The blowout sale and one-day-left coupons made the trip sound sweeter, leaving them in a haze of jittery anticipation for the Montana mountains. Half the savings would remain home for being, what Vick thought would over-saturate the experience. Sharp cold can be strangely calming. The smooth flight of chair-kicks paled in comparison to the vista overlook the six stopped at before the campsite. How could they not stretch their legs beyond the civilian trail to the snow-kissed riverside? Dana’s husband, Jason, spotted the hidden path into the mountain base.
Vick and Heather were going to explore it together for some alone time but catching a pissing Uncle Marv, being hunted by a snowball-wielding Garth, it became a joint exploration. That door. Yards high and cracked open, the rocky indention felt ominously inviting for a few pictures, if not a WW II discovery, except for pristine floors and flat screens producing static. Two halls, left and right, lined with thick white vault doors with tiny windows. Confusing sight treasures, they marveled. Vick only needed one window of curiosity as Heather chased her brother and Marv, trying to open one. Vick, closest to the entrance, caught a light blaring in silence above his head. “Hey, Babe?”
Jason ran in, immediate right turn. Dana and Vick didn’t understand. Vick read the signs next to each door. WARNING. If exposure leak imminent— “This way; Run!” Garth shouldered, unconscious.
“Jason, the exit—”
“Only the Black Door.”
“Where’s Heather?”
“BLACKDOOR!”
About the Creator
Willem Indigo
I spend substantial efforts diving into the unexplainable, the strange, and the bewilderingly blasphamous from a wry me, but it's a cold chaotic universe behind these eyes and at times, far beyond. I am Willem Indigo: where you wanna go?
Keep reading
More stories from Willem Indigo and writers in Fiction and other communities.
Introducing the Whiskey
Introduction to the Whiskey Calamity Tape 1; Side A Lines of tobacco smoke froze before them as ghostly barriers to their enigmatic silhouettes occupying four folding chairs in uniquely solemn fashions. The single forty-watt bulb above, obviously a victim of misplaced emotional turmoil, eerily shifted their shadows between blinks with its malaise-like, swinging remaining constant, moving a light they sat just outside of their darkened, deepened all facial expressions. It became as imperturbable as it was flimsy in the smoked-out backstage locker room. Howard dared to describe entering the throat chastising bubble like stepping into a localized hotbox preventing itself from spreading as far as the locker’s edge was expansive for comparison. Those accounts don’t hold, considering others who entered smelled it all over, into the hall even, despite none of the visible intertwined blunt vapors going outside the little cove of rarely used, recently beaten lockers. Amongst their hands, the only competing light source going from figure to figure, followed by puffs to replace the still lines that faded at the edge of their sanctuary but providing no more information than the red glow of puckered lips on the other end did on the inhale. Howard, their enraged manager, sick of this behavior, found their silent protest to be another demonstration of their disrespect for his fragile sanity.
By Willem Indigo8 months ago in Fiction
Two Wrinkles In Time
It is pointless to run, my darling, because sixty seconds ago, I will kill you. My blade will have sliced reality open right in front of you. It will have first pierced it as it would a bed sheet left hanging to dry, flapping in the wind on a Sunday afternoon. But the metal will have drawn a line in the air that the ghostly tear will have followed. Then I, La Dyablès, machete firmly in hand, will have emerged from what your mind, at the time, could only interpret as the other side of here—whatever that means to you. I know. I have seen that look on the faces of countless unlucky… clients. You will not have been the first nor the last to try and reneg on a riches for soul contract only to present this visage to me when I come to collect.
By Lily Séjor4 days ago in Fiction
Miniature Mind Musings #8:
Recently, I spoke with a family member who I struggled to catch up with for a longer timespan than I would’ve liked and what struck me was how societal templates filled in on successive days routinely suck our time into a vacuum of seemingly infernal deficiency.
By The Dani Writer4 days ago in Longevity
Comments (1)
Did they trespass into danger. I am not sure.