The Ninth Door

Chapter 9 - Nightmares

Annette

It was easier to pretend that Emmerich was my boyfriend than I thought it would be. It helped that he was comfortable to be with – easy to trust. There were moments when I thought he would come closer, even touch me, but they didn’t amount to anything. I was just a lonely young, inexperienced woman who often lived in a mental fairy tale world to survive. It was easy to miscalculate.

Mrs. Winter seemed pleased with everything. She wasn’t like this with everyone. There was that one time a guy from my college tagged along with me and my friend Abby. Jaxon was too handsy, always touching my elbow and brushing against my arm, and our housekeeper made her feelings clear that she wasn’t going to tolerate it. Uncle Stefan still laughed about how unfriendly she was that day.

“She’s fiercely protective of you, Annie,” he said. “You’re lucky.”

“Am I?” I asked, then. He couldn’t even say my real name. Everyone was pretending that nothing was wrong with me, when it couldn’t be further from the truth.

Back in the Junction with a Medieval knight by my side, Mrs. Winter was friendlier. She basically threw us together in one room. She would be surprised that Emmerich was careful not even to touch the fabric of my clothes, but she would probably like him even more if she realized what he was like.

After dinner, Emmerich and I headed to my room. There were moments of awkwardness, but they didn’t linger. It was strange to see him in the pajama separates I chose for him, cotton sweatpants and a plain T-shirt. He was curious about everything that he got new, eyes widening and examining. His fingers touched the fabric, undoubtedly comparing it with what he was familiar with in his world.

For the first few minutes in bed, I reveled at the accuracy of Mrs. Winter’s description. The bed was definitely a no-disturb one, one side not affecting the other. Yet, I was still aware of how Emmerich tossed and turned on his side. The restlessness wasn’t surprising. The Junction never gave me any real rest during all of my other nights here, both as a little girl and as a young woman.

Surprisingly, I felt sleepy before midnight. My new protector’s even breathing brought me to some form of relaxation. In and out. In and out. He was perfectly relaxed, stilling after about an hour of restlessness. What did it feel like to leave your world for another? It must be exhausting, physically and emotionally.

Not long after, I stopped wondering.

**

There was a girl standing by the doorway. Her hair was dark and long, limp on her back and covering most of her face. She inched toward me, a feral growl rising from the base of her throat. How I knew that it wasn’t clear, but I rose from bed and realized that I was looking at a memory.

I was all alone in the large bed, although it had transformed to the lumpy one I remembered from childhood. It was the one that felt like it was swallowing me whole, dipping low in the middle even though I didn’t weigh that much.

“Sienna,” the girl whispered.

The malicious spirit had been following me since my mother’s murder, and it continued to tempt me with things I shouldn’t be listening to.

“No, no!”

“Listen, Sienna. Listen. Find the book. Find it. Your mother’s murderers took them and sold them along with her jewelry.”

I was only twelve. The girl who was standing a few feet away from me couldn’t be that much older. Gone was the giggling girl. It was replaced by someone more earnest, but it was her – the same girl. I wasn’t sure who to trust or if I could trust my mind.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“You have to earn it. Bring the books home. Open the door.”

The nightmare I had as a child might not be a nightmare after all. The girl who had invaded my dreams was asking me to bring the books home and open the door. The first door. It was all so real, looking at it now with the mind of a adult.

“I have the books.”

She laughed, making the hairs on my arms stand on end. I still looked like a twelve-year-old girl, but I was now seeing everything as a woman about a decade older. Her laughter didn’t sound completely happy. Yes, there was some joy in it, but it also held hysteria and madness.

“Open the door, Sienna! Let us all out. Let us out,” she begged, chanting the last three words over and over.

“Where is Emmerich? Where is he?” I sobbed, looking all around the room that was otherwise empty of any life except for me. I was pretty sure the girl I was talking to was long dead.

“The knight. The knight. The prince. The leopard.”

“Yes, that’s him!”

“He’s going to die,” she said coldly. Then, she burst into that hysterical-sounding laughter again. “He’s going to die, Sienna. Let go. Let him open the doors, and let go.”

“You’re lying! He’s not going to die.”

My voice sounded too young for me. So fragile.

“Come follow me.”

I did. I ran, following her as fast as I could. I ran with my twelve-year-old body slowing me down a little. But she was faster, older, taller, and dead.

The temperatures dipped low. I was in the old version of the house, the one that didn’t have the home temperature control. Then again, perhaps I was just running deeper into the world of the Junction’s ghosts.

“Where are we going?” I panted, resting my hands on my thighs, feeling a little dizzy. I was too skinny, too deprived of exercise and sunlight to continue the chase. Instead of answering with words, the girl turned into a black cat. It purred, growled, and fussed.

