Photos

The plan going forward was to do a five to ten minute freewriting session to start each day, and then use the best of them here, for my Fiction Fridays. Obviously that didn’t happen. So instead you’re getting NaNo story #29.

Prompt: You get back to your studio to develop pictures from the hour you just spent in the park. All of the pictures turn out well, except for a select few. In six photographs, there is a man in the frame. Something seems slightly off, and rather strange about each picture. Who is he and what is weird about the photographs?

I stared down at the proofs I’d just developed and frowned. There was nothing wrong with them, but they weren’t what I wanted. While working as a freelance photographer could be rewarding, it could also be very frustrating.

I cut the power to my light board and sat back with a sigh. Of the twenty-four pictures, probably twenty of them could be used as stock photos. And let’s face it, stock photos were my bread and butter. Taking pictures of the ordinary, the mundane, was big business.

Too bad I couldn’t be content with that. I wanted something spectacular, something different, something that set me apart from the crowd. That’s why I was using a film camera when everyone else was making the switch to digital.

The others can have their photo shop and digital manipulations, I’d stick to my dark room and chemical washes, my light board and enlarger. I enjoyed the hands on process of developing the film, transferring the photos to the paper in the chemical bath, hanging them on a line to dry. It was fulfilling in a way digital couldn’t hope to be.

With digital you can take as many pictures as you want, without having to worry about wasting film. Or worse, running out of it. The processing is all done electronically. No worries about making sure the developer did its job correctly, no fear of the chemicals becoming tainted and ruining a roll of film. Digital pictures can be manipulated and tweeked online. There was no art to it. No soul.

I made myself a sandwich, one of the perks of working at home, and sat on the couch to think while I ate. When I was a kid, I was fascinated by the pictures in the National Geographic magazine my father subscribed to. I loved the pictures. The city streets that showed the light and movement, a slice of life in the fast lane. The sweeping panoramic swath of a desert, the sand shifting in the wind that swept across the top of the dunes.

Then there was the shot of a redwood, taken from the ground and looking up into the canopy, the sun dappling through the leaves. The tropical rainforests with its denizens lurking within. The full page of a snarling tiger with its fierce eyes and aggressive attitude. The shots of the stars filling a night sky, the moon so bright.

But my favorite pictures were those of the people. The child on the tundra, sleeping with its head resting against a caribou. The face of the coal miner, streaked black with coal dust. The old woman on the Isle of Skye, hanging out her laundry in a brisk wind. The smiling, coffee skinned girl, shyly offering a handful of hand made jewelry. The sheik looking out of place in a high rise office.

My childhood dream had been to become a great photographer and go to work for National Geographic. My first camera was a simple point and click I received for Christmas one year. Every penny of my allowance went to film and film processing. When I started high school I was given my first standard reflex lens camera, a Nikon that became my prized possession. I joined the camera club and learned how to develop film. I got a part time job in a department store photo department.

I took chemistry in high school to better understand the developing process of my films. And then I won a scholarship so I could pursue my dream to become a professional photography. I learned about F-stops and spectrums and shutter speeds. I learned theory and composition. I learned about what settings to use for which situations. But the one thing I didn’t learn, was my niche.

This was getting me no where. I got up and brushed the crumbs away. Maybe I’d try my luck at that park near the cemetery. The park was small, but picturesque, and it attracted a variety of people. I’d take a handful of release forms, just in case.

I started with some general shots – the fountain, the dark space in the trees where the path along the river started, the playground, currently empty. I found a cluster of daffodils and took close-ups of them from many different angles. Flowers were always a big seller.

I spent over an hour at the park. I felt like I got a few good shots, but not the shot I was looking for. I was discouraged enough that I waited until the following day before developing the film. I put the negatives up on my light board and used the magnifying glass to look at each shot in turn.

