The Door to Arabeth- Chapter one

Prologue

He escapes and continues to run relentlessly. His goal instilled in his mind, forcing him to utilize every ounce of strength he has remaining. The goal he has been striving for becomes nearer with every passing second. Drowning out any obstacle that could pose as a detriment to his goal, he moves forward. Knowing that his dream is only a few strides away.

Who knew that he would end up here, lost in a newly found world. That he would have no choice but to appear in a land full of secrets.That his life would be on the line for a crime that he did not commit. Why was a perfectly ordinary teen selected for this fate?

Will he learn the mysteries of his past? Will he accomplish the task at hand? What obstacles await him in this new land? And why has everyone been lying to him? What will be uncovered?

My New Reality

I dream up a new life for myself. A world beyond the life I live. The one that seems so close, yet so far away. It often feels as though it is in my reach. Although, I fail to embrace it.

Every night, it is the same. The same dream, same world, same goal in my mind. Everything is the same, except me. In this world, I am the version of myself that I have always wanted to be. The courageous and cunning hero that saves lives and conquers every obstacle in my way. In my true reality, I am only an ordinary teen. Forced to follow the same routines every day. My dreams are my escape from reality. An escape to the life I feel I am meant to live.

My dream continues, just as it does every other night. I save lives, find more willing companions to accompany me on my journey, and beat the vile creatures in my path. I sleep heavily. Drowning out the sounds around me. Oblivious to my surroundings.

At least, that is what I typically do. One second, I am in my dream world. The next, I am back in reality.

I wake up in the middle of the night. There is no particular reason why. But I feel strange, like something is different. Despite my evident exhaustion, I scan my room carefully. In search of anything different. For something completely out of the ordinary. My eyes glance around the room and everything appears to be the same.

I close my heavy eyelids and try to doze off once more. Attempting to return to my desired world. But I am incapable of falling back asleep. The sneaking hunch that something is wrong remains. And the feeling that I should investigate again hammers me in the head, making sure it doesn’t go unnoticed.

At first, it blends in with my room, and my weary eyes overlook it. But my mind finally registers, and I whip my head back to my wall. My eyes widen with fear and my heart speeds up, skipping beats without any hesitation. In front of me, a ghostly gray door lies in the center of my wall. It is about the size of the door to a crawl space and roughly blends with the faded gray of my walls.

I jump off of my bed and near the door to get a better look. But as I advance, the door starts glowing around the borders and a bright, inescapable light flashes. The light temporarily blinds me, making me turn my head away from the unbearable torture.

As the light dims, my vision gradually returns and I look at the door again. This time, I see a keyhole has been engraved in the round, golden handle, along with ancient hieroglyphics. The strange markings wrap themselves around the handle like a bracelet, and intrigue my attention as I fail to interpret their meanings. They look like those images you see in History class but never pay much attention too. My mind yearns to read them.

This can’t be real. I pinch my arm, assuming this is a dream, but nothing happens. My head is spinning. Fear and confusion course through me and I have no control over my actions. I lean against my bed for support, and attempt to take this all in. But the fear does not weaken. Out of panic, I desperately scream for my parents.

They come racing in, concern painted on their faces. “What happened?” They ask as they look at my horror struck expression. I look over at the wall, expecting their eyes to follow mine with the instant fear that I had. To my surprise, the door has disappeared, vanishing without a trace. My parents look back at me and ask, “Are you okay?”

I freeze, unsure of what to say. “The--There was a door,” I manage to stutter.

My Dad gives me a glance of examination. “What did the door look like?”

By now, I have managed to gain back some of my composure. I straighten up, and more firmly respond. “It was a small, gray door. When I went up to get a closer look, it started glowing... and then there was a blinding flash of light. After the light dimmed, I looked back at it, and engravings had appeared on the handle.”

My father does not look back in my direction, but at the wall where the door had appeared. He seems on edge, like a disturbing memory is surfacing in his mind. As my father loses himself in thought, my mother comes towards me, and says, “It was just a dream. You better get back into bed soon. You have to wake up for school in a few hours.”

Taking her advice, I crawl back into bed. With my history of bad dreams, it would be no surprise if it had all been my imagination. My mother whispers “goodnight”, taps my father on the shoulder, and they leave my room silently. Allowing me to rest. But all I can do is stare at the wall.

I turn my head just in time to watch my parents shut the door behind them, and the uncomfortable feeling from before returns. I turn my head slowly, knowing what awaits me. There it is. In the center of my room, the door has reappeared. But this time, the door is calling for me. Creepy voices fill my room like surround sound speakers, just whispering my name. Even whispering, the voices seem to echo. “Lucas… Lucas… Lucas…” Terrified, I fall out of my bed and try to run, but my socks slip on the wood, and I come crashing down. Ignoring the pain, I crawl to my door and pull myself up. I try to open it, but I can’t. The door won’t open. It’s locked!

