When last we spent time with Mr. Solomon Garcia, he was attempting to escape a crumbling edifice by running down an eternal spiral staircase, until it was no longer eternal and he meets a mysterious figure at the start of an eternal corridor. You can catch up with Part V here. Now, what does this figure have to say? Are they there to assist Mr. Garcia in his mission? Or are they there to confound him and make him yet another victim of the presence? Let’s find out →
"You know who I am."
His inquiry was met with a laugh. The question stunted Solomon. This person, this character, addressed him by name. Why ask such a bizarre question? He said as much:
"I don't understand. Why ask if you already know me?"
The figure shook her head.
"Tsk tsk, Solomon." She turned around and began walking down the long stone corridor. Solomon followed as close as he dared. "He who has wandered worlds and shaken dimensions lacks the depth to understand that a simple question is often not so simple?"
She began walking faster, forcing Solomon to do the same to keep up. They charged ahead, the corridor never changing, the pace never slacking, until the figure made an abrupt stop and spun around, putting Solomon within inches of her obscured face by the time he was able to stop. He didn't know how he knew it, but he knew in that moment she smiled.
"It's dangerous to roam these halls without a strong foundation of your own, Solomon."
Solomon took a step back and looked over his shoulder. The corridor extended well beyond his vision, with no stair to be seen. He turned back to the figure and glanced beyond her to see the corridor extend in similar fashion: no end, no doors, and only the occasional torch to light the way. He knew the way of dreams, and knew no ending to this corridor was not an indication of entrapment, but rather a process to be completed before the next segment began or he woke up. It meant he would have to see this conversation through before he could escape this environment.
"I know what you're thinking." The figure stepped back a few paces, creating more space between herself and Solomon. "You think you can follow some predetermined pattern and everything will fall into place as expected. It's a fine idea, and one you have developed over years and years of experiencing that same pattern. But this is no ordinary dream, Solomon. Let me show you a thing."
Continued after the break
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She raised her head, then raised her arms out to her sides, and she spun around and around and around. The great black cloak she wore lifted and fanned out, giving her the appearance of a spinning top. As she spun, the cloak grew in length, clawing at the walls, unsettling torches, and wrapping itself around Solomon. He attempted to throw the material off of him, away from him, but to no avail. The garment enclosed him completely, pinning his arms to his side and covering his head. The figure's voice drifted among the folds and whispered in his ears.
"You think this is a transition. We will arrive somewhere else, or this segment will end and you will awaken. How like you to believe everything could be so simple to understand, when dreams are ever anything but simple."
As the final word faded, the garment fell from his body, revealing the corridor, the torches, but no figure. No cloak. No whispers. Solomon looked around, expecting to find a door, a hatch, a portal, but if the walls were holding secrets, they held them tightly. Solomon began walking in one direction, following the straightforward path between the stone walls and the low stone arches. There were no windows. No skylights. There was nothing to reveal what, if anything, existed outside the corridor. Fearing he might be trapped, Solomon began walking faster. Soon he was jogging. And then he was running. And then he was sprinting. But no matter how far he ran, the corridor remained, unchanging. No doors appeared. No windows. No visions even. The floor persisted and did not evaporate.
He pinched himself. He slapped himself. He did all of the things which routinely worked to pull him out of a dream. When these failed, he resorted to pounding on the floors and stamping on the floor in an effort to draw the attention of the figure, to bring them back, so he might pry them with questions and get the fuck out of the corridor.
Nothing happened. When he tired of pinching, slapping, pounding, and stamping, he sat down on the dusty floor and leaned against the rocky wall. A torch burned over one of his shoulders, his sole companion in this dungeon of his own making. What was he missing, that he could not escape from this corridor?
He reviewed the conversation he had with the figure. What had she said? This is no ordinary dream. If this was no ordinary dream, then what was it?
Hmmm. It appears our dear Mr. Dream Walker is in quite a predicament! All of that experience and he knows no way out of the corridor. It seems the House has claimed another victim. Or has it? Is this the end for Mr. Garcia? Or is this the beginning of a deeper journey he must make in order to overcome the presence in the house? Only one way to find out! Read Part VII here.
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