The Memory Realm

It was a crisp, wintry morning in January. I was returning home after standing, shivering at the bus stop for ten minutes, seeing my 8 am bus arrive and watching from the shelter as it left moments later. I huffed in annoyance at myself for not getting on it. My legs didn’t move until the bus was far out of my sight and only then did I start to drag them sluggishly back to the large red door that meant I was home again. 

One of the most comforting feelings is taking in the familiar scent of your own home as you kick off your shoes, throw off your coat and chuck your bag onto the floor. Yet this time, there was barely space in my mind to appreciate the little things. I was angry with myself for giving in to temptation so easily. Thoughts of the warm, metaphorical blanket that would surely cocoon me once I had returned to my humble abode had taken over all others and had coaxed me back to the comfort I knew awaited. Like a child, I had run back to what was easiest. The very notion of college had turned me into an anxiety-ridden mess. 

I walked through to the kitchen, turned the oven on and waited for it to heat up as I sliced some potatoes into shapes that resembled chips. I pushed them off the chopping board into a metal tray, drizzled them with olive oil and seasoned them with salt, pepper and basil (I could eat homemade chips for every meal if malnourishment wasn’t a concern). Once the oven was hot, I put the chips in and set the timer for twenty minutes. During this time, I tiptoed around the house, looking in all the rooms, double-checking that no one else was home (I do this any time I think I am alone because I like to sing very loudly and badly). While I was on my trip through the house, it was hard to ignore how dark the hallways were. I pulled back the curtains in an attempt to let some light in, but the darkness seemed to remain, lurking in corners and crevices. When I was certain I was the only one there, I raced back down to the kitchen, adamant to leave the eerie blackness behind me. 

It had just turned 12:00. I was bored, having already completed all of my chores, there was scarcely anything to do but sit around and read or watch television. The thought of doing coursework made my head hurt; the agony of mental labour had turned my brain to mush. I suppose the brain already is mush, but mine felt like it had had a go in a blender. I decided to take a turn about the house, finding myself in the dining room where I plucked up a pen from the varnished, wooden table that took centre place. I began to pace, spinning the biro between my fingers as I went. Naturally, after a couple of seconds, my hand fumbled causing the pen to fall to the floor. I bent down quickly and snatched it from between the rough fibres of the rug that decorated the floor panels and brought myself back to my original standing position. 

The doorbell rang with its usual twinkling arpeggios, calling me to whoever waited outside. The lock mechanism clanked and complained in its old age as I struggled to turn the stiff key until finally, it gave way. I swung the door wide to see who was calling upon number 25 at 12:20 in the afternoon. A delivery man with a tattered baseball hat covering his eyes. He shoved a parcel towards me and walked away briskly as soon as I had taken it. Odd. That was, the man seemed odd; he moved in a robotic, unnatural way as if he wasn’t used to his own body. I shut the door slowly, but immediately forgot about the strange visitor when I saw that the parcel was addressed to me. I tore the bag open and pulled out a figure-hugging, teal, lace dress. My new eBay obsession had started to make a considerable dent in my bank account, but at least the clothes softened the blow. 

The rest of the day was dull. My parents arrived home, they scolded me for not attending college, I ate dinner, I went to bed. Let’s be honest, I heard absolutely nothing of what my parents said to me; it was like blank, white noise cutting through my tranquil day - my reaction, or lack thereof, probably didn’t help their exasperation. 

… 

Midnight. 

I hear movement in the hallway below my room. Creaking. Rustling. Something brewing. Something big. Usually, if I hear a strange noise during the night, I am glued to the spot, duvet cover surrounding me creating a protective force field of cotton. But this time it was different. I was drawn to whatever was down there. It was pulling me in like a magnet. 

I slipped out of bed and placed my feet on the floor lightly, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. I got up, went over to the door and edged it open as quietly as possible. I started to shiver as I tiptoed through the icy corridor and began to make my way down the stairs, nerves building up as I came closer to seeing what was hiding in the shadows. A few more steps and I see it. A silhouette of a man. Tall and fairly built, wearing what looked like the outline of a hat. Who was he? But my throat was constricted and I couldn’t make a single sound, let alone string a whole sentence together to ask him. Suddenly, the man’s palms began to glow, the white light brightening gradually and as if he had read my mind he held his hands up to reveal his face. The delivery man wearing the old, tattered baseball cap. 

He held out his hand for me to take. I grabbed it with no hesitation at all. Then, the light grew brighter and brighter until I was blinded by it. The space around me seemed to drop away and there was nothing beneath my feet, but his grip was secure. Colours flashed by me in warped, metallic succession. A wave of nausea passed over me whilst my body felt as though it was bending in every angle possible, yet I remained completely still. 

Finally, I found solid ground again but I didn’t dare open my eyes for I was scared of what I might see. A deep, rumbling voice pushed through my uncertainty and spoke as though it were inside my head. “Lumen. Open your eyes.” From that moment, I felt only trust and safety in the company of whoever had brought me to this unknown place. I opened my eyes. 

At first, I couldn’t figure out where I was. Surrounding me were shelves upon shelves dripping with strange objects; A small figurine of a cowboy, a lime green origami butterfly, a fluffy feather quill, and a silver ring encrusted with sapphires, were some of them. It was endless. I looked at the man curiously and he immediately responded to my puzzled expression. “Each item you see belonged to someone who once lived on your planet. When they died, something of theirs that held a significant memory or meaning got stored here.”

“Where is here?” I replied. From what I could see through the innumerable shelves, the space around us looked entirely empty, an all-consuming darkness grasping at the edges of the expanse I stood in. 

“Look closer, Lumen.” His voice boomed inside my head again. I squinted into the shadows for a while until I could finally make out twinkling lights as if a cover had been removed from my view. “We are at the edge of your universe, farther from Earth than is possible for you to fathom”

“Why have you brought me here?” I was growing distrustful and wary. ‘The edges of my universe?! How am I supposed to get home?’ I thought. Then the man handed me three small, dusty objects: The first was a brass telescope, its metal tarnished and its glass cracked; The second was a coil of worn guitar strings, fraying at the ends; The third was a copy of the book “To Kill a Mockingbird” - some of its pages were torn and an unidentified liquid had clearly been spilt on it. 

“The telescope, the strings and the book belonged to three different people. Their souls have been stolen and their memories are decaying before our eyes.” It was true - as I held each item, they seemed to rub off slightly into my hands. The telescope’s shine was dimming further, the strings were continuing to unfurl and unravel and the book’s letters were falling off its pages.  “I need you to return to the souls’ memories and find the key to their disappearance. Their eternal lives depend on it.”

“But why me? I don’t know anything about these people.”

“You have compassion, Lumen. You understand people. You can find meaning in their memories and find the key. You are far more capable than you know and that’s why I chose you. Once you have completed the task I ask of you, you may return home, but understand me when I say you will be a different person when you leave this realm.” His words echoed in my head. For some reason, that's when I realised I was the only person who could do this and that it was paramount I did. 

“Okay. What happens next?”

END