I pound on the door until my fists ache, and bruises form. But it is not working. Nobody is coming. What is going on here?I reach for the handle again, but this time it burns me. Searing pain rushes over me and it feels like I just rested my hand on a stove top. I race to my closet and curl up into a ball in the far back corner. This feels realistic. But it couldn’t possibly be. I don’t understand how any of this could actually happen.

As I hide, I instantly feel something ice-cold and paper thin around my neck. The feeling sends a shiver down my spine. It tightens around me and I attempt to break free, but it’s grip only worsens. I am immediately paralyzed with fear, unable to move. When the shock eases, I try to fight it. Still unaware of what the object is, I feel the breath escaping my lungs, and I continue trying to free myself.

After a minute of struggling with the chain, I finally build up enough courage to look down. I am not at all surprised by what I see: looped tightly around my neck is a necklace. Of course, the significant part is what’s attached. On the center of the bronze chain, lies an ancient key. However, this particular key isn’t ordinary. It looks old and rusted, yet beautiful. The elaborate detail is astounding. I can tell that this key is of importance, for the same hieroglyphics that were on the door have been engraved in it.

I begin to reach for the immaculate key, but before I can, it floats into mid-air and begins to pull me across the room with a sudden intensity. The kind of pain I feel right now is something I could never explain, for there are no words to describe it. As the enchanted key drags me across my bedroom, I hear the clatter of books beneath my feet. My walls are closing in, and the floorboards around me are cracking and opening like they would in an earthquake. Finally, I manage to ignore the pain for a moment and look to see where it is pulling me.

When I look up, I see that I am being pulled toward the mystical door. The whispers I had previously heard have become blood curdling screams. Slowly, my heartbeat begins to feel like I am being hit in the chest with a brick. I try to resist. Fighting with all the might I have, I know that I have lost the battle. The key continues to pull me towards the door.

On the spur of the moment, I kick my legs up and push against the doorway. But the key fights back. The chain tightens and forces me to give up. I lean forward in surrender to the magic that lies before me. Still, barely believing what is clearly in front of me. The key puts itself in the door handle and unlocks the door.

Gradually, the mystical door creaks open, and the voices stop. There is a brief pause, as if the door wants me take this all in, but before any of this completely registers in my mind, I am pulled into the utter darkness that lies beyond.

Chapter 2:Another Boring Morning(Earlier That Day)

A high pitched ringing fills my ears. At first, I try to continue sleeping, but the ringing is relentless. Too tired to open my eyes, my hands fumble around the bedside table. Finally, the ringing becomes absolutely intolerable. I get out of bed, stand on the cold, dark wood floor, and turn off my small, irritating alarm clock. It is plain, just like the rest of my room. I have been redundantly asking my parents if I can redecorate it, but they never seem to approve of my ideas. Sometimes I feel like my parents are a little too restricting. As a result, a small paint bucket and random pieces of old furniture have been stuffed in my crowded closet. For now, they remain untouched.

My weary eyes wander around my miniature bedroom until I regain focus. In my opinion, it’s more of a closet than a room. Although, everything in here has its own “history and value.” At least that’s what my mom tells me. I think that’s why my parents won’t accept change. Our entire house is full of these “valuable” keepsakes. Take my alarm clock for example. My dad brought the alarm clock back with him from New York a few years ago. He had noticed I was having trouble getting up in the mornings, so he was trying to help me out. Of course, it’s not my first choice in gifts, but I appreciate the thought.

Dad travels a lot for work. Growing up, I was always upset when he had to leave, but he usually makes up for it with fascinating gifts and souvenirs. Once, he brought me cherry red morochas and a sombrero from Cancun. We danced around the house in a conga line for half an hour! Overall, I guess his travels are pretty cool.

Sometimes he even takes Mom and I with him. My favorite trip we have gone on together was California. I will never forget that day in Disneyland. I was five, and we met Mickey Mouse, Aladdin, and a bunch of princesses. Goofy was my favorite. When we ate dinner at a restaurant by our hotel, Goofy came up to me and gave me a big, sweaty hug, overwhelming me with odors the suit had obtained over the years.

It was just like sitting on Santa’s lap. You are greeted by some fictional childhood character, and they make you feel like the most special kid in the world. They even smell similar. Kids usually overlook the smell of urine and vomit, but I can’t help noticing my surroundings. Even as a small child. It appears not to be a good quality all of the time.

I snap out of my thoughts when my mother calls to me. She yells to me in her soothing southern accent, “Breakfast is ready!” Startled, I jump slightly and knock over my laundry hamper, causing it to land harshly on the ground. She is the only person I know who can sound sweet and angry at the same time.

I respond quickly, “Be there in a minute!”, hoping she didn’t notice the sound of my falling hamper. .

I suppose I can be more observant and imaginative than most, but only when I am alone. I have to be careful when I am around others, they tend to think it’s a bit strange. Once, in history class, I was staring at an image of an ancient soldier, wondering what it would be like in his place. In my mind, I had imagined being a valiant warrior, conquering every obstacle in my path. Nothing was able to stop me or bring me down. If only that had been my true reality. I would much rather have had that than my current one. Unfortunately, I was unaware of the fact that my teacher had been trying to get my attention, and the entire class was staring at me. I just hope my embarrassment wasn’t too evident.