As stock photos went, most of them were perfect. The daffodils in particular stood out for me. I’d have no problem at all selling them. I looked at the ones of the fountain and frowned. Most of them were fine, but two of them had some kind of white smudge on them. I didn’t think it was a glare from the sun, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. I found the same kind of smudge on a couple of shots of the entrance to the path, and on the playground. Very strange.

I wasn’t able to make out much detail with just the magnifying glass, so I took the film to my dark room for printing. For now, I only printed the six pictures with the smudge on them. I wanted a chance to examine them more closely.

While I waited for the prints to dry, I tried to think of what that smudge might be. A wisp of smoke? But then why didn’t it show up in the rest of the pictures, and how was it the same in all six pictures with their different locations? That reasoning ruled out a glare of sunlight as well. Sunlight would have looked different in the different places. And I doubted very much it was a fault in the lens. The rest of the pictures were clear.

The timer went off and I picked up the prints and took them out to where the light was better. The smudges were more distinct, vaguely man shaped. I stared at them in astonishment. They looked . . . for all the world they looked like ghosts.

I sat back and thought about this. I didn’t understand it, but it was what I called a happy accident. Maybe it was the proximity to the cemetery that caused this phenomenon. What if I’d actually taken pictures of real ghosts?

Next time, I’d go to the cemetery itself. Maybe I’ve found my niche at last.

Vampire

This was actually Story #2 from my NaNo adventure and in the process of editing I cut about a thousand words from it. I may redo this story at a later time and add back in some more relevant details, but the words I cut were pretty superfluous.

Prompt: Go over to your bookshelf, close your eyes, and pick up the first book you touch. Open the book to a random page, read the first full sentence on that page, and use it as the inspiration for a story or scene. Please include the original line at the beginning or end of your response. The book I touched was an anthology by Somerset Maugham, and the sentence comes from the story, The Death of Ivan Ilych.

While she was kissing him he hated her from the bottom of his soul and with difficulty refrained from pushing her away. But he had a job to do, and pretending he cared for her was part of it. He poured himself into the kiss when what he really wanted to do was sanitize his whole body, from the inside out.

“There now, darling. That should hold me until I get back.” She ran a hand suggestively down his body and he hoped she took his shiver for excitement, not revulsion.

With a swirl of her cloying perfume, she was gone, leaving him alone in the opulent sitting room. Sighing with relief, he went over to stare into the fire that he’d laid in the fireplace not two hours earlier. It was still burning well, but he stabbed at it with the poker anyway, imagining he was stabbing her.

Knowing he was being watched, he sighed again and strove to look sad that she’d left him alone. Going over to the drink cart, he poured himself a shot of twenty-year-old Scotch whiskey – one of the few perks of the job. Tossing it back, he enjoyed the burn on its way down and then poured another.

Taking his time with the second drink, he wandered over to the French doors and looked out at the estate gardens. A flash of something in the tree line caught his eye. He frowned as the flash repeated. Sipping his drink, he opened the French doors and stepped nonchalantly through.

He worked his way casually in the general direction of the flash. A bend in the path and he was out of sight of the house, but not of the watchers. He knew there were cameras in the woods too. Whoever was out here was playing a dangerous game, for both of them.

“Has she tasted you yet?” a voice whispered from the underbrush.

He paused, as though taking a rest, and answered quietly, with the minimal amount of movement of his lips. “Yes, just a taste though. She seems distracted.”

“No, she’s just taking her time. Pretend to tie your shoe,” the voice ordered. “Set your drink down beside this tree so you can use both hands.”

He did as he was instructed, taking his time as he fumbled with his shoe. It didn’t surprise him in the least when the liquid in his drink jostled, then stilled again.

“The serum’s perfected?” he asked under his breath.

“Yes. Bon appetite.”

He rose, bringing his drink with him, and casually circled back towards the house. Pausing in the rose garden, he tossed back the rest of his drink, managing to keep his face expressionless despite the bitter taste the serum imparted. A hint of a smile hovered over his lips as he felt it coursing through his system. It was only a matter of time now.

