ANSIR® Profile: Evokateur / Evokateur / Evokateur
Boss: Evokateur

Shifter's Abode

I can remember the dream as if it only occured last night. The fear, the horror, and the thrill of triumph. It, and the man within it, still continue to plague me to this day. My dreams have not been normal before, nor after this one came to pass, and in fact only seem to grow more nightmarish. I wonder if the reason is somehow related? Ah, well. I am not here to speculate on what might be or why, or to begin anew griping over my somewhat self-inflicted insomnia.

I am only here, to tell you about a dream.

I opened the double doors and stepped inside the mansion, uncertain of what I should expect. The first thing to catch my attention was how dark the place was, in spite of the light in the room. I gave my surroundings a glance over, taking in the exits and possible traps, remaining at my place in front of the door on the southern wall. In front of me, there was a closed door leading to some unknown room. To the left of me, creeping from the door and along both the south and west walls, were bookshelves filled with many, well-kept books. On the northern wall, there were evenly-spaced golden candleholders supporting narrow white candles, providing the only light in what looked like a reading area. A black couch sat on a shaggy, round red rug in the western half of the room, a small wooden table standing beside the couch, all this resting on a dark-wooden floor.

To my right, along the eastern wall, I noted another door, in which I could see a staircase leading up a flight of wooden steps. There were tall, leafy green plants to either side of me--the only truely bright spots in this gloomy place--and when I next turned my eyes to my left, I noticed a door on the western wall, closed, directly opposite that of the door on the east wall. I frowned softly, wondering why there were no windows, as I turned my gaze to the last area of interest in this room.

Just to the right of the closed door ahead of me I beheld a large, wooden counter. It came straight out from the northern wall, then curved gently to the eastern one. The counter was made of dark wood, and there was a brownish-red cushioning surrounding the supporting wood. Behind the counter there was a small desk, on which was an old-fashioned oil lantern, an inkwell, and a large book.

At the desk, he sat.

My eyes followed the white quill down to his bony, white hand. He was an outline of shadows and mystery against the glow of the lamp and the scribblings of his writing in the large book. I watched him for a moment, nervous, uncertain what to do. I shuffled my feet and, after only a minute, cleared my throat to get his attention. He paused, looking up from the book, and lifted a delicate, white brow. "May I help you?"

I tried to swallow my unease as I nodded, watching as he came into sharp view. His hair was a mass of thinning, grey-white smoke that was lighter than his unhealthy complexion by only the merest fraction of a shade. His small eyes were pools of bottomless night that peered at me from within gaunt, bony features and a false friendliness. His skin was dry and ancient, yet unwrinkled by age, his features sharp and pointed like those of a siamese cat. He waited for me to explain, and I managed somehow to stammer, "Y-yes. I.. I'd l-like to p-play this."

Amusement glittered in his icy eyes, and a thin smile tugged at the corners of his colorless, cracking lips. "Really. Are you certain?" He questioned me, his voice deep, almost pleasant sounding--and yet, hollow and toneless. He his his mocking tones under the sound of death, expecting my fear to keep me from seeing it, and was surprised when I recognized it, startled when I looked him dead in the eye with a nod and a new resolve.

"Yes." I replied evenly, flatly, having convinced myself that my fear of him was ridiculous. I have no choice, I reminded myself as I stepped forward, hand outstretched. I don't remember what I gave him, never bothered to look at it. It was given to me by another specifically for this purpose and, although I felt a bit of regret at having to give him the large, disc-like token, I never hesitated. The gray man looked suspiciously into my eyes for a moment, then down to my outstretched hand. A look of hunger came over him, his eyes flashing with greed, as he rose and stepped out from behind the counter. He reached with a shaking hand and snatched the object--a jewel, perhaps?--from my fingers, turning it over in his grasp.

I dropped my hand to my side and watched him examine the object, now able to see his attire. He wore a grey tuxedo that practically clung to his stick-like form, the flowing tails in the back the only thing not attached to him. Except for the flesh that clung so desperately to his frame, he could have been a walking pile of bones, as far as I was concerned. I turned my eyes above and beyond him as his long, skeletal fingers again turned the object over, waiting, waiting.

Then abruptly, he whirled, gathering the book he'd been writing in along with his pen, closing it shut to pick it up. It was a huge black-bound book, the very sight of which made me both angered and triumphant. He turned and placed it on the counter, dropping the pen atop it as soon as he'd found the correct page, and indicated that I should sign it. I moved toward it, lifted the quill..