Once again, I struggle to bring myself reality..My mom isnt known to be the most patient person, so she calls for me again, angrily, “Lucas, breakfast is ready!” This time, I don’t answer her.

Slowly, I lean to my right and open my giant closet door. My eyes haven’t quite focused yet, so I groggily grab a blue Seahawks sweatshirt and basketball shorts from my closet. I pull the bulky sweatshirt over my head, put on my shorts, and leave to brush my hair and teeth. Short brown strands of hair fall on my sweatshirt as I comb through it. Hopefully mom doesn’t get mad at me for making a mess again. To her, appearance is everything.

Once I finish getting cleaned up, I trudge down the stairs, stomping as loud as possible, walk by my mom, who is serving breakfast, and sit down at the small table pressed up against the wall. That wall is the only thing dividing the kitchen from the living room, so I always watch T.V through the huge cutout during meals. Our house has been cleaned and organized perfectly because of my mother’s OCD. Dad and I can’t stand it, but neither one of us are brave enough to confront her about it. I guess that’s a wise decision though. Assuming that we both want to survive the day with the fewest amount of injuries as possible. It amazes Dad and I both that such a kind and gentle being is the most intimidating person we know.

As I sit there, waiting on my mother, the aroma of scrambled eggs and bacon fill my nostrils. I can’t stand waiting any longer, so I reach across the table’s maple brown surface and grab the jug of orange juice, trying to prevent my mouth from watering. Mom sets the food in front of me and I burst with excitement. She has prepared my favorite meal. I wonder what the occasion is, but I forget to ask as I begin eating. I stab the egg with my fork and watch the yoke pour out as I continue to shove my face full of the savory breakfast.

So far, today has started just like every other day. And I suffer from my miserable routine yet again. I wake up, space off like an idiot, eat breakfast, and go to school.At least it’s not that bad. The situation could be a lot worse. For example, the fact that my mom, Lacy, watches me eat from the countertop. Mothers can be weird, but I love her anyways. I think she noticed me looking back at her, because she walks up to me, grinning, and gently kisses the top of my head.

She turns away and sits at the other end of table, so I continue to scarf my food. Within a matter of minutes, I have completely devoured my meal. Not a crumb has been left behind. Literally,. I licked the plate clean.

Lately, Mom has been addicted to Candy Crush, so it takes her a minute to look up from her phone and realize I have finished eating. She is not as alert as she used to be, but she is still as loving as ever. She puts my dirty plate in the sink for me, rinses off the food residue, and glides over to the mudroom, which she has neatly organized by person, item, and color. What a big surprise, not a hair is out of place. Mom hands me my black Under Armor backpack, and sends me off to school. Once again, following the routine of every other day. I wish that something exciting would happen in my life for once. Just once I would love to do something completely out of the ordinary. Unfortunately, I don’t see that happening anytime in the near future. At least not as long as I live in this household.

When I walk down the first couple steps of the porch, I see my tall, cocky best friend, Jonathan Reese, approaching my front door. Jonathan is a little over six foot, with short brown hair and blue braces. He’s a pretty cool dude, but his looks can be deceiving. One glance at him, and everyone realizes why none of the giants in movies are teenagers.

After our usual greeting, a pat on the back, we begin our long walk to school. Well, he walks. I limp. Being the people we are, we make a big deal out of the “long” walk to school, but it’s only a half mile. For two cross country runners, we are pretty lazy.

We only take a few steps before I notice that Jonathan is distracted. Casually, I create conversation about how amazing last week’s basketball game was, but before I can finish my sentence, he looks over at me and asks, “When do you think you will be able to play basketball again?” He knows that I don’t like discussing this subject, but continues anyways. “The coach has been asking about you, and the team is suffering through a series of losses. We need you!” I really want to say I can play again, but the truth is, I can hardly walk normally right now. It may be a while.

After a moment of silence, I respond, “As soon as possible.” I’m sure that it isn’t the response he wants to hear at the moment, but he knows that I will rejoin the team the moment my doctor gives me his approval.

My immature wrestling opponent used an illegal move that shattered my knee during the match 3 weeks ago, so I am guessing the season will be over before my knee heals. This was really depressing for my friends and I, because I’m that guy who joins every sport the school has to offer. Not to be arrogant, but I’m a pretty good athlete. The disappointment on Jonathan’s face is gut wrenching and makes me want to apologize, but this is typical.

Jonathan is like an open book, and I can read him better than anyone else. He has never been known to hide his opinions or emotions, so some people try to avoid close contact with him. However, I find it comforting. I can always count on him to tell me the truth, no matter how difficult it is. On the other hand, he can make you feel like you are the worst person on the planet, even if you haven’t done anything wrong. At least he’s honest. It is one of those blessing and a curse situations.