He could feel it changing his blood to something deadly, and it made him happy. His family had been killed by the queen’s vampires, although she had no idea. Not that she would have cared even if she did, other than the fact she wouldn’t have trusted him enough to get close to her.

He thought about indulging in another scotch while he waiting for her to return, to bolster his courage for what lay ahead, but he wanted to face her with a clear head. He knew she was getting tired of him, and exactly how their special night was to end tonight. He knew he should be scared, but what he was he was feeling was a profound sense of relief.

There was a noise in the hall and he braced himself. She was back.

“Hello, darling,” the queen said, sweeping into the room. “Did you miss me?”

“Always,” he said, smiling at her.

“Would you like something to eat? I know you humans gain your energy from food.”

“All I need is you,” he said, rising to his feet and going to her. “I burn for you.”

“Well,” she said, pleased. “Then you shall have me.”

Without further ado she led the way out of the room and up the stairs to her opulent bed chamber. “I’ll just call the maid, shall I?”

“Let me be your maid,” he said earnestly. “This is a special night, after all.”

“You almost make me want to keep you,” she said, smiling indulgently. “Shall I make you one of us?”

“As milady wishes,” he said, undoing the buttons on the back of her gown slowly, to prolong things. She preferred to wear old-fashioned dresses with many buttons and flounces. As he worked his way through the many layers, he murmured endearments and compliments, touching and stroking as he went.

“Yes,” she said on a gasp. “Perhaps I shall make you one of us.”

“Whatever pleases milady.”

“What pleases me right now is to take you,” she said. She pushed him down onto the bed, ripping away his clothing, and then mounted him.

“Yes!” she hissed, fangs showing. She rode him fast and furiously.

“Take me, take me now!” he demanded, just as he was about to climax. He turned his head to bare his throat to her.

She hissed, jaws open wide to show her fangs, then sank her teeth into his neck. He felt the sharp pain of her bite, then a pulling sensation as she began to drain his blood. When he felt her start and begin to falter, he held her head in place, as if he could force her to keep drinking his tainted blood.

“What have you done to me,” she demanded, pulling back.

“You don’t look so good, darling,” he mocked. She was no longer young, and her beauty was fading.

“What have you done to me?” she repeated. She pulled completely away from him, trying to rise from the bed but having trouble doing so.

“Only what you deserve,” he said, sitting up, oblivious to the blood trickling down his throat.

She fell off the bed, writhing on the floor as his tainted blood coursed through her. “I am the queen!” she said, voice cracking. “I am supposed to live forever.”

“Nothing lives forever,” he said dispassionately, looking down on her as she began to age rapidly. “Not vampires, and not humans.”

As she turned to dust he lay back with a sigh and closed his eyes.

Story Eleven

Believe it or not, I actually reached my 50,000 words for NaNo on Wednesday, but I also pledged to write a story a day, so I’m still at it. I actually edited this story to shorten it up for the blog, hopefully it still makes sense.

Prompt: You receive a mysterious call from a friend who asks you to meet him or her at a secret location. When you arrive, that friend reveals that he or she is, by night, a superhero. What’s more, the friend needs your help in solving the latest case. Only problem is you can’t help. When your friend asks why you reveal the big twist—you’re the villain.

It was an ordinary enough day, I went to work, flirted with the new mail guy, came home, and after treating myself to Chinese take-out for supper, relaxed in front of the boob tube. A pretty boring start to my weekend maybe, but life’s not excitement all the time. Sometimes you just have to sit back and enjoy life, you know?

Right on cue, it was at this juncture the phone rang. I looked at it and considered just letting it keep ringing. And in retrospect, the way things turned out I wish I had. But curiosity got the better of me and I picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Santos, I’m so glad I found you at home!”

“What’s up Walt?”

“I’m working on something big, something really big.”

“I’m listening.” I reached down and picked up my bottle of beer from the coffee table to take a swig.

“I can’t talk about this over the phone. You’ll have to come and meet me.”

