Lisa Stenton — The Last Laugh at the Lake of Lava (Pt. 2/2)

(Read Pt. 1 here!)

 

It was bright. Not like the blinding light of the sun peeking through the window in the morning and waking you up. It was just super colorful. Like I had stepped into a kindergarten classroom that the kids had barfed paint all over. There wasn’t any white or black to be seen.

I found myself in what seemed to be a giant hallway. Both my right and left extended out endlessly, though I couldn’t see very far. A hazy blue fog obscured my view so I couldn’t see past a few hundred feet. The hallway was both wide and tall. Several dozen feet in both directions. On both walls there was an innumerable amount of doors. They were only separated by about a foot or so. And some of the doors were several feet off the ground. The hallway was slightly rounded off the edges, and there were absolutely no features to identify beyond the various door handles, which were all unique in their own right. No stairs, no tables, no benches. Just a huge hallway with a bunch of doorways and no end in sight.

After a few moments, I also noticed the sound of music. It seemed to be a sole piano, and though it was distant, but unmistakable. In fact it was the only thing I could hear. My footsteps made no sound whatsoever. I even tested it by stomping. I tried snapping, and then shouting. Nothing. I almost tried clapping when I realized I still held the red Sharpie in my left hand.

“What in the world?” I said. Well, at least I tried to say it. I felt my mouth move, but still the only noise was the piano playing so far away, and yet somehow so near.

I turned back to the door I had come from, still ajar. Like a window back to the bland world of normalcy. No amazing colors. Just Lisa’s small, lame apartment.

Movement caught my eye, and I hurriedly focused on it as I backed to safety.

Tiny little creatures walked out of some of the doorways, passing through them rather than opening them. They were about as high as my knee I guessed, with heads bigger than their torsos and arms and legs the size of baby carrots. Their shape and color varied somewhat, but they all seemed to be some sort of translucent pastel. They had only the barest modicum of a face—only two eye sockets and a hole where the mouth should be. They looked like colored sheet ghosts, really, only humanoid shaped rather than formless. And their heads gave me a vague impression of lumpy bowling balls. To my surprise, I found the little things adorable.

Whatever they were, they were all marching (though they didn’t have knees) in the same direction. They made no sound as they all massed to the right. I watched as one colored a sky blue tripped and faceplanted onto the painted floor. His tiny little limbs noodled around, but he couldn’t seem to pick himself up.

They were moving like a giant, or tiny, rather, herd of… mice? I don’t know. There must be tiny animals that travel in herds. Lemmings! It was like a tiny herd of lemmings, but even so I found my way across to the one that had fallen over. Gently, I grabbed his head and pulled him onto his feet. It felt cold and sort of squishy, but he was practically weightless. I got the distinct impression that he was male, even if none of the creatures seemed to have any sort of gender. Thus saved, the little thing glanced up at me, cocking his head.

But then, both of us seemed to notice the music once again, and he joined the other little ghosts as he walked alongside the rest of the lemming herd.

I followed the crowd with tentative steps. They didn’t move fast—consequence of their carrot legs—so I could have turned around at any time. With how much bigger I was (wow, I don’t think I’ve ever said that in my life), running in the opposite direction and bulldozing over them probably would have been easy. If it came to that.

These little guys seemed entranced. By the music, probably. Though it was still quiet, it seemed somewhat clearer in my mind. If it was magic—a notion I found myself more and more willing to accept—it didn’t work on me. I was just a curious bystander wondering where these little guys were going.

As we walked through the endless shades of reds and yellows and blues, the crowd of little guys got thicker. They all bunched up around one specific door, trying to get past one another without having the dignity, intelligence, or supervision to make an orderly line.

By now the hallway was absolutely filled with them, and walking was getting difficult. Of course, the ones closest to the door never opened it. They weren’t even tall enough to reach the handle. Instead, they just passed through like it wasn’t even there. It was eerie seeing so many little things moving around and yet not hearing anything except for the music.

The piano was still quiet, which seemed weird. I must have walked a quarter mile or more. If anything, the music sounded grainy, like it was coming from one of those old record players with the brass horn on it.

I carefully stepped in between the squishy little ghosts and approached the door. The handle to this one was pretty ostentatious—one of those twisty carved bar handles to mansions. It didn’t seem to have a hinge, or whatever you call those mechanisms that keep the door closed. So once I got close enough, I grabbed the handle and pulled.

