The Picture Vault

a short story by yours truly.

Light leaked across the room in indistinct bands. It exposed the imperfections that pockmarked the walls like acne scars, into which the darkness crawled, hiding away and glinting like many pairless eyes. A dirty old checkerboard floor was paired with peeling gray wallpaper. There was dust and the sorrowful smell of neglect.

Sitting in the middle, eyes gouged by shadows, cheekbones razor sharp in the contrast, was a sloping form upon a chair. Unmoving, yet not unseeing, the figure remained, now a permanent fixture.

A steady pulse marked the passing of time. With each beat, the room seemed to shift, swaying in the illusion of wind. Yet feet remained planted on the ground. Hands remained clasped together. And chin remained rested against a chest that seemed not to rise and fall. The low rustling of breath might have come from the room itself, for the body upon the chair did not move.

And then, in the span of two heartbeats – or perhaps years – sitting became standing and the room seemed to shrink with the sudden rising of its sole occupant. There was a flutter of eyelids, a sign of life, and then a tentative forward step. All was silent, yet nostrils filled with the tang of stiff electricity.

Anxious, another step was taken. And another.

The thumping of footfalls sounded resolutely, disturbing the settled dust. Transformed by movement, the room glistened with anticipation, whispering its desperate beckoning.

Hands reached out. The air responded by gently encircling the searching fingers. Cautiously, the pair moved together, at peace for a rare moment. The silence remained, but became something new. Then fingers clenched into fists, and fists dropped stiffly to sides.

The figure came to a standstill and the room deflated.

A line of closed doors stood directly to the figure’s left. Mysterious and cold, they stood as metal sentinels over the empty anteroom. They were unmarked, perfect in their vagueness and in all they concealed.

Eagerly, a hand shot sideways, body following as the first door was swung open. Its hinges creaked as feet stepped timidly into the room within, followed only by a rush of stale air.

As quickly as it had been opened the door was quickly closed. Arms wrapped around a shivering torso as a lingering chill raised goose bumps on cold skin. At first glimpse, the room had been an inviting array of diverse photographs layering the walls like an extra skin. But beyond the lure of a picture show was a gruesome and bone-chilling frost. With no coat, this room was too treacherous to be explored.

Next in line, eyes found door number two. A cloud of dust hovered before its metal surface, but with a hasty wave and a shove, the door was flung open, revealing an even thicker cloud of darkness. Hiding behind the veil of darkness were hundreds of smiling faces, captured in uniform squares of photo paper. But with no flashlight, this room was far too black to be explored.

The third door yielded a downpour of water which drenched shoes in a matter of seconds. The earthy dampness of rainfall was cut off by the swinging shut of a metal door, simultaneously closing off the curious world of skillfully captured moments. Eagerness to see more filled lungs like fresh air, but with no umbrella, this room was far too wet to be explored.

Upon its opening, an ear-splitting shriek spilled from the second to last door. It pierced the air and rattled the skull even after the room had been re-sealed, concealing the rows and rows of colorful pictures. With the shake of a head, disappointment deepened. With no earplugs, this room was far too loud to be explored.

One door remained. The air seemed to compress as an arm reached out, one final time, to grasp a silver doorknob. In one fluid motion, the knob turned. As the door swung open, a distant sigh rippled through the room.

There was warmth. A sudden, glowing warmth that seeped down to the bones. And light; enough light to illuminate the innumerable photographs lining the walls and covering the floor like fallen leaves. The weather was fair, with no rain in sight. And a soft melody played against eardrums, familiar enough to start a comforting prickling at the nape of the neck. This room was welcoming, and far too perfect to not be explored.

It was like stepping into a memory. These intimate moments, forever captured, struck a chord of remembrance. A live smile reflected those in the pictures as feet roamed the room, moving carefully on tiptoe.

Time continued forward, neither slowing nor gathering speed. Each photograph was taken in, absorbed by eager eyes. The smile became a permanent expression and, in time, the figure came to rest at the center of the room, ensconced in the safety of friendly faces. The figure gazed fondly at them and they gazed back. All became still.

A soft sigh whistled through the room as feet planted themselves steadily on the ground. Pictures rustled ever so slightly as hands clasped gently together. The door began to sway on its hinges as heavy chin came to rest against motionless chest.

The door closed. The hollow and indefinite click of a lock sounded.

Defeated, the anteroom fought to continue its steady pulsing in the absence of its sole occupant, counting time with a new sense of hollowness. The dust began to settle and the whisper of steady breathing began slowly to fade. The checkerboard floor became colder and, overhead, a wooden ladder creaked dejectedly. It would never feel the warm touch of hands climbing to greater heights. It would never witness the genuine smile of pure, unfading joy as eyes witnessed the world as it could be. With coats and flashlights and umbrellas and earplugs. With air that is not stale and doors that are not vague. And with cameras. Most importantly, cameras.

But it had done its job. It had been a constant presence just overhead, waiting for the day in which chin left chest and face pointed upwards. A day that would never come.

Beyond the final door, the figure had not moved. Chin remained resting against motionless chest. Hands remained clasped. Feet remained planted on the ground, still as a statue. And lips were still twisted into a smile. They would forever be smiling, captured eternally in a single moment of printed joy.

~ Gina Marie