“Aw, man. I was planning to stay in tonight.”

“Please, Santos! You’re the first one I thought of to help me. Let me give you directions to where I am.”

“What the hell,” I said with a sigh. “I don’t have anything better to do.”

He began to rattle off directions and I wrote them down, hoping I got them right. “Okay, Walt, I think I’ve got it. Do—”

“Just hurry,” he said, and hung up before I could reply.


I got lost twice trying to follow Walter’s directions, and I had to back track once. The novelty of him being so mysterious had totally worn off by the time I reached the end of his instructions and parked my car. I was in a small parking lot close to a wooded area. There was no sign of Walter so I leaned into my car and tapped the horn.

“Quiet!” Walter hissed from behind me.

I whirled around. “Jeez, give me a heart attack why don’t you, Walter.”

I waited a couple of minutes before asking, “So what was so important we needed to meet at night in the middle of nowhere?”

“First, I have something to share. Something no one else in the world knows.” He hesitated. “I just don’t know where to start to explain it to you.”

I leaned back against the side of my car. “Just spit it out, Walter.”

“Okay. Here goes. I’m the Avenging Angel.”

I stared at him a minute and then I started laughing. “Good one, Walt. I could have done without the convoluted trip out here, but nice to see you’ve developed a sense of humor.” I turned to get back into my car but his voice stopped me.

“I am the Avenging Angel.” His voice sounded deeper, more sonorous.

I turned around slowly, and there beside me stood the Avenging Angel, the super hero that had been in all the news for the last three months. There had been a great deal of speculation over who he might be, this strange hero in the white spandex suit with the enormous, white, feathery wings. He wore a mask over his head, leaving only a small patch on his throat bare.

He appeared suddenly, three months ago, just in time to save a female politician from being assassinated. He’d been appearing regularly, if not sporadically, ever since. The thing was, he seemed to cherry pick those he helped – the rich politician, the jewelry store owner, the high profile couple who’s baby had been kidnapped. But that was a private observation and not one the public had put together yet.

“Why are you telling me this?” I wondered. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m honored, but I don’t understand why you would share this with me of all people.”

“I’m working a case, a very important case, but I can’t do it alone. I need your help.”

“My help?”

“You’re the only one I know who can not only keep my secret, but help me in my task. You’re strong, and smart, and you’re good at keeping secrets.”

“Well,” I said after hesitating for a moment, “If nothing else, you have me intrigued. What’s this case, and how do you think I can help you?”

“I’m going after the Whirling Dervish.”

My eyes widened. “You know who he is?”

The Whirling Dervish had appeared shortly after the Angel, acting as a counter part to him. He’d been villainized by the press, accused of interfering with the Angel’s good deeds and setting criminals free.

“No,” he admitted, turning to pace. “I don’t know his identity, but I’ve come up with a way to trap him, only it will take two of us.”

“I’m listening.”

He went on to tell me that he’d studied the videos of the Dervish, and figured out his fighting techniques. He proposed to create a crime, with me acting as the criminal, and when the Dervish appeared to help me escape, I’d shoot him with a specially made dart. The serum on the end of the dart would paralyze the Dervish long enough for the Angel to swoop in with a magnetic net.

“You’re sure this would work?”

“Absolutely. Like mine, his powers manifested during that magnetic pulse that hit the earth three months ago. I’ve heard of a few others who’ve been blessed with super powers, but none as strong as the Whirling Dervish and me. He needs to be stopped.”

“It’s a solid plan,” I told him in genuine admiration. “There’s only one little problem.”

“What’s that,” he asked indulgently, as if I wasn’t smart enough to find a flaw.

I started to spin, and before he could react, I had my talons buried in his throat, the only vulnerable place on him. “I’m the Whirling Dervish,” I whispered in his ear.

He gurgled a response, which only became more pronounced as I let him drop to the ground. I stared at his cooling body. Who’d have thought mousey little Walter had been the Avenging Angel, there was just no telling about people.

