The Unfinished Library

The Dark Place Chapter 1 of 10 Everything was pitch black at first. All sound that might have been nearby could not enter the unconscious mind of Mourte. “Hello.” An elderly, raspy male voice said. “Hey, are ya still alive over there?” The voice said. No response, the voice waited a few minutes then asked again, still nothing. A little while later, Mourte began to stir, his hair was damp with sweat. When he initially tried to open his eyes, they stung, he vigorously tried to wipe the salty sweat from his eyes. “So ya are alive.” The voice said. Mourte sat up, trying to establish himself up from down. Eyes free of his salty perspiration, Mourte opened them. Looking around, he could barely make out his surroundings. Light came through a pinhole in one corner. Letting in just enough light to very dimly light up the room, but Mourte still had to strain his eyes to see anything beyond his hand. There was a solid pillar in the middle of the room. Near the top was a sack of what smelt like food. Mourte leaned forward and reached out for the presumed sack of food. The voice he assumed only to have been in his head earlier, spoke again. “Hey, if ya can understand me. Don’t touch that sack. It’s not food. It's some kind of poison. Only smells like food.” Mourte looked around the small dark room for the voice but saw no one. Mourte shrunken in on himself whispered. “He-hello? Is anyone there?” The voice responded. “ Yes, I’m here.” Mourte’s head snapped to the right, then left. “Where? I can’t see you.” Mourte said. “The best place to hide-” The elderly male voice said, then leaned into the thin needle of light, revealing himself. “-is in plain sight.” He had a long thick nose and a thin wispy beard. His eyes were as black as the night, and one tooth stuck out farther than the rest, exposing itself from under his upper lip. “Where are we?” Mourte asked. “Not sure really, been in here a couple days now. The names, Mouric.” He replied. “I would say nice to meet you, Mouric, but in these circumstances, probably not. I’m Mourte.” Mouric receded back into the dark corner. “Regardless of the circumstance, it is nice to have some company now.” The beam of light from the pinhole in the top corner of the wall, slowly moved across the room as the day continued to pass. Each new area it lit up showed nothing of any use to explain to Mourte where he was. The walls were smooth black surfaces just like the ground beneath him. The pillar in the middle of the room met the ceiling and ground as though it was one piece, carved out of stone and smoothed out from countless hours of rubbing with wet stones. The sweltering heat began to dissipate as day inevitably turned to night. The dark room they were in only got darker once it became night. The chirps from crickets filled the silence of the room. To try and distract himself from his growing hunger, Mourte rested his head on the cold smooth surface of the ground to sleep. He tossed and turned trying to find the best position to maintain his sleep, but the flat surface beneath him made all of them uncomfortable for long periods of time. Sitting back up, hungrier than before, Mourte thought about the sack hanging up in the middle of the room, the one Mouric had told him was supposedly poison. How could he have known it was poison? If he tried it himself he would be dead, and if he hadn’t tried it, how could he be sure it was? Maybe the reason Mouric said it was poison was so he wouldn’t mess with it and Mouric could keep all the food for himself. Sneaking little bits here and there whenever Mourte was asleep. Feeling as though Mouric may have been lying, Mourte began to crawl toward the pillar in the middle of the room. Trying to move as quietly as he could, when Mourte reached the pillar, he used it to prop himself up. Now partially standing, Mourte stared up toward the sack. His mouth began to salivate at the idea of the contents inside. He desperately wanted something to eat, not remembering the last time he ever did. Mourte licked at his lips and began reaching for the sack. Just before his hand touched the sack, Mouric’s hand clamped down on his wrist out of the shadows. “What did I say earlier? This. Isn’t. Food. It’s poison. If you eat it you will die.” Mouric let go of Mourte’s wrist. Mourte rubbed it with his other hand to soothe it. Looking from his wrist to Mouric, Mourte said angrily. “How do you know it’s poison? I think you’re just lying to keep it all for yourself!” With a scowl on his face, Mouric opened his mouth to begin speaking. Just as he did, the sound of a breaking twig came from outside the room. They both flinched, ducking down. Mouric put a finger up to his lips. The sound of another twig breaking came after that. Mourte’s heart was racing, fearful of what was coming closer to them. The steps increased in pace and grew louder and louder, Mourte started to move behind Mouric for protection. The steps stopped just outside the walls of the room. Then began pacing around them, before stopping again, Mourte and Mouric held their breath. A loud bang came next, Mourte and Mouric both slammed their eyes shut and dropped to the ground as quickly as they could.