder rocked the walls one stormy afternoon. Her favourite armchair emitted an odd click. She looked down to discover a button on the armrest. It had an odd gleam, as if whispering her name."

Despite her better judgment, she answered and pressed it.

The walls shimmered, and her apartment dissolved into darkness. She was now on a cobblestone street, on a moonless night. Amid the oppressive silence, buildings loomed like shadowy giants. Menacing. Watchful. As if they were alive.

Darla’s heart thumped wildly as she stumbled, desperate to free herself. The surrounding shadows writhed, but not etreating. They were dragging her toward something.

Then she saw it. It stood in the center of the street, glowing faintly. It looked like it always had, until she drew closer. There were tears in its cushions. Its armrest was frayed and stained. The frame was twisted, like gnarled roots. The button on its armrest glowed, and a voice called, “You pressed it. You invited me.”

Horrified, she turned and ran.

When she awoke, she was in her apartment. The chair looked like it always had, flawless, comfortable, inviting. But the button was gone. Darla knew that if she sat down, she would never rise.