A rush of hot air blew into the hallway as the door opened. The floor on the other side was dark, natural stone. With the little ghosts bunched up both ahead of and behind me, I stepped outside into the noonday sun.

I could feel the heat through my shoes as I stepped onto the rock and gazed out into the open air. I heard some sort of… bubbling, in addition to the piano now, which was definitely an old recording rather than a live performance.

The little things were waddling off and, to my horror, plummeting out of sight as they stepped off a cliff ahead of me. They really were lemmings!

I scrambled after them, but stopped short as the light and heat of the enormous pool of lava blasted into my face. I had to recoil at the intensity of it. A phonograph sat on a nearby outcropping at the edge of the cliff (and I felt a wave of satisfaction having remembered what it was called). I didn’t know the composer, but the piano was fast paced, almost comical in a sense. Like the music to a silent film that was sped up. The way it was angled, the little guys were walking straight out of the door—which, I realized now, was carved directly into the rock—and headed straight for the source of the music, only to fall into the pit below.

I crept on my hands and knees to the edge once more, and exhaled a breath of relief when I saw that there was a huge iron cage installed below the cliff that was catching them. They weren’t falling to their deaths, at least. But there had to have been hundreds of ghost-things already, trapped like the fish in the net at the end of Finding Nemo.

“Well, well, well!” a voice boomed from ahead of me, across the lake. I glanced up to see a well-dressed man standing on a column of rock that jutted out from the cliff. His coat wasn’t quite modern, and the staff he held looked like he had taken it right out of a video game. “If it isn’t the always punctual Lisa Stenton! We meet again, for the first time—for the last time!” He spoke that last bit with an air of ruthless defiance, his free hand clenched as he shook it towards me.

“First my cat ruins my house, then this skull-face guy breaks in through my closet looking for my mom, and now this evil super villain guy killing ghost things knows me by name,” I muttered under my breath as I stood. “Sure, Lisa. You’re not insane. You’re just having a rough day. No biggie.” I looked back to the river of little guys flowing into the cage. “What in the world is going on? Who are you?” I yelled to him.

“My name is Wesley Blankenship, wizard extraordinaire and a chronomancer of unique talent, thanks to you. You and I are both doubtless here for the same reason: revenge! As for me, you and your little leech friend have ruined my plans one too many times, so I’m going to destroy it before you two get the chance to meet! Not to mention that you’re the one that got me into this mess! I’m ruining your future so you won’t be there to ruin my past!”

I frowned. My little friend? Ruining his past? What was he talking about?

Whatever his plans were, I had to stop him. Those little guys were obviously creatures of some sort, and were defenseless.

Somehow I had to stop that music.

I started pacing towards it (if running near a swimming pool was dangerous, I could only imagine how dangerous it was with lava pools), and he started laughing. He held his staff up and angled it carefully, and the light of the sun reflecting off his staff shot right into my eyes.

Flinching, I threw my arms up, blocking the intense beam. He was laughing even harder now. A chilling and menacing, but undoubtedly practiced, laugh.

Something hard struck me on the back of my head, and I staggered forward, reeling in pain. I eased my eyes open. The guy on the rock wasn’t there anymore.

I turned around to see him standing right behind me, swinging the staff upwards in another attack.

It caught me right in the stomach, groaning as I doubled over. I could have stayed in bed today, I thought. Getting beat up on the top of a volcano was definitely not on the agenda.

Mercifully, he stopped. I looked up to see him slack jawed, staring at me in… terror? But no, he wasn’t looking at me.

He was looking at the red Sharpie that I somehow still had on my person.

“You already have it?” he said, shocked. “Impossible. You aren’t supposed to be Wizened yet!”

Head and stomach throbbing, I got to my knees and held it up at him as if it was some sort of weapon. If he was scared of it, maybe I could beat him. Or get out of here, in the very least. After a second thought, I pulled the cap off and stuck it on the back end. “Get back or… or I’ll…” I’ll what?

He furrowed his brow. “You… don’t know how to use it?”

Uh oh. He was on to me. I took a quick breath and lunged at him, swiping the Sharpie downwards. I slashed down and got the sleeve of his coat pretty good.

Nothing happened.

Wesley smiled and started laughing again. “You don’t know how to use it! Wonderful! I’ll destroy you and take the artifact! Besides, my cursive is much better than your pathetic scribbling. With the pen in my hand, no one will be able to stop me!”

