Forgotten Mazes

When she awoke, the smell was what struck her first. The air had all the chill crispness of an enduring rain, a stuffy, dust-filled must that gave it the character of long-abandonment. The space smelled ancient and lacked the organic reek of the recently occupied, cold and empty neglect filling the chamber in place of the vitality of life. It smelt dead.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she tried to take in her surroundings as best she could. Furniture lay stacked in disjointed piles at the corners of the room, which proved to be smaller than she’d have expected, no more than perhaps twelve feet in any direction. The furnishings were largely wooden, their flesh blanched with the peculiar white of time-dried mold that gave them a bone-like appearance, sending a thrill of fear down her spine. The rest of the furniture was draped with thick, rough canvas that hid the pieces from sight and merely suggested the shapes of the things within. Doors stood in mute promise on two opposite walls, though, she realized with a grimace and a groan, she could not tell if they were north, south, or even if they led deeper into wherever she’d awoken. Her head thrummed and she had to blink back tears of pain as she glanced down.

Still in my wheelchair, she noted. I suppose that’s good. Her fingers and arms were free and in no pain, which was as surprising as it was welcome. Just as soon as the room stops pulsing, she decided, trying to shake away the nausea and foreboding dread that had planted a blinding ache behind her eyes and a tight knot in her lungs.

Carefully, slowly, she brought her arms down and wheeled herself forward, wincing at the slight squeak of the chair’s wheels in the soundlessness of her surroundings. The ground proved to be uneven planks that had warped under some intense moisture of a previous generation. She made her way through the dusty interior, almost afraid to disturb whatever force of desolation had caused the room to be forgotten by the world at large.

With a shiver, she grasped the old door knob- rusted, corroded brass rough to her soft palm- and turned it with a breathy gasp. The door opened effortlessly, its greased hinges wholly defying the neglect of the room. It swung open quietly and she wheeled quickly into the next room.

Unlike the previous chamber, the new space was wholly bare, lacking any sign of habitation except the trail of footprints in the dust of the floor. She followed it through the long room and through another door until it terminated against the far wall. Feeling her hands along the cold brick, she could just make out the thin wood of a door frame. Her hand passed beyond it, suggesting the passage was open. But when she tried to wheel through, her chair heavily hit a wooden surface. Feeling again, her expression became one of disbelief.

But, I must’ve come in through this way, she thought. I can feel the breeze of fresh air. How did…?

“Help!” she cried into the darkness. “Is anybody there? Please, help me!”

She pounded her fists uselessly on the doorframe. The exit lay before her, but the gap to pass through was barely six inches wide and shrinking, until it, like a lid slowly coming down, shut with a crisp, final snap.