Suddenly, a tall man appeared in front of us. He scooped the cat from the floor and squeezed hard.

“No,” I whimpered, closing my eyes. I didn’t want to see what he was doing to the poor cat shifter.

“Open your eyes,” the gravelly voice said. For some reason, it didn’t just move my heart toward fear, but also my body seemed to be making some kind of movement other than the trembling.

“What?”

I was wearing my modest pajama shorts and T-shirt, and was back to being in my early twenties. Instead of a squashed cat, its girl form stood right next to the tall man with scars on his face. Emmerich stood between me and the unholy duo.

“Sienna, you’re awake.,” Emmerich said softly.

“Yes, I was dreaming and now I’m here.”

“Who’s going to write me a story? The bedtime story knight or the blood of my blood?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked. I glanced at Emmerich and saw his pained expression, as if he knew what the other man was talking about.

“Open the door, Sienna,” the girl said again. This time, her voice was neither pleading nor joking. It was dead serious. In one swift but jittery movement, she was inches from me, pressing something hard and cold into my palm. She closed my fist around it, hard enough for me to hurt. Hard enough for me to bleed.

Then, I woke up again.

Or not.

I was back in bed and my childish body, even smaller now. I might be around nine or so, a little girl wearing a pretty dress. But pretty dresses never made me feel better when memories of my mother were still so vivid at that time.

My mother’s voice telling me to close my eyes resounded in my head. She was so clear as if I was back there on the cold floor, clutching at my book, hoping that my knight in shining armor would come and save us.

“Please, please,” I begged in my head, but no help came. I tried to block out my mother’s screams and the grunts of the pigs of men that violated her.

I heard a soft growl coming from my head, reminding me that I was in bed as a child. I was dressed like a princess, with embroidered skirts. My forehead felt wet. My nightmares had never gone this way before. This was different. I dared not move, every muscle of my body steady and stiff. Instead, I let my gaze rise to the wet thing that was caressing my forehead.

It was a tongue.

A leopard was licking me, and I wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t treating me like a meal. Instead, he was comforting me.

“Emmerich.”

“Shh. Shh. I’m here. You were screaming in your sleep,” a deep male voice broke through my feverish dreams.

I was afraid to open my eyes, but I did. He was hovering over me, his dark blond curls clinging to his forehead. He was sweaty as if he had run a race. His perfectly sculpted chest was bare, but I couldn’t muster any feelings of embarrassment. I was just relieved that he was there, and amazed by his rugged beauty. Scars made constellations on his skin, some broken in farther back in history than others. I hadn’t really looked at him this closely before because I was so eager to banish the naked intruder in my apartment. This time, he was a friend protecting me in this evil house. This evil house was my inheritance, everyone had always been quick to remind me.

“Nightmares. I always have nightmares whenever I sleep here.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. His breathing was a little too fast for someone who should have just waken up from sleep. I checked the clock on my bedside table. It was early, still, almost seven in the morning.

“I’m used to it,” I said. Then, I winced in pain. My palm felt like burning. Something heavy lay on it, pressing hard with sharp ends.

“What is it?” Emmerich asked, looking concerned.

I sat up from bed and was dizzy from the sudden movement. Emmerich steadied me by holding me by the upper arms. I didn’t protest. I needed it. I opened my clenched fist and showed him what was causing me pain.

“It’s the first key,” I declared, awe-struck that bits and pieces of what I had seen and felt were real. Which parts were real? I remembered that Emmerich was right there when the girl handed me the key. The man with the pale eyes and scarred face was there, as well.

“The key to the first door?”

“Yes. A girl told me about it. She said I had to open the first door. She was almost begging, but I wasn’t sure just how sincere the begging was.”

“Evil spirits are deceitful, Sienna.”

’Yes, I know,” I muttered. “Do we look for a physical door to open with it?”

“We can try.”

“We need to dress for the day first, Emmerich. You can wash yourself in the bathroom next door and I’ll shower here. This way, we’ll save time.”

He immediately followed instructions, probably eager to get this door opening over with. When we were both dressed, we navigated the hallways of the ground floor.

“It’s the first door. So, it shouldn’t be too far from the entrance,” Emmerich finally said, after we had opened ten doors and failed.

“You’re right.”

We walked to the entrance, walked in circles by the foyer. I was growing more frustrated by the minute.

“Look, Sienna.”

There was a door to the side of the spiral staircase facing the foyer. A number 1 was written on it with some rusty marker. I couldn’t help but scoff.

“Let’s open it,” I said.