Cursive. I had written on my notepad, but it hadn’t done anything. It had to be cursive?

He swung at me again, but I ducked out of the way and ran in the opposite direction. My head pulsed again with a throb of pain, and I tripped over the uneven rock.

My knee skidded against the ground, and I winced in pain. He was coming. I didn’t have time to get back up.

Panicked, I wrote ‘gun’ in cursive on the rock.

I watched as the word began to glow and actually lift off the ground. The letters wrapped around themselves and… turned into a pistol, a solid red color, the same color as the ink from the Sharpie.

With one swift motion, I scooped it up and swung around, aiming it at him as he made to strike at me again with his staff. He stopped short instantly.

“Whoa,” he said. “Let’s not get hasty here.”

I didn’t want to kill this guy. I didn’t know if I could. He seemed bad, but I really had no grasp on what was really going on here. If I had to… go to court or something for this later, could I call this self defense?

I pointed at his foot and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

The blood drained from my face. I had a gun, but I didn’t have bullets. I was still powerless.

He smirked and swung downwards.

I rolled to the side, dodging out of the way. Rushing to my feet I threw the gun at his head.

It didn’t hit him in the forehead like I had been hoping, but he did grunt in pain when it smacked his nose.

I bolted for the phonograph. That ridiculous piano was still playing, and the ghosts were still falling into the cage. It was super packed now.

I looked back to the phonograph, and the wizard guy was now standing in the way.

The momentum carried me right into another vicious swing of his pointy staff. I could feel the blood on my cheek before I even hit the ground.

“How… did you…” I muttered.

“Chronomancy,” he said. “Your future self had the audacity to sever my temporal connection to the world. A small blessing in some ways, but it’s a infuriating when you go into a Starbucks only to find that the drink you hadn’t ordered yet is already ready and cold. You can’t imagine the horrible things I’ve had to suffer through because of this curse. Because of you!”

Hurriedly, I wrote ‘sword’ on the ground with the Sharpie.

As he approached, I swung upwards with the solid red blade as hard as I could.

Metal slammed against metal as I sliced right through his staff. The force of the blow thrust the two pieces from his grasp, and it toppled over the cliff into the lava below.

He staggered backwards, anger and fear painted on his face.

Getting to my feet took some effort and no small amount of pain. I hurt all over, but he didn’t seem eager to fight anymore. The sword was a lot heavier than I expected, but now he was the one who was unarmed.

Short of breath, I walked over to the phonograph and heaved it off the cliff. The music stopped almost immediately. I didn’t even hear it hit impact the lake over the sound of the bubbling. I watched as the spirits all stopped walking in a little trance. They all seemed to regain a sense of themselves.

“No!” he shouted, looking back and forth between the ghosts and me. “No, no, no! You’ve ruined everything!”

You’re the one who attacked me! And those little guys, too!”

“You started this,” he seethed. “And I’ll be damned if I let you be the one to end it.”

He charged.

I had nowhere to run. On all sides of me was more lava.

Throwing the sword away, I dropped as low to the ground as I could right as he lunged for me.

A rush of air whizzed over me, and it was followed by a loud slam against the rock along with a cry of panic.

I peeked around to see him barely holding on to the rock by his forearms.

“You give up yet?” I said, trying to sound confident. It came out as a request.

“I may have seen the last of you, Lisa Stenton,” he said. “But you have most certainly not seen the last of me! I will be your end, even if it’s the first thing I do!”

And with that, he let go of the rock. My breath caught. One moment he was there. The next, he wasn’t.

I didn’t have the courage to look over to see if he… made it. I didn’t want to have to live with what I expected to see.

But it seemed it was over. Whatever it was.

This wasn’t how Harry Potter was introduced to the supernatural. I wondered if I was supposed to have some guide. Some sort of Hagrid that would teach me about wizards and goblins and vampires or whatever. Instead, I was just a girl that had found herself, by circumstance alone, fighting a wannabe villain based on some weird personal vendetta against her. My mom owed me some sort of explanation for my near death today.

I turned back to see the little ghosts starting to file back into the doorway through which we had all come. ‘The Passway’, I supposed.

“L…Lisa?” I heard another voice say. It was high pitched and distinctly not human.

I looked down to see one of the little ghosts looking up at me. He was sky blue just like… like the one I had helped up after he had tripped.