Closing my eyes, I let my Dervish personae subside and became simply Santos again. That had been easier than I expected. Walter liked to pretend the Avenging Angel had been the hero of the story, but the truth was he was making a fortune getting kick backs from the stores he “protected.” Most of the other crimes had involved actors hired for the job.

Just because he was dressed in white didn’t mean he was the good guy.

Story Ten

This is one of my shorter stories, but I still pared it down by 400 words to shorten it up further. Mostly it was description, you’ll never miss it. LOL

Prompt: You (or a character, or perhaps two) have been enjoying a leisurely walk down a familiar wooded path for about an hour, when you suddenly realize that you no longer know where you are. Trusting that your current path will lead you back home—after all, it logically should—you turn around and head back the way you came. After a few moments, you conclude that you must have somehow strayed… because before you stands a structure that appears to be made of gingerbread.

One of my dreams has always been to live out in the country, but until I can afford to make that happen, I have to content myself hiking in the national park whenever I can. They have many trails to choose from, and on this particular Saturday I picked a medium length one.

I didn’t meet anyone on the trail, nor did I expect to. Who wanted to get up early on a Saturday morning to go hiking? Besides me, I mean. Later in the day would be a different story, but by then I’d be well away from here.

There were a lot of limbs down from the storm we had the previous night, but that was to be expected. Then I came to a massive tree, I think it might have been a beech tree, that had been uprooted and fallen right across the path. It seemed like a good place to stop for a snack while I contemplated what I should do.

I sat on a large rock near the roots of the tree and alternated sips from my bottle of water and bites of my ham and cheese sandwich as I went over my options in my head. I could try climbing over the tree, but it looked like it took a couple of other trees with it and I wouldn’t want to get tangled up or maybe injured.

I could just go back and take another, shorter trail to round out my hike, but the trails were probably starting to get busy by now. Did I really want my peace and quiet shattered by shrieking children and barking dogs? I shuddered at the thought.

The logical option was to just go around the tree. I tried to push my way through the dense brush around the exposed roots of the tree, sneezing at the dust from the loose soil. It didn’t take long to realize this wasn’t going to work. So then I tried going the other way, following a faint game trail along the length of the tree as best I could and then circled round the top to get back to the trail I’d been following.

It seemed to take a lot longer to find the trail than it should, but I did eventually find it. Something seemed a little off about it, but I shrugged the feeling away. Then I came to a stream. Ordinarily that wouldn’t be a problem, the stepping stones made it easy to cross, but I didn’t think any of the trails crossed a stream. Could I have gotten turned around in my detour around the tree?

Uneasy now, I went a little further. The trees were getting denser on either side of the trail and I didn’t recognize any of the land marks. I thought I knew all of the trails in this park, but this one was totally unfamiliar.

I slowed, and then stopped. I had no idea where this trail was leading me. The safest thing to do was to re-trace my steps. I re-crossed the stream and found my way back to the game trail, which led me back to the main trail again, but there was no sign of the beach tree. This trail, too, was totally unfamiliar. I couldn’t understand how I could have lost my way, but obviously I had. Now what should I do?

This time a stump served as my seat, and I took out another bottle of water and one of the apples I’d packed. It was a little embarrassing to have to admit I’d gotten lost. There was no point in trying to retrace my steps again. My best bet would be to follow this new trail. It would have to circle back to the park entrance eventually, or at the very least it should cross one of the trails I was more familiar with.

With a sigh, I hefted my back pack again and started off, figuring at least I was going in the right direction. My sense of optimism wavered as the trail began to narrow, and it died away altogether as the trail ended in a small clearing that contained a small cottage.

I didn’t realize they allowed cottages in this area of the park. There were cabins you could rent on the far side of the entrance, and a large camp ground beyond that, but this section of the park was strictly for hiking. Or at least it was.

But whatever. I couldn’t deny the evidence in front of me. Hopefully there was someone at home and they could point me in the right direction for the park entrance. I was more than ready to get out of here.

