V.I.T.R.I.O.L. Part Seven

 V.I.T.R.I.O.L.

Part 7/7

Thud. I hit the ground hard. Pain radiated in my shoulder and ricocheted down my arm with an electric zing. I was drenched in sweat. Drenched in blood. Drenched in tears.  

The golden keyhole blazed before me. The silver door twinkled behind me. And I was between the two. 

I was so close. Every bone in my body ached in protest, while every muscle gave up the war.  Gave up the ghost they thought I’d inevitably become.  I dissented them. I collected all the defiance my spirit encapsulated. I jerked myself up. Up to my knees.  I lacked the strength to stand. I mercilessly shoved the thing which obstructed my path off to the side… that is until I felt the crunch of brittle bones under my fingers. 

Was this the little girl with the onyx hair and obsidian eyes? My eyes scanned over the pile of bones. The door barely illuminated the decayed corpse. The clothes were worn, but newer than those I had seen on the Spector. And then I saw the feet, feet which once wore hiking boots… with bright yellow shoe laces. 

My eyes surveyed the room. I spotted another body, a man’s this time, the only recognisable part of him were the sneakers he wore. They were a brand I only saw in the city, never in Silver Falls.  Shoes worn by men who went to vintage shops and wore thick rimmed glasses. 

I pulled away. Not ready to take in what I was seeing. Not wanting to accept it. A dark recess of my mind wondered if I would find them here.  Growing up, I visited my mother’s grave. It always felt hollow. I thought it was grief or the vacant feeling that comes with a daughter never knowing her mother. 

It wasn’t until I felt a set of keys under the palm of my hand that I confirmed the sight. They were keys to an old Chevy Chevelle, with a personalized keychain attached that read ‘Debbie’… my mother’s name. 

I would have cried, but I couldn’t get enough air anymore.  I heard the crone’s words ring in my head… ‘It takes death to make a key. Use mine wisely.’ 

At this point I knew I had to leave my parents behind yet again, I had to get to the gold room. I wasn’t certain if there was any way out from there… but I had to at least try… 

I twisted the red key, and I opened the door. The final door. 

To my astonishment, the room wasn’t filled with gold at all. It wasn’t even a room. It was a cave at the river’s edge. One with a road that connected to the bridge, and then to the highway. Sunlight hit my face and I breathed in my first big breath. The air throbbed under my ribs, but I was grateful regardless. 

Mom! Dad! I could retrieve them! Bury them! Have the solace of closure. Maybe even get an answer or two!

I spun on my heel towards the doorway, but nothing was there. It was just a boring, rock wall. Not lead, not silver, not gold. Just grey and brown rock. My heart dropped with my spirits. I came all this way and I would never really know what happened to them, other than the fact they died in the lead room. 

Woefully, I limped towards the highway. I had combed every inch of this dull riverside during my monotonous childhood. Why hadn’t I seen a road? Not even once? Was there more magic at play? Did the door vanish and a road appear? 

I contemplated what was to be done with my aunt as I walked. I knew she desired my death. It was her who sent the sheriff to dispose of me.  But unlike the sheriff, I couldn’t drive a key into her skull without raising some suspicion. I hoarsely chuckled to myself. Had that unhinged thought really just crossed my mind?  

I didn’t know how I’d get my car, where I could stay, or how I could get just enough cash to go back to the city. As I rounded the corner… All my questions were answered. It was about damn time. 

Sheltered along the road’s edge, tucked out of sight…. Was a crimson Chevy Chevelle…

I didn’t let myself get too excited. After all, this car had not been driven over the span of my entire lifetime. The battery was probably dead. The wheels were probably rusted into a fixed position. But something within me had changed since I left my little bedroom on the tippy top floor. I believed in magic. 

I stumbled to the driver’s seat. My hopes were high. I was convinced by some form of enchantment the car would start. Would be full of gas. Would drive me away from the falls, towards the city. I twisted the key in the ignition. Nothing. Not even a chug, chug, chug. I hit the steering wheel. Hit it hard. Damn this mundane reality. Where was a fairy godmother when I needed her? 

I searched the car for anything I could use. And I found it. In the back of the Chevelle was a hiking pack. Not a little pack like mine. No, this was the kind used for multi day excursions. As I strapped it over my shoulders and snapped the buckles over my chest, I nearly collapsed to the ground under the weight of it. I looked to the skyline. I didn’t have time to unpack it. I couldn’t risk encountering nightfall again. There wasn’t exactly an abundance of crones in cabins. 

And so I ‘survival shuffled’ down the road. Down to a crossroads. And a familiar sight… I stood before the same sign I encountered at the beginning of my journey. The road was not familiar because I was already on the other side of the river. I was no longer in Silver Falls. I was back at the start. 

It was then everything went dark. My body succumbed to exhaustion, and it fell to the roadside… 

Dear Reader,

I am happy to report I did not die at the crossroads. I’d rather not bore you with all the details of exactly how I got back to the city. But I did. Many years have passed since I met the crone in the cabin… and I felt I needed to write this all down for good measure. Maybe my daughter will enjoy this tall tale one day.  Although, I doubt she’ll believe her crazy artist mom. 

She won’t believe a strange woman with yellow hair and sunbeam eyes picked her up on the roadside. She won’t buy the backpack was so heavy because it was loaded top to bottom with gold. She won’t comprehend she once had a wicked great aunt. One who mysteriously died in a kitchen fire, with little crescent moons blazed on her temples. She won’t accept that her mother couldn’t step foot into a gallery, no… not after she owns one of her own. 

Yes dear reader… in my gallery is precisely where I have written my story down. And now, it is time to cover the paintings, turn off the lights, and lock the doors to V.I.T.R.I.O.L. 

Visita Interiora Terrae Rectificando Invenies Occultum Lapidem.

Which translates to (now that I have an abundance of wifi) 

“Visit the interior of the earth and purifying you will find the hidden stone.”

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