“You can talk?” I asked.

“A… little,” he replied. His voice went up and down. His voice was like a wind chime trying to speak English.

“Well, we should probably go home. I’ve got to clean still. And maybe go to a hospital. We’ll see.”

“Home,” he hummed. “With you?”

“That’s not what I meant. Haven’t you got a home?”

He hummed, but made no reply.

“I suppose you can stay with me a while,” I said. “I have to admit I am a little curious as to what you are.” That gave me an idea. “Maybe you can be my guide!”

“Guide…” he said. “Home?”

“Well, I’ll take you home. Then you tell me what you know. Deal?”

“… Deal.”

Having almost forgotten about the spirits in the cage, I really had to scratch my head as to how I would get them out. Eventually, I remembered my Sharpie, and wrote ‘ladder’. It worked perfectly, and though I was worried I’d have to make several hundred trips scooping them out, they actually managed to hop onto the rungs themselves and climb their way out. It took probably an hour for them to clear out, but I didn’t mind. None of my cuts were bad, and though I’d look atrocious tomorrow, I was pretty sure I only needed some good rest.

I realized later that finding my way back could have been a nightmare. All of the doors in the colorful Passway looked the same, except for the handles. In fact, I might never have found my way back home, had I not left the door to my closet wide open. Whoops.

Luckily, Whimsy was still locked in my bathroom. And after thorough inspection of the rest of my house, I concluded that nothing spooky, supernatural, or magical had found their way into my apartment via my closet. I really should invest in a lock of some sort, but for now, I settled for pushing all the boxes against the door to deter any would-be intruders.

Plus, I kept the red Sharpie on my nightstand. Just in case I needed a sword at a moment’s notice.

Lisa Stenton — The Last Laugh at the Lake of Lava (Pt. 1/2)

(Story art pending! And all other Lisa Stenton stories are now considered non-canon. Treat this as the first time you’re seeing this character.)

 

A lot of creative people might tell you that beginning is the hardest part. Back in high school I had a few writer friends that would say that, at least. Honestly, I don’t get what all the fuss is about. Beginning is easy. You get a blank page (or a canvas in my case), and you just put down whatever’s on your mind. Doesn’t matter if it’s bad. You just get it done and draw whatever’s on your mind the next day. Super simple.

Not that that philosophy has ever gotten me anywhere. I’d like to think I’m a good artist. I’ve thought about trying to sell some of my stuff online, but nothing’s ever as good as I want it to be. I was hoping today’s piece — a girl in a dress looking out across a creek — would be the first of many masterpieces.

But then I made the mistake of leaving a mostly finished project unprotected while I took a bathroom break. And when I got back, my cat was lazily strolling about my desk, where my canvas lay (I had always preferred painting on a flat picture rather than an easel). With my luck, he had stepped in the oils first.

Unfortunately, a trail of pink paw prints don’t really make sense over a landscape painting.

“Whimsy!” I yelled, shoulders drooping in dismay. “Come on, get down! Down!” I snapped twice, spurring him into motion.

The cat jumped off the desk and onto the tile. He didn’t seem to mind that he had ruined a good three hours of work. Whoever coined the phrase ‘curiosity killed the cat’ was right. I was going to murder him.

But not before he continued to destroy my apartment. Because while the area immediately around my desk was tile, everything else was carpet, and as soon as I realized my mistake, I scrambled after him.

He subsequently turned into a blur of blackness, zooming across the place. I felt like I was chasing my own shadow.

Two minutes, a ruined shirt, and a significantly more pink apartment later, I had managed to put him in the bathroom where the amount of havoc he could wreak was lessened. I exhaled slowly, burying my face in my hands. This was going to take all day to clean, if not longer.

I took off my cap and changed into a new shirt. Ruined as it may have been, I didn’t want to worsen the problem as I was cleaning. My leggings had gotten paint on them, too, but it was sparse enough to ignore.

Clean shirt and cap back on, I was ready to get back to work. Maybe not the work I wanted to be doing right then, but some days just don’t go your way. If anything, I wanted to strangle Whimsy, who was incessantly meowing and scratching at the bathroom door.

I would never willingly hurt him. But on days like today, I really wanted to.

“Alright Google,” I mumbled under my breath, pulling open my laptop as I sat back down at the desk. “Please tell me oil isn’t a nightmare to get out of carpet.”

