Tower Within

At once it appeared.

In the mid of night without an observer.

It pierced the black sky and didn’t break a single surrounding stone.

No plans drawn and no labor given.

An unsettling structure fabricated from seemingly nothing.

No one knows where it came from or how it came to be.

Curious denizens bask in its mystery, as daily life filters around the intrusion.

Is it a gift or a curse from another realm?

It is both unknowable and unrelentingly fascinating.

It is the White Tower.

The origin and construction of the Tower is inconceivable. Many conversations and conjectures have nearly torn the city apart as the masses demand answers for the mysterious construction. Clouds circumnavigated the strange structure as street life eddied around the unexplained intrusion. The draw of the strange structure intoxicated and dominated all conversations. What the denizens didn’t know was this was not a dormant creation.

Fog crept through the streets as the city woke. Many made their way through their natural rhythms. Stalls and stores opened, voices carried down the streets, and energy was brought back from the quiet of night. As the sun rose higher and broke the fog’s grip on the city a new oddity was added to the story of the White Tower. As mysteriously as the Tower had first appeared, now high on its facade lay an open window hole.

If there is an opening then maybe entering the Tower will unravel its mysteries. Multitudes of plans were devised to no effect. The brightest minds came together to calculate the height necessary for ladders to reach the window. Every attempt fell short as the window was ever out of reach. The curious ascenders lay the top rung of their ladders just below the window sill. As they reached the top, the window would always appear many more ladder lengths away. No matter the ladder height, skill of a climber, or shot of a bow the window could not be approached and yet seemed to never move. What no one could know is entering the White Tower was not the most arduous trial that would come.

As efforts failed and the collective mood was souring, a new and disastrous change appeared. At the base of the White Tower there now was a plain wooden door with no markings. The craftsmanship of the hinges, door panel, and handle were flawless. Trepidation struck the city as the allure of answers appeared.

Several days passed before enough courage could be mustered to approach the door. Some of the most curious and brave souls entered the Tower individually. These men and women would not leave with their lives. All that could be heard once the door had shut was rambling and screaming. However, there is a peculiarity to the Tower. An individual who enters seems to be driven mad to the point of death, but when many enter it is just a barren room. Nothing has happened to anyone who has entered the Tower as a part of a group. A group entering the Tower will only see the high ceiling and lone window. A single soul seems to lose all sanity and will to live within a night of being in the Tower. Yet as soon as two souls enter, all they have lost is time.

The most insidious aspect of the door is it locks once an individual has entered. It will not open on either side until the soul that entered ceases to breathe. No attempt by the entrant and no ax or torch from the observers can open the door. When the Tower finishes its game the door will creak open. Multiple responders can then enter and remove the remains. The cause of death seems unknowable. There are rarely signs of violence and the time is too quick for starvation or dehydration. And yet, the bodies come out cold, lifeless, and with terror carved into the deceased’s features.

The White Tower looms over the city and some say it even sings to those who pass by it. Ordinances have been tried and passed to destroy or seal the Tower. All attempts have failed and now the Tower has just become a part of the city’s life. Foolhardy and thrill-seeking citizens still attempt to best the Tower. All who enter alone perish and now the city holds this dark burden in its core.

“That is a scary story,” Whispered the young girl.

“It is more than a story, Songbird. It is a cautionary tale to respect the White Tower. We do not know its origins or its purpose. What I do know is that it is an evil place.”

In a small house many strides and turns from the White Tower, a grandfather sits in a chair by his granddaughter’s bed. Somnon is her name, but her grandfather always calls her Songbird. She has always loved the name and admires her grandfather very much. Songbird’s parents were often away from home for nefarious reasons, and when they were home they constantly fought. The noises of arguing would fill the house, but the silence of their departure often stung the worst. Songbird was not old enough to understand why many drank alcohol, but she was well aware of the effects it had on her parents. She hated the vile liquid, and her father partook in it the most. Her father would never leave the domestic quarrels on resolved terms and would always escape to some ‘watering hole’ as he called them.

Songbird wept often, but her grandfather had much experience in soothing the young girl. Her grandfather had his troubled past as well, but he could feel her pain as if it were physical. He often came around in the evenings to see the state of Songbird and the household. On this particular evening, Songbird’s parents had both left to suppress their anger and hate apart after a normal, but nasty, argument.

“Granpa, why does the Tower hurt people?” Songbird asked from the edge of a blanket covering up to her bottom lip.

“No one is quite sure what happens and less of all why.”

“No one knows what happens in that White Tower?” She pointed out the window to the dark shape cutting the night sky.

“No one knows exactly what happens, but there have been many a story and rumor.”

“I love stories, especially scary ones!” Songbird ecstatically said as she rose out of bed a bit.

“I’m not sure you’d love what I’ve heard about the Tower. And I’m not sure I should even be telling a young girl these ghastly things. Even one so brave as you,” he said with a grin.

“Please Granpa. I want to know about this Tower. I am Brave, I can handle it,” she said confidently.

“I know how brave you can be.” he looked down in shame at what this family could do to a precious young soul. “I fear alongside you, for stories and realities of the Tower seamlessly entwine.”

“I’m not afraid!” Songbird protested, from the safety of her blankets. Her grandfather gave her an uneasy glance.

“If you wish to know, then I will tell you of one poor soul that entered the Tower. But, be warned Songbird, this story is not a happy one.”