Fiction logo

Tŷ Dychmygol

A scenic drive through the forest has an unimaginable outcome.

By Laura GrayPublished 3 years ago 10 min read
Like
Tŷ Dychmygol
Photo by Andres Iga on Unsplash

The gas needle dipped to E, jumped up to half a tank, then plummeted back below E. I managed to pull over onto the side of the road as my car slowly came to a stop. Suits me for buying a lemon, I guess. I'd only topped off 80 kilometers back, it shouldn't have been empty. Time to hoof it.

I pulled my messenger bag from the back seat, pushed open the driver's side door with a grunt, and slung the bag over my head. My cell phone indicated zero bars of reception, so I put it into airplane mode and selected a downloaded podcast I'd been working through. As the cohosts' voices filled the air, I took off on foot in the direction I'd been headed along A470 through Snowdonia National Park.

Sixteen kilometers later, my steps were slowing, my tongue was swelling with dehydration, and the podcast hosts' voices were one long drone. I hadn't seen a car for the past two and a half hours and it didn't look promising.

The temperature was a cool 20ºC, but humidity felt like 100%. My clothes clung to me, completely soaked. As I looked around for a place to rest, I noticed a wooden sign. In white, hand painted letters were the words: TŶ DYCHMYGOL

Since I knew that a tŷ was a hut, I took off down the dirt road just past the sign, hoping that the occupants would be able to provide a glass of water and way to communicate with a tow truck.

It didn't take long before I came upon a wooden door built into the side of a hill. It was a rather picturesque scene with two curtained windows perfectly placed on either side of the door and a flower planter filled with daffodils and asters below each windowsill.

I knocked then stepped back, looking at the hillside above. There was nothing spectacular about it; just dirt, grass, and trees, with the occasional stove top pipe sticking out. A faded white and green flag with a red dragon perched at the top of the hill--the national flag of Wales.

A gentleman who I could only describe as being a thin, crooked-man-who-lived-in-a-crooked-shoe, opened the door.

"Hello, son," he said in a thick accent, his voice strained with age.

"Hi Mate. I was wondering if I could bother you for a glass of water, and maybe a phone? My car broke down a ways back."

"Of course, come on in." He stepped aside so I could enter. "Nan, dear, we have a visitor."

"Oh my! We haven't had any visitors in ages. Oh you poor dear, look at you!" An elderly woman, nearly as plump as she was tall, bustled about, then handed me a glass of ice water.

The liquid felt like nirvana and I had to force myself to sip slowly. "Thank you, Miss."

"What's your name, son?" the man asked.

"Tim Davies," I responded. The man held out his hand and I stood to shake it. "Meredudd," he said, "passed down for generations."

"Now honestly, isn't that the most old-school, ridiculous name you've ever heard?" Nan addressed me, an affectionate laugh behind her question. "I told Mer that we were never going to pass on THAT tradition, but he batted those old blue eyes at me and I lost the naming war." They both laughed fondly and kissed. I smiled, despite myself.

"We'll get you a tow in the morning. No one will come out at this time of the eve," Meredudd said, turning to me. "Do you have clothes to wear? You should get a shower before you catch cold."

"Yes, I have a change." I patted my messenger bag.

"Very well then, follow me."

I followed Meredudd down a hallway. He pointed out the linens and backed out, shutting the door behind him.

The bathroom was small, but not cramped. The walls were a dingy white with small-diameter, wooden beams as trim. It didn't feel dirty, merely aged.

After the shower, refreshed and smelling better, I made my way back to the front of the house. Nan was standing over a pot on a small stove; her husband, asleep in a wing-backed chair with his feet propped up and a newspaper parted over his lap. "I can't thank you enough for your hospitality," I said as I got closer. Nan smiled and showed me my seat.

~*~*~

After dinner, Nan led me to a guest bedroom. "I'll have your clothes washed and waiting right outside your door come the morning sun, if you decide to come back," she smiled knowingly but warmly. I thanked her, a bit confused, as she reached up to pat my cheek. "You remind me so much of my oldest son. Such a handsome young man!"

"Darling, let's let the young lad get some sleep," Meredudd said affectionately, placing his hands on Nan's shoulders. Nan blushed and shut the door.

I turned, taking in my surroundings. There was a twin bed centered on the only window, just a sliver of nighttime peeking through the overbrush. A small bedside stand stood on either side of the headboard, and a wooden chair with wicker bottom sat against a wall next to a closet door. No other furniture filled the space.

I pulled out my phone and turned off airplane mode to see if I could get any reception, intending to watch a movie until I grew tired enough to sleep. Of course there were no bars.

I tossed my phone onto the bed and the time flashed 20:02. Feeling a strange pull of energy, I walked over to the closet. Inside was a rod with a few empty hangers and a rug. I started to close the door when an odd seam caught my eye. I bent down and noticed it ran about halfway up the wall then intersected it horizontally to the left.