Google didn’t have good news for me. But even while I was cursing how bad today was going, I still thanked Google for being such an invaluable resource when you lived alone. Well, if you don’t count a demon cat. Who was still meowing and scratching.

I had been on my knees in the hallway, painstakingly dabbing soapy water at the paint stains for five minutes when I heard something else. The sound of shuffling like… hangers sliding in my closet.

That wasn’t my cat.

I stopped what I was doing to listen more closely. I had had a rat problem a few weeks ago. That was a nightmare to fix. Were they back?

The crash of a box falling over and a grunt of pain told me that the party in my closet was definitely not rodent-based.

There was somebody in my house.

Whimsy was still meowing, but that seemed less important now. What did I have to defend myself?

And how had an intruder gotten into my closet? Had he been there all night? My heart leaped into my throat as I thought about opening the door to change my shirt and not seeing something — someone — staring at me.

I crept into the kitchen and found an iron pan. I could hear my heart pounding over my cat. I could run. Call the police. Why hadn’t that been my first thought?

Three knocks came from my closet door. Steady and almost… polite.

I stopped again. What in the world? Everything was still for a moment. Even Whimsy.

Three more knocks.

I took a deep breath. Breaking and entering via closet was probably a new one, but we all die someday. Slowly, silently, I stepped into my room, pan at the ready. This was probably the most use it had seen in months. I should really learn how to cook something more complicated than eggs.

Holding the pan close to my chest like a shield, I extended my left hand out to open the closet door. I had no idea if bullets could go through cast iron, but if they could, they probably wouldn’t have enough force left to kill me, too.

My hand touched the crevice-like handle, and I slid the door open, preparing to strike.

As soon as the closet opened, a dark, humanoid sized shape stepped into the room. I jumped back in surprise, but whatever it was didn’t seem to be aggressive.

The figure was tall. Over a foot taller than me (but then, at an even five feet, everything was taller than me). They were shrouded by a long cloak that covered head to toe. White at the bottom, then slowly fading into black at the hood. I couldn’t see their face — it was mostly covered by what looked like the top half of an authentic skull of some sort. Maybe canine. It didn’t have a jaw, though, so I could see the person’s lips underneath.

The figure turned to me, and I could see their eyes through the sockets of the skull. They seemed human, but I didn’t have a clue what was going on anymore. “Greetings,” he said. Definitely a male voice. “I’m looking for Merideth Stenton.”

That was my mother’s name. I gulped. “What the hell? Where did you come from? Get out of my house!”

“Whatever do you mean? You left your Passway open. There aren’t even any locks on it.”

“My what?”

He looked back towards the closet, then back to me. His posture could only be described as ‘bewildered’, which I’m sure mirrored my own, only on a way smaller scale. “Are you Wizened?” he asked.

“Am I what?”

He shook his head. “That answers that. Look, nevermind. Does Merideth live here or not?”

“No, she doesn’t. But I hardly see how that matters when you’re intruding on another person’s property!”

“I’ll be out in a moment, I assure you. I have places to be.” He touched a gloved hand to his chin, muttering something under his breath. I was used to looking up to people, but this guy was intimidating on an entirely different level. He obviously wasn’t deranged, but if he did attack me, I doubted a pan would make much difference. I doubted he would at this point, but I held it firm just in case.

“Does she live nearby?” he asked. “I was just running an errand for her. Fulfilling a debt, you see.”

I slowly shook my head. He seemed genuine, but that was only because everything about him was so vague and confusing that pinning anything about him down was tough. I felt comfortable giving him a little bit, though. “She moved to London a few months ago.”

“Oh, I know where she lives.” He made a grunting sound, like he was annoyed, or maybe confused.“But you’re saying this isn’t London?”

Okay, maybe he was deranged. “No? This is Wilbridge, California.”

“Hm. That damn nymph must have given me an outdated map,” he said to himself, so quiet I must have misheard him. Then to me, “Well, that’s a pity. I was hoping to give her something. You must be her sister, then.”

How old did he think I was? Then again, dressed in some throwaway clothes and sporting a ponytail as I was, I probably didn’t look particularly alluring. “What? No. Merideth is my mom.”

“Divine spirits above, they actually did it,” he said, a note of awe in his voice.

“Excuse me? Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but you have to go. You’re breaking and entering.”