As I drew closer to the cottage, I saw that it wasn’t made out of wood, as I’d first assumed, but of some kind of brownish substance, like adobe. And was that gingerbread I smelled? I stopped in my tracks. The tiny house was made out of gingerbread!

This was crazy. Or maybe it was me who was crazy. I couldn’t help myself. I reached over and broke off a piece of the window sill and gave it a sniff before popping it in my mouth. Nice and crispy, full of gingery goodness.

I broke off another piece just as the door opened and a little old lady dressed like a witch appeared.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she screeched.

“I’m sorry,” I stammered.

“Now that you’re here you might as well come in.”

Filled with wonder, I followed her inside. The cottage was one, large room. There a large oven up against one wall and a work table in front of it.

“The least you could do is make me a new window ledge,” the old lady said. “I’ve already mixed up the dough, you’ll have to roll it out and bake it.”

“It’s the least I can do,” I said.

I rolled out the dough, then cut it in a wide strip that was about the same size as the window ledge. Carefully, I transferred it to a baking sheet and turned to slide it into the oven. As I did so, I felt a tremendous shove from behind. The old woman pushed me right into the oven!

“That’ll teach you to leave the trail,” she cackled. “You inhaled some toxic mushroom spores. They’re making you hallucinate.”

I blinked my eyes open. “What?” I asked blearily.

“I said, you inhaled psilocybin mushroom spores,” the main dressed in white repeated.

“Where am I?” I looked around in confusion.

“You’re in the hospital. The park rangers found you stumbling around in the forest, high as a kite. The storm we had last night caused a beech tree to fall across one of the trails—”

“I remember that,” I said. “I tried to go around it, and I think I got lost.”

“When the tree uprooted it exposed a large patch of psilocybin mushrooms. The nearest they can figure, you inhaled the spores and started hallucinating. You’re lucky you didn’t go far from the tree.”

“I didn’t?”

“Just try and get some rest now,” the doctor said. “It’ll take a while for the drug to work its way out of your system.”

“But what about the witch?” I asked.

“What witch?” the doctor asked, trying not to smile.

“Never mind,” I muttered.

The doctor exited, and I was left to contemplate what had happened to me. I wondered how much of my hike after encountering the fallen tree had been real. I also had an incredible craving for gingerbread.

Story Nine

I gotta tell you, I’m having a lot more fun with this Nano than I expected to. I’ve been keeping up with my story a day pledge, and to my surprise, most of them have been over 2,000 words. For the first time since I started NaNo (in 2006), I’ve been steadily ahead on words. (*knock on wood*, don’t want to jinx anything). So far I’ve been using prompts from Writer’s Digest. In case you haven’t guessed, this was story #9, and yes, I did edit it a bit.

Prompt: After a grueling day at work you go home. The sweet allure of your couch and captain crunch is over powering! You arrive at the door, stick in the key, yank it open and … see a writhing horde of Minotaur chanting in the night and then one notices you and charges. You slam the door, wait a minute and try again. This time it’s a mountain with climbers clambering up the towering heights. One waves at you. What do you do? What’s going on with this door of yours? Do you go in?

Work was insane today. It was one order after another, the boss was on a tear, and Jen, my cubical partner, went for lunch and never came back. She’d always been a little flakey, but this was totally unacceptable. And the worst part was, this wasn’t the first time she’d pulled this shit on me and I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be the last.

Finally, quitting time. I finished filling my last order and logged off, shutting my system down for the weekend. I met up with my friend Terry at the exit.

“I saw Jen slink back in,” she said. “I guess Boris is getting an early start to his weekend.”

I snorted. “At least somebody’s getting lucky.”

“Another dateless weekend?” Terry asked sympathetically. “Me and Lauren and some of the other girls are headed for the bar, why don’t you join us?”

“To be honest, I’m too beat to do anything but flake out on the couch tonight. It’s been a hell of a week. I’m going to eat a box of Captain Crunch cereal and binge watch something on Netflix.”

