So wouldn’t this new door, and a sense of curiosity, be the first step in breaking that programming?
Yeah. It’s not a very good argument. But that’s because I’m not really interested in talking myself into this. Or out of it, for that matter.
I want to know what’s in here.
I’m awake now and there’s no way I’m going back to sleep. I want to ask all the questions. I want to know all the answers. And yes. It’s a risk. But the alternative is just… accepting my life.
And maybe I’ve had my moments of apathy about this curse, but I have always looked forward to the day when the curse would be broken.
Maybe it’s time to stop expecting the slave caretaker to save me?
Maybe it’s time I took a little responsibility for saving myself.
I push the door all the way open. It swings easily and then bangs against the inside wall. I don’t do the obvious and call out, “Hello,” or anything. If that monster is in here, and doesn’t already know that I’ve opened his door, I don’t want to be the warning bell.
My upper body leans inside as one foot eases past the threshold and I wait until my predator eyes adjust to the darkness.
It only takes a few moments before shadows become shapes. Walls, of course. They have architectural design to them that I do not have a word to describe. But it looks a lot like the outline on the door.
On one end there is a darkness that dissolves into nothing and I deduce that is a passageway.
I take a step back, close the door, and turn around. The fog is gone now and the monsters nearby notice me with a start. Like I was not there, and then I was.
Like I had not yet accepted the curse, and now I have.
Half a footstep inside was all it took?
Not much room for indecision, is there?
I call to the closest monster. “Do you know where Tomas is?” Because I feel like he needs to know about this.
The monster points to a pathway leading into the tombs. Just a general direction, but now that I know Tomas is that way, I think I can hear chatter.
So I follow that chatter and find Tomas and his little group of friends gathered around the radio he brought home last night.
“Tomas,” I call. “I need to talk to you.”
“Shhhh,” he says. “Dr. Love is talking. We’re just about to get kissing advice!”
“What?”
“Shhhh,” he hisses at me again.
I walk over to the radio, pick it up, and turn it off. There is a cacophony of protests, but I turn on the little group, bare my teeth, and growl, “Get out.”
They scurry away.
“Pell,” Tomas protests. “What is your problem?”
“My problem is that I just found a door in a tomb, Tomas.”
He screws up his face. “What?”
“Not just any tomb, either. The new black one.”
“Are you crazy?”
“No. I’m not. I saw a door, Tomas. I opened it. I almost went inside.”