..and as soon as he turned away from me, apparently still examining his new toy, I looked into the book and crossed out the names written there. He would not have them, as far as I was concerned. I neglected to pay attention to him, and was taken off-guard when he snatched the book from me and examined it. He frowned, looking up to me in irritated puzzlement, and questioned, "Why didn't you sign the book?"

Why do you think? I thought with a mental sneer. I'd been told that signing things in dreams was a bad idea, since you never knew what it was you'd be signing a contract to. I didn't say so, however; I played ignorant and simply shrugged in response, looking up at him, unflinching in the line of his narrowing eyes. I was relieved when he closed the book--it meant that he hadn't noticed my little adjustment to his writing. He tried another tactic, holding both the book and the object in one are, extending a hand. "Very well, then. A handshake will do, to seal the deal."

I clasped my hands behind my back and shook my head, taking a step back. "Uh... no. I don't shake hands." I tried not to grin as his nostrils flared and his anger snapped through the coal depths of his gaze, keeping my face carefully expressionless. He stood there a long moment, as if expecting me to change my mind if he kept his hand in place, and only eventually dropped it. Defeated, he placed the book and the object aside, laying them on the counter, and reached for his lamp with a nod, quickly concealing his anger.

"Very well," he spoke cooly. "Follow me." He turned to the closed door on the northern wall, and as his back faced me, I realized I had a choice; I could snatch the token back, or grab the silver keys dangling on the ring that was hanging in his pocket. Although I wanted to get the token back, I knew the keys were more important. So, without any difficulty, I stole and pocketed the keys, thinking I might need them later while I was here.

We stepped through the door and into a large, circular room. There were symbols of all manners scrawled on the floor, serving a purpose I didn't want to think about. The sight caused me to raise my hand to my own symbol, inscribled on a tiny slab of marble that I wore, on a chain, tucked under the collar of my shirt. I grasped it firmly and eyed the bookshelves that lined the walls here and there, noticing more candles, and even a desk. I turned my gaze back to the Grey Man as he made his way across the room and through another door, also on the nothern wall, and into a much smaller room.

I paused as I stepped through the door, noticing right away that this particular room had a small window, unopenable, on the western wall.. the first window I'd seen since I stepped inside the building. Ahead of me was a red couch on a black rug, a small table set beside an arm of the chair. There were more bookshelves, all behind me along the southern wall, two along the western wall, to the side of the window. On the northern wall, separated from me by the crimson couch, was a fireplace in which burned a cozy little fire, and other than the exit behind me, the only way out was through the door on the eastern wall.

The Grey Man proceeded to pace between the couch and the fireplace, giving me information about the building I was in, the situation I was about to find myself. I listened intently, absorbing his words, forgetting them if they were of little importance to me. He came to stop on the right side of the couch, his body facing me, but his eyes looking toward the fireplace. Quietly, in a low voice, he finished his well-practiced speech, "Many have come. No one has left. You," as he watched the fire, the dancing flames suddenly vanished, leaving only a cold, gray smoke in their wake. He turned his eyes to me and smiled cruelly. "Will not escape. Ever."

I snorted. "What the hell are you talking about?" I turned. "I can leave whenever I--" ...am in big trouble. I broke off, seeing for the first time that the door I had come through was no longer a door, but a bookshelf blocking my escape. I swallowed and turned slowly as my host started to laugh, figuring I might be able to make a dash for the exit, and glanced at him, not particularly enjoying the sight of the knife in his hand. I started to scoot toward the door as the Grey Man continued to cackle, and froze as a white figure walked through it.

Oh, that's it, I'm dead. I thought as the man waddled in, thinking him a ghost come to finish me off. I quickly changed my thought of Dead. to one of Huh? as the host choked on his laughter and stumbled away from the ghost. "You!" the grey one cried out in a harsh, strangled voice. "But how did you escape?" he demanded, quite clearly displeased.

The white man chuckled, and I relaxed a little. He wasn't a threat. Dead, yes, but not a threat. He was a large man wearing a hat, a tux, and a merry smile on his lips. "I escaped with my soul," he responded as he clasped his hands behind his back. His voice was less deep than the Grey Man's, just as hollow and toneless... but warmer. "This girl will escape with her life. For you know not who she is," he turned his kind, thoughtful eyes my way. "Nor her power."