I reached out and touched the seam, my fingers gliding up to where the two intersected. There was no place to fit my fingers in to pull it out, so on a whim I pushed. The door pushed in then clinked, some sort of magnetic release which caused it to swing back toward me.

Once fully open, the smell of lavender greeted me so strongly that I fell backward, coughing, my arm flying in front of my face in defense. I sat still, half expecting my hosts to rush in checking on me, but after a full minute, the house was still silent.

I looked through the door again, hues of the brightest purple, pink, and orange fogs beckoning to me. Inching forward on my hands and knees, I reached out to break the plane then jerked my hand back staring down at it. Nothing happened--no abstract feelings, no tingles; it was just as if I'd touched air.

I glanced back toward the door again. Finding myself alone in the room, I scrunched my 6'4" frame down and slithered through the small opening at the back of the closet.

On the other side, the smell of lavender and hues of purple, pink, and orange had dissipated into a cotton candy scent and the strangest blue and green skies. It was almost as if the Northern Lights could host white, puffy clouds too. The stark contrast and new cotton candy smell made my head spin.

Lively, ancient bagpipe music wafted in the air from an unknown location. Translucent faeries the size of grown women danced around a flowering pear tree, floating above a fog-covered ground, adorned in dazzling, iridescent shades of the rainbow. They twirled sticks that left glitter trails behind them. I rubbed my eyes hard and looked again. I must be dreaming.

The faeries continued to pirouette and leap around, laughing gleefully. I glanced behind me, relieved to see the closet door still open. I suddenly remembered Nan's odd statement: if you decide to come back.

I hesitated, glancing back at the land before me; struggling between wanting to explore this mystical land and the other part just wanting to get my car fixed and go home.

Curiosity won over and I inched forward, putting more distance between me and the door.

As I passed the faeries, the skies changed colors again: burnt orange and browns this time, the air smelling of sandalwood and musk. The bagpipes were replaced by the crackling sound of a bonfire. Leprechaun-esque gnomes laughed mischievously, scurrying around in a half skip-limp. They carried various building materials, looking up at me with disdain.

I turned. The faeries still danced. Their skies were blue and green. I shook my head; my brain couldn't process what I was seeing.

I spotted the door, a tiny speck on the horizon, and started to turn toward it when I noticed a fairy waving her arms fluidly in a "shooing" motion, urging me on. I shook my head and for the briefest of seconds her face disfigured into an ugly troll. She angrily mouthed the word "GO" before her features once again turned back into a beautiful sprite.

I took a step toward the faeries, causing three to turn my way. The features of all three turned hideous before switching back as if nothing had happened. A sensation of fear and determination mingled in my gut.

I took another step toward the door, keeping my attention on it though in my peripheral, I could see the faeries' faces flickering between beautiful and ugly.

The scene to my left faded away from a land of faeries and happiness to black, molten lava walls. A giant basilisk, the size of a lorry, opened its mouth in a silent roar. I froze. If seen, a pissed off basilisk could kill you with one look.

The faeries' faces to my right silently gloated. I glanced back at the basilisk then at the closet door, estimating my distance. I ran track in high school, set a few school records; I could make the distance in less than thirty seconds if I pushed myself.

I took a slow, deep breath.

Prepared myself mentally.

I took off running as quickly as I could, pushing my legs to pump harder, harder, harder! It didn't take long for my lungs to cry out, my heart thudding. I ran.

The faeries began chanting in a foreign language, but I knew--I knew they were trying to summon the basilisk.

I pushed myself harder than I ever had in high school. The door kept getting further away.

NO!

Ten seconds had passed.

Then twenty, thirty. I should've reached the door by now but it was just as far away as when I started running.

In high school, I could run a 2k in nine minutes. I knew what my body felt like toward the end of that run. I was feeling it now. There was no way I'd walked that far away from the door!

I ran until my legs gave out. Ran until my vision blurred and I saw spots. I could feel myself falling, saw the ground approaching right before I blacked out. The tips of fairy wings tickled as they danced over me.

When I opened my eyes, I was laying on the wooden floor of the bedroom in my hosts' house. I scuttled over to the bed, pulling myself up and flopping onto the mattress. I grabbed my phone and saw that only three minutes had passed since I'd tossed it down.

My phone rang, suddenly alive with five bars of reception. I quickly muted it, letting the caller go to voicemail.

I dialed emergency services and told them I needed an officer to help me, giving directions the best I knew. The operator told me that there wasn't a dirt road along A470 in the Snowdonia National Forest.

An icy hand gripped my spine. I noticed the door leading out to the hallway had disappeared. Then, to my horror, I watched as the closet door faded away before my eyes.

Horror
Like

About the Creator

Laura Gray

Coffee gets me started; my toddler keeps me haggard.

I've always had a passion for writing but fear has stopped me from sharing my work with anyone. Vocal is my push to step out of my comfort zone.

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.