The Night Room

– – – –

He watched helplessly as she got pushed into the Night Room by the henchmen. He had been in there before. The Night Room was eight blank walls painted white and shaped like a perfect octagon curved upwards into a perfect point. The darkness loomed and shifted and screamed in your face.  This was the horrible darkness of the feared Night Room. Nobody wanted to be there. Nobody. Ever. It was a horrible place. Good luck, he prayed. Good luck, child.
– – – –
As she was pushed into the light filled room known as the Night Room, and the door, no, the wall closed in sharply with a click and the darkness of the room fell. It loomed and shifted and screamed in her face, the walls shifting and moving in the dark of the room. It was the stuff from her nightmares, dark images flickering all around the walls, shadows dancing, claws scraping on the walls, dark sounds, the metallic smell of death everywhere.

She frantically felt for a keyhole, a lock, anything on the walls in the dark of the room. Anything, she prayed. Anything. But there was none. She frantically looked for a light switch on the eight walls and found none. She pounded on the walls, searching for a hollow sound. She pounded and smacked until her arms and hands hurt. She sighed and leaned against one of the walls. When was she going to be let out of this horrible place? The next thing she knew, she nodded off and fell asleep. She was woken by three sharp raps on the seemingly solid wall behind her. She stood up and wondered, Who’s that? “Come in,” she said, trembling as the wall swung inward, creak, creak, creak, letting in a small crack of cold light. Fingers crept in slowly, pushing the crack farther in, illuminating the fingers that crept slowly into the room. Long fingers of death. White. Blue. Cold. Dead. Five long fingers that belonged to a arm with a perfectly pressed suit cuff, the sleeves thin and long. The arm belonged to a man, no a creature with a television head, the face thin and his features bulging out of the thin face, seemingly disproportionate and dead. The Television Head buzzed and scratched and it often showed bars. What she could make out was only a sharp knife-like nose with pale-blue colored eyes, and thin lips. All the color seemed to be leeched out of him. As he stepped toward the small girl in the Night Room, his steps whispered, I am coming for you. I am coming for you. I am coming for you. Every. Single. Step.

She stared at the man with wide, terrified eyes. Who are you? What are you? Where did you come from? Definitely from the nightmares, she decided. Then, she saw his left hand. Clutched in his left hand, was a knife.

|fearful|

 

“Kingyo-sukui” aka “Goldfish Scooping”

金魚すくい

The Goldfish Game

 

One Summer, when I was young, I went fishing down by the river with my friends. There were four of us. We were having so much fun. Until the sky grew dark and clouds covered the sun. It began to pour. We were getting drenched. We heard the loud, low, rumble of thunder over our heads. We ran to take shelter under a big tree that was close to us, about ten strides away.

And then, all of a sudden, there was a blinding flash of light and a deafening crack as the tree was struck by lightning.

At first, I had no idea what had happened. I didn’t understand. My ears were ringing. I could not hear anything.

When I opened my eyes, I could not believe what I was seeing. I blinked a few times. It was still there. I looked around. I found myself at a Summer festival, standing in front of a stall. In large kanji it read, “Kingyo-sukui,” “Goldfish Scooping.”
I heard a voice. “Would you like to try your luck?”

I recognized that voice. It was so familiar! When I looked up at the blurry shape behind the stall, it slowly came into focus. It was my father! But it could not be! My father had passed away years ago.

“Where am I?” I wondered. “What is this place?”

“Don’t you know?” my father quietly asked.

I looked into the aquarium. Three goldfish were dejectedly swimming around in the pool, their baleful eyes looking up at me sadly.

That was when I understood. I realized where I was, and what I was supposed to do. I was here to help my friends.

“How much does it cost?” I asked.
“Ten years of your life,” My father replied.

“For every scoop?” I asked.
“For every scoop, he replied sadly, as he handed me the paper net.

I was so nervous. My hands were shaking. Kingyo-sukui takes much skill and dexterity. You must be very careful or the paper net will break and you will lose.

I sat down on the wooden stool and watched the three goldfish swim in the pool. I put my net into the water and I scooped. I missed. I tried again, and I missed. Again and again, I missed the goldfish. It was useless. The goldfish were swimming too fast and I broke the fragile, thin, paper net. My father handed me another, but that one broke too. I kept scooping, but the nets kept breaking. The sweat was pouring down my forehead as I tried and tried.

Just then, I managed to scoop up one of the goldfish and I dropped it in the blue porcelain bowl that was sitting on a stool next to me. It was a good start, but there still were two left. I began scooping again, but the net broke immediately. My father handed me another. I managed to scoop up another goldfish and put it in the bowl. Then the net broke again as I tried to get the final goldfish. My father handed me another.

“This is your last net,” He sighed.

There was only one goldfish left. It was not an easy decision. It was going to cost me my life, but I had to save him.

I steadied my hand and concentrated harder than I ever had in my life. On my first try, I scooped up the last goldfish and dropped it into the bowl.

“I did it!” I cried happily.

My father looked at me from the stall and smiled. It was a sad smile, but I could tell he was proud of me. He said, “I tried very hard and I managed to save one more goldfish.”

Then, everything went dark as I lost consciousness again.

“Hey! Wake up.”

The voice was faint, but I definitely heard it.

“Wake up,” it said again.

“Am I dead?” I asked.

“No, you’re not dead,” the voice gently assured me. “You’re alive.”

I opened my eyes and blinked. My friends were standing over me.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Yes,” one of my three friends said. “You’ve been unconscious for thirty minutes, but you’re alive.”
The tears started flowing. I could not help it.

I was still alive, but for how long? I managed to save my friends but I had spent my whole life doing it.

But then, I remembered the last words my father had said to me before I lost consciousness.

“I tried very hard and I managed to save one more goldfish.”

|melancholy|