The Grey Man also looked over to me, perplexed at this turn of events. The white man chuckled and backed through the door as the host's eyes landed on the symbol dangling from my neck. He cursed and lunged for me, the black-hilted dagger flashing from the firey light of his eyes. I dodged easily, vaulting myself over his head and landing close to the door, feeling satisfaction as he crashed into one of the very bookshelves that barred my exit. "You can run," he shrieked as I darted through the door, "but you'll never escape me!"

* * *

Of these events, my memory cannot recall. There's a foggy moment where I remember a room of mirrors - some shattered, some cracked, none of them whole - and a door on the northern, dark-brown wooden wall, by the west side. The Grey Man, incidentally, is the one I call Shifter, although I didn't name him that until a month or two after I had the dream. That said, time has passed, and everything begins to fade into being...

* * *

Poking my head through a door, I looked left and right before stepping into a long hallway, relieved at the relative calm. I stepped to the left of the doorway, tapping softly on the northern wall. I paused as I came to a place where tapping on the wood produced a hollow sound, and turned to face the wall, murmuring softly. The next thing I knew, I could see through the wall, and found that there was indeed a hidden room on the other side.

I found and slid a panel open, creeping into the room to retrieve something I'd come for. I froze as the room came into sight, my breath catching in my throat. It was a small room, painted with dried blood and littered in bodyparts. Three people lay dead, one with an axe in the head, one torn to tiny pieces, and the other? I don't remember, nor do I care to. White skeletons, also stained with blood, hung somehow in the air, and I got the distinct feeling that touching one would make it not-so-dead.

I turned my attention from the room and to the bookshelves here, occasionally throwing a glance at the closed door on the northern wall. I didn't want to know what was beyond that door. So, like a professional thief, I snaked my hand behind the skeleton and snatched two items from the bookshelf, cringing as his voice rang in my ears. "Very good. You have courage, and you have power; now, do you have the will to defeat me?" My hand brushed the skeleton as I started to back out. Oops. I hurried out, forgetting caution, and hurriedly slid the panel on the wall closed. Only then did I stop to gasp for air, dizzy from what I saw in the room. I got to my feet, shaking my head in disbelief, and forced myself to look down the hall to the right of the door I'd first come through...

...just in time to see a zombie-like creature lunge at me. I reacted quickly as it shrieked some challenge at me, pulling a knife from its place tucked in my right boot. (Wait, I have a knife?) my conscious half asked. I stabbed the creature and ran toward the eastern wall for dear life, cursing. Another creature ran for me; I fought it off as well. (Am I dreaming?) "Tonight we feast!" came another challenge. I took care of that one too, as my conscious half confirmed, (Yes. I'm dreaming.) I made my way down the hall, turned right, into a room...

...and right into a dead-end trap. Behind me, a group of the green undead-things rushed in behind me as I quickly looked around the room. There was a tiny window on the eastern wall, a chair sitting next to it. Behind me, through the northern exit, there was no door, and a lot of monsters. (Wake up! Wake up! Come on, wake up! ...d'oh...) I looked to the window, which seemed my only escape, and stepped toward it, intent on breaking it and going through. One of the monsters, in the meantime, crept closer to me. (This is only a dream, this is only a dream, can't get killed, it's only a dream!) It brought a hand up to my shoulder, a knife flashing in its other furry, clawed hand.

I got angry. How dare that thing lay a hand on me! How dare these creatures try to harm me, and how dare that man try to control me! I closed my eyes, clenched my hands, and screamed in rage, feeling like a little kid throwing a temper tantrum. When I next opened my eyes and looked around, I found the rest of the creatures huddled fearfully in a corner, and the one that touched me nothing more than a puddle of goo with a small knife floating atop it. I rolled my eyes and picked up the chair, hurling it at the window.

The Grey Man chose that moment to step through a hidden doorway. He looked around, furious, glared at his creations, and commanded in a shriek, "What are you waiting for? Kill her!"

I glanced back as the monster looked to me, then to the host, and responded, "You want her dead? You &%$@in' kill her!" I laughed at the response as the grey one fumed in the corner, and jumped through the window, landing with a summersault outside on a grassy patch in the sunlight. Almost the moment my body touched the ground, I realized I was sitting in my bed, staring at my window, the sheets tangled around me. I had finally escaped the phantasm, and only three, small scratches across my wrist was left to show for my effort.

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