He looked around my room as if he had just realized where he was. It was a mess, but then, I hadn’t been expecting company. “You’re quite attached to this ‘intruding’ idea, but I understand. My apologies for dropping in so suddenly. By the by, you really shouldn’t put boxes right in front of your Passway. Or at least put a light in there so people can see where they’re going.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I don’t have people inside my closet very often.”

He didn’t seem to pick up on my sarcasm. “Right. I’ll have to ask Merideth about that when I see her. Why open a Passway if your daughter isn’t Wizened?” He seemed to be talking more to himself than me at this point.

“I still have no idea what you’re talking about. Dude, get out of my house! Through the front door, preferably.” I never thought I’d have to direct somebody on how to leave my apartment.

He raised his hands from his cloak, and I noticed he had an actual sword strapped to the belt of his slacks. “Alright, alright. Really, though, your Passway would be far more accommodating an exit. I’ll try not to knock anything over this time.”

“What? No! You haven’t made any sense since the moment you walked into my bedroom. Through my closet, I might add! Now get you and your stupid sword out of my house before I call the police!”

“Oh, my, you really are serious. I suppose I had best get going then… Are you sure about the closet?”

“Get OUT!” I shouted, pointing down the hallway with my pan. I had no idea where this courage had come from but his mannerisms had diffused any fear I had of him.

“Of course. My apologies, once again. If you see Merideth any time soon, tell her the Scavengers are looking for her. And give her this.” He stuck a hand into his coat and pulled out a red Sharpie. Not daring to come nearer, he placed it neatly on top of my bed and hurried down the hall, rounding the corner. I was still standing in the same spot when I heard the door, then the screen door, open and close without another word. After a few moments, I followed in his footsteps into the living room to make sure he had gone, and the apartment was silent once again. Even Whimsy.

“Well,” I breathed. “That just happened.”

The house was still a mess, but going back to cleaning after that guy showed up seemed… wrong, somehow.

I put the iron pan on the counter in the kitchen and returned to the bedroom to find the Sharpie he had left. It seemed normal, and even if black was by far the most common color, I was pretty sure the markers came in different colors. In any case, it didn’t seem to be like… a bomb or anything. I even tested it out on a piece of notebook paper. Just… an ordinary marker.

I frowned. Some guy found his way into my closet, looking for my mom, to give her this? And what was all that talk about ‘Passways’ and ‘Wizeneds’?

Suspicious, I crept towards my closet, which was still open. Opening it up, I saw the toppled boxes on the ground. Useless junk my parents wanted me to keep, so I wasn’t too broken up about it. I pushed the clothes out of the way and rearranged the boxes and, despite myself, stepped into my closet.

I don’t know what I expected. Some demon pulling me into another dimension? A letter that told me I had been accepted into Hogwarts?

Nothing happened. It was dark, obviously. I couldn’t blame the guy for knocking over some boxes. But where had he come from?

I don’t know what happened exactly, but I think the hem of my shirt got caught somewhere. On the door, on one of the lopsided boxes. Either way, I found myself plummeting to the floor, and on the way down my hand found the distinct sensation of cold steel.

My elbow scraped the wall, and I hit my head pretty good. I’m glad my closet had carpeting. With a groan of pain I felt my way up the far wall, and I felt the cold steel again.

It was unmistakably a door handle.

My heart skipped a beat.

I got up on my knees and inspected the wall. The door was small; probably less than four feet high, and it connected almost seamlessly with what should have been the wall of the closet.

Now, I love horror movies as much as the next person. Okay, maybe that’s not true. I get queasy if anything gets too graphic. Maybe it’s more accurate to say I like suspense. Like everybody else, I get really mad when the girl goes in the attic alone, or you know, whatever. It was plain suicide, right?

Well, I wasn’t about to leave my closet and not open the door. For one I don’t think I would have been able to sleep again knowing that something worse might come from the other side. Plus… it didn’t make any sense. Where could this door possibly lead?

With a deep breath and a pounding chest, I pushed the door handle down and out.

And on the other side was a world of color. Light flooded into the closet. Sunflower yellows and royal blues and cherry reds. It was then that I realized that the light was literally, somehow, flooding into my closet. Mixes of colors flowed slowly out onto the carpet where the closet’s wall should have been.

It was paint.

Now this was something that I had to investigate. I stepped in.

 

(Read Pt. 2/2 here!)