Prologue.
Do you remember, Prim?
It was a rainy night in Wimborne and the darkest day of your life. Your little steps took you to a part of the city where you’d never been before. The empty street was lit by the fading light of a headlight, making the heavy and consistent drops of rain slightly more visible. What could a little girl your age possibly do in a place like this? Or who could you be following?
Aside from other closed shops and stores, somewhere further on the same street, there was only one, huge building with a sense of old, victorian era. The luxurious hotel that gave an aura of absolute elegance, cloaked in a shroud of mystery, had a golden plate just above the main entrance’s door, which said, with big, fancy letters — “Jade Thicket”.
When your father took you on short car rides through the town, he would sometimes stop by this building, telling you that he had to “run a quick errand”. It was always the same thing he said. You wondered if he was there now, he hadn’t been home for around two weeks.
Your scared little heart sped up its beating pace when you thought of entering through that door made out to look as if it was built from natural dark oak wood. But you saw the lights that came out of the windows, so you swallowed, and began walking towards it.
The door was nearly three times bigger than you, so you rang the bell, hoping someone would open it, and to your luck, it turned around, revealing a smiling man in a darkish green uniform, with a smile on his face. “Welcome”, he said in a low voice, and bowed subtly, not even questioning you anything. You thought he might think you were staying at the hotel, but as you walked silently forward, his luminous eyes watched you cautiously, your every step and move. While the door, closed by itself.
The walls of the hallway, adorned with diverse and eerie paintings of cats, toads, and owls dressed in fancy, old clothes, sitting just like human beings in regular backgrounds almost made you forget why you came there. Fortunately, there was another golden plate at the end of the hallway, that had written the word “Reception” on it, and it indicated the reception’s direction.
Feeling slightly relieved but still alarmed, you walked in the indicated direction, your eyes no longer being captured by the paintings on the wall. The hallway led to a large lobby, with some small, wooden coffee tables, surrounded by some armchairs made of velvet, all of the same nuance of dark green. And some strange, serious-seeming adults sat around them, either having some drinks in crystal glasses or talking on the phone.
The lobby was surrounded by the sound of calming, relaxing tone music, coming from a radio station. When you walked inside, you didn’t even notice all the glares turned at you, triggered by the smell of your mortality.
Your mother’s charms don’t work here. Neither anyone’s does.
The receptionist lady was looking at you, as you walked all the way to her, seemingly wondering what your trouble was, not entirely curious or surprised by your mundane presence.
“Good evening.”, she said to you, with a calm, and almost silent voice, so as not to disturb the other people in the lobby. “May I help you?”
“Is… my dad here?”, you muttered, with your childish, wobbly voice.
“What’s your dad’s name, lemonpie?”, the receptionist lady asked, with the same welcoming smile on her face, convinced she was talking to a regular little, helpless girl.
“Erik. Erik Hansen.”
Suddenly, the receptionist’s attention shifted from the papers sitting in front of her with a lot of scribbled, messy writing on them. Her smile faded, and her face turned pale, She took one more, better look at the little girl, her eyes squeezing as if she couldn’t see her clearly. “That name…”, she muttered. “I’m sorry, there is no Erik Han–...”
However, her sentence was cut off by a loud, sharp scream coming from a feminine voice, somewhere in the direction of the hotel rooms’ hallway. Heavy, glass footsteps could be heard coming closer and closer to the lobby. Even though things like these were not uncommon to happen in this place, the receptionist stared in horror towards the direction of the sound, but the people in the lobby seemed unbothered like they did not hear the noise at all.
Did you ever know how horrified your face looked when you saw the tall man, with dirty silverish hair, in weird clothes, dragging a breathless Erik Hansen on the floor’s hallway? Literally.
Your fragile voice turned out to finally attract everyone’s attention in the lobby, as you screamed at the top of your lungs, squeezing your eyes shut, while tears streamed down your round cheeks, while you still hoped that all of it would be just a bad dream and that you were going to wake up the next morning, to the usual colored cereal with milk breakfast or to some delicious tea with marshmallows, in, or near it, on a small plate.
You screamed and cried so loud that you passed out on the floor, and later awakened to the actual bad dream called reality.
