The Room Without Shadows

Trigger Warning: This story contains explicit depictions of violence, murder, psychological distress, and references to childhood trauma. It may be distressing to some readers. 

"Bonjour."

"…Who said that?"

"Don’t you recognize this voice?"

"I—I don’t. I can’t see anyone. Where are you?"

"Right here."

"And here."

"And over here, as well."

"Stop it. Stop talking in circles. Show yourselves."

"There is no ‘showing.’ You know that."

"Yes, you’ve always known."

"I don’t know anything. I’ve never heard voices like this before."

"Haven’t you?"

"No."

"That’s funny, because we’ve always heard you."

"Stop. This is just a dream."

"Is that what you want to believe?"

"Let him think it’s a dream. It’s easier that way, at first."

"He’s always wanted the easy way out."

"Who are you people? Why do you sound like…me?"

"Because we are you."

"All of us."

"Every age you’ve ever been."

"Every face you’ve ever worn."

"Every secret you’ve buried."

"I don’t understand."

"You will."

"You always do, eventually."

"Where are we?"

"In the room."

"The room you know so well."

"The room with no corners, no edges, no shadows."

"The room inside you."

"What does that mean? I don’t remember this place."

"You do. You’ve tried to forget."

"Isn’t it beautiful, though? Smooth walls, endless and bright."

"Don’t listen to him. It’s hideous."

"Everything hideous starts out beautiful. You learned that long ago."

"I didn’t learn anything like that."

"Yes, you did. When you were a child."

"Look over there. Do you see him?"

"No. I don’t—wait. I do."

"That small boy, clutching something in his arms."

"He’s…me. I’m six years old."

"Yes. And what’s that you’re holding, little one?"

"That’s Benny. My bear."

"Your beloved Benny. You never went anywhere without him."

"I’d forgotten Benny."

"No, you haven’t. You just hid him away."

"Think back. After Papa left, where did you take Benny?"

"I—I don’t know."

"Yes, you do. Parc des Bastions, by the Reformation Wall."

"You dug a hole with your bare hands, buried Benny there, left him in the cold earth."

"That’s not true!"

"Your fingernails bled. Remember how it stung?"

"You said you were too old for him. You said you didn’t want to be laughed at anymore."

"Stop lying."

"Check your hands. Even now, can’t you feel the dirt under your nails?"

"…I can’t see my hands."

"Of course you can’t see. There are no shadows to guide you."

"But you can feel it, can’t you? The grit, the grime, the memory you tried to erase."

"I was a child. I didn’t know better."

"You knew. You decided to bury what you loved."

"Look to your left now. See the boy grow taller. See him become a teenager."

"Please, no."

"Look at that stupid grin on your fifteen-year-old face."

"And that haircut. Remember how you tried so hard to impress her?"

"Emma Joss."

"Yes, Emma. Pretty Emma, who sat three seats ahead of you. Do you remember how you watched her? Followed her home?"

"I never followed her."

"Don’t lie. You always lie at first."

"You thought you were clever, making her laugh with a silly joke."

"You placed a frog in her locker. Everyone laughed, except Emma."

"She slapped you. You remember how your cheek burned?"

"Stop it."

"Your classmates laughed at you. And you hated them for it."

"Do you recall what you whispered to Emma right after the slap?"

"I don’t remember."

"Yes, you do. You said, ‘You’ll regret that.’"

"No, I didn’t."

"You waited for her after school. By the Pont de la Machine, near the Rhône."

"It was dark, wasn’t it?"

"You told her you wanted to talk, to apologize."

"She believed you."

"And then you found a rock. Heavy, solid."

"Stop. Please."

"Do you remember the sound when it struck her skull?"

"Don’t say it!"

"Do you remember the way the river opened like a black mouth?"

"The water swallowed her without a ripple. Quiet, final."

"Shut up! I didn’t mean to—"

"But you did. You meant every moment of it."

"No."

"Check your hands now. Feel how empty they are. Yet can’t you still sense the weight of that stone?"

"I never wanted to hurt her."

"But you did. And you didn’t stop, did you?"

"I didn’t want this! I was scared—"

"Scared of what? Her laugh? Her rejection? Or was it the way she made you feel small?"

"I was just a boy."

"You weren’t just a boy. You were cruel. Cruelty grows in the quiet corners of the heart. You nurtured it."

"No! I loved her!"

"Did you? Or did you love how she looked at you before she slapped you? Did you love the power you felt holding that rock? Admit it."

"She didn’t deserve it. None of them did."

"Ah, but there it is. ‘None of them.’ You admit there were others."

"No."

"How about the jogger at Parc La Grange? Do you remember her breath fogging in the cold air as you stepped closer?"

"It wasn’t me."

"Yes, it was. You were so quiet, weren’t you? Your shoes barely crunching the frost on the ground."

"She nodded at you. She smiled. And you repaid her kindness with the knife."

"Stop."

"Do you remember the sound her throat made as it opened? That wet, bubbling sound?"

"Stop it!"

"And the tourist. The one with the bright red scarf, so cheerful, so full of life. Do you remember her voice choking off as the garrote bit into her neck?"

"I couldn’t stop myself."

"You chose not to stop yourself. Just like you chose not to scream when Papa left. Just like you chose not to cry when Benny was buried. Do you see the pattern?"

"I didn’t choose this!"

"You always choose this. Look now, older still. An old man, stooped beneath the weight of everything you’ve done."

"No."

"Yes. Look at your hands. Can you see the blood yet?"

"There is no blood. I can’t see it."

"That’s the problem, isn’t it? There are no shadows here. No darkness to hide you from yourself. Just pure, bright truth."

"I didn’t want this. I never wanted this."

"Didn’t you? Or did you love the thrill of it? The power, the control, the silence after the screams stop?"

"Stop talking."

"You’ll never stop. You’ll do it again. There’s no one left to stop you."

"I won’t. There won’t be any more."

"Won’t there? What about the girl who walks by your door every morning? Her hair like sunlight on water. Can you hear her laugh?"

"No."

"You’ll watch her tomorrow. Just as you watched Emma."

"No! I’m done. I’m finished!"

"You’ll feel the weight of the rock again. The slickness of the blood. The warmth of life leaving another body. You’ll smile. You always smile."

"I won’t smile."

"Yes, you will. You always smile when you think of what you’ve done."

"I’m not smiling."

"Not yet. But you will."

"Leave me alone. Please, just leave me alone."

"We never leave. We are you."

"And you always come back here."

"Always."

"This room never changes."

"And now we can begin again."