Terry made a face. “I don’t know how you can stand living in that creepy building. I wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink, no matter how tired I was.”

There’d been a lot of odd rumors about the building, everything from it being a refuge for witches during the Salem witch trials to fairies from the old country possessing it, but I’d been desperate enough for a place to live that I ignored them. It was rather nondescript, not any more remarkable than the other small apartment buildings on the block, but there was something about it, something odd.

There were stories, of course, several stories, to account for the oddness, and several mysterious deaths. There was the blond actress who’d been found in her locked apartment. She was laying peacefully on the satin coverlet on her bed, dressed in an evening gown, fully made up, and not a mark on her. Then there was the musician who appeared to have choked to death, but there was nothing in his throat and no marks on the outside of it.

There were also several stories about mysterious disappearances but none of them were enough to offset the insanely low rent.

“The bar is doing a karaoke thing tonight,” Terry said in a wheedling voice.

I suppressed a shudder, an even better reason to go straight home. “No thanks.”

“You know where we’ll be if you change your mind.”

“Thanks, Terry. Say hi to the girls for me, and have a good time.”

We separated outside of the building and I headed two blocks to the subway. Of course it was running behind, and it was as busy as my week had been. And of course it was continuing good luck that the train stopped dead in one of the tunnels because there was something on the tracks. It took over an hour before the tracks were cleared again – I was starting to wish I’d taken Terry up on her offer.

Finally, we were moving again. I made it to my stop and dragged myself up the stairs to the street. Two blocks later I was outside of my building.

“Please,” I muttered, ascending the steps. “Let the elevator be working.”

For a change it was, although it creaked and protested all the way to the third floor. By the time I put my key in the lock I was really dragging. I opened the door and blinked in surprise.

Through the door, where my apartment should be, was a scene out of a fantasy, or a nightmare. It was dark, and the cool air held a hint of salt. There was a ring of stones and writhing and dancing around the stones was a herd, or maybe that should be a hoard, of Minotaur. It looked to be some kind of ritual or ceremony, and they were pretty intense, stomping and bellowing. Then one of them looked right at me, gave a ginormous bellow and charged.

I slammed the door shut and then pressed my back against it, expecting any second for him to burst through the door and send me flying. But seconds passed and nothing happened. I shook my head and gave a laugh. I must be more tired than I realized, I was starting to see things.

Another couple of seconds passed and then I took a deep breath and opened the door again. This time it opened on a vast space, giving me a sense of vertigo. There were mountains in front of me, and several yards across the span were a couple of mountain climbers working their way up its side. One of them glanced my way and lifted a hand to wave hello. I gave a half hearted wave back and then shut the door, quietly this time.

They had to be some kind of projections. But who was doing this, and why? I slid down and sat on the floor beside my door, too tired to stand there any longer. I had to think this through.

The Minotaur, straight out of mythology except the setting was all wrong. Weren’t they native, if they’d been real, that is, to the Mediterranean? The setting looked more Celtic, with the smell of the sea, nice touch by the way, and the standing stones. Someone had mixed up their myths. But they did a real nice job on the Minotaurs, they were very realistic looking.

And the mountains… The sense of space was amazing, and it was so real that I’d felt myself swaying, as though standing on a precipice. But again, who was doing this? And more importantly why would anyone go to such trouble. If they were trying to freak me out, it was working.

This was ridiculous. I was tired. All I wanted to do was relax and I wasn’t going to do that sitting in the hall.

“Okay,” I said out loud as I clambered to my feet. “You’ve had your fun, now cut it out and let me get some rest.”

I opened the door one more time and stared around in wonder. There was a beautiful glade, I could hear water and imagined a waterfall just beyond the trees. The ground was covered in a thick carpet of moss and there were flowers everywhere. Although I couldn’t see them, I could hear birds singing. It was idyllic, the escape I’d always dreamed of.

This time, I stepped through the door.