by Amy McLean
She picked up one of the eye shadows and opened the lid, releasing a small cloud of pink dust into the air.
Perhaps if I just...
She swiped a finger across the product and smeared it over her eye lid, coating it in pastel pink. She repeated the step on her other eye and blinked a few times to shake off the excess dust.
Without thinking about what she was doing, she reached for the lipstick, taking her time to twist the bottom to reveal the fuchsia colour. She drew her hand to her mouth and began to drag it across her bottom lip, continuing all the way round in one movement until she'd coloured in her top lip too. She returned the lipstick to the container while rubbing her lips together.
Her eyes were wide as she picked up the stick of blusher. The creamy champagne colour was speckled with shimmer, supposedly to dazzle onlookers whenever it caught the light. Grace placed it flat on her face and swirled repeatedly until both of her cheeks displayed circles of shiny pink.
She stared into the mirror to study her new look. The shades clashed as the thickly-coated products fought against one another to stand out. Against her naturally pale skin, anyone could have mistaken her image as a preparation for a clown college.
A single tear trickled down Grace's face as she rushed to bundle the products back into the bag before reaching for the facecloth. She ran it under the tap and began scrubbing profusely at her cheeks. Now tears were streaming down her face as she rubbed harder, the colours smearing across her skin and mixing together, harsh and unsightly.
She turned on the shower and stripped out of her clothes. She had no idea what had come over her. She never should have listened to Fran. She knew it was foolish of her. So why did she feel so pathetic?
After releasing her hair from its bun so that her auburn waves cascaded down her back, she stood under the running water. The radio was turned on to drown out the sound of her emotions. She was still for a moment as she let the warm water cover her. She soaked the body puff in shower gel and lathered it before scrubbing her entire body and hopefully cleansing herself of all negative thoughts. In fact, she worked furiously to erase what had happened. She didn't stop until her tears had been washed away, and the Grace that she knew had been fully restored.
As she made her way into her bedroom, she pulled the cord tighter around her dressing gown. She had towel-dried her hair after her shower, so it was now once again wrapped in a bun at the back of her head. It had been exactly what she had needed; she felt so much more refreshed now, and was a lot less anxious than she had been less than an hour ago.
"Now where did I put it?" Feeling more relaxed she was finally in the mood to sit under the duvet with a book. She rummaged at the collapsed pile on the bed, but there was no sign of a Dickens novel.
"Ah, the wardrobe..." She crossed to the other side of the room and flung back the wardrobe door and a pile of paperbacks tumbled out and fell against her slippers, jabbing at her bare heel. She rubbed it to ease the pain. "This is never going to work, is it?" She scooped up the pile and hugged it to her chest.
Mentally scanning the entire house, she searched for somewhere suitable to store them. It wouldn't be fair of her to simply dump them in the living room where Harriet spent a lot of time too, and she never did get around to buying the book case for the hallway that she'd promised herself several years back. She scuttled onto the landing with the books and stood at the top of the stairs. "Maybe if I just move some of the towels in the linen cupboard, I could squeeze—"
She had to scramble to stop the books from falling from her arms. Her attention had been caught by surprise as her eyes bolted toward the wall at the top of the stairs.
Why hadn't she seen it before? Surely it was something she would have noticed before now? She left the books in a pile on the floor and crossed over the landing, not once allowing herself to take her eyes off the wall.
In the six years she'd lived in Hampstead the house had never been redecorated. She often thought it needed refreshing, but nothing was ever done about it, so the same blue and cream pinstriped wallpaper remained in the downstairs hallway and stretched up to the upstairs landing. It was nothing fancy, but it did the job.
Except now there was a door handle sticking out of the wall. Grace studied the circular knob that protruded through the wallpaper. It wasn't huge, of course, but who wouldn't notice a doorknob sticking out of their wall?
It was only when she finally averted her eyes and cast them around the surrounding area that she noticed the rest. A rectangular shape took form in the wallpaper, as if somebody had used a knife to mark out the outline of a door. The lines were sharp and parallel; almost completely hidden.
Maybe there was a cupboard here all along, Grace thought. But why would the landlord paper over it? "Harriet!" she shouted down the stairs, "do you know if there are other cupboards upstairs apart from the one we keep the towels in?" It seemed like a mad question to ask.
"Just the one I'm afraid! Why?" The voice drifted up from the living room.
"Nothing important... I was just looking for somewhere to store my books," she managed to answer.
That settled it: Harriet hadn't seen the door either.
She reached out her hand and placed it on the doorknob. Almost as quickly, she drew her hand back. Her fingers had collided with something.
Peering beneath the doorknob introduced her to a surge of emotions. She sighed, relieved to find that it was only a key she'd touched.
But why would there be a key for a cupboard like this?
The linen cupboard didn't lock, and none of the other doors in the house apart from the front and back doors came with keys. Curious, she pulled it out and placed it in her palm.
It was black and rusted, and stretched the entire length of her hand. It was thin, narrow, and had a little hoop on the end of it so that it could be hung somewhere, or perhaps attached to a piece of ribbon. The metal felt cold against her skin.
She drew it back to the lock and manoeuvred it around, struggling to get it back into the keyhole. It felt quite uneven, probably because of the cobwebs that had formed an additional layer inside the lock which had to be penetrated before the door could be opened. Grace had no idea what to expect on the other side.
Finally, the key clicked into place. Grace slowly turned it counter-clockwise until it clicked a second time, a signal that the door was now unlocked. She left the key in the keyhole and placed a hand on the doorknob. It had turned cold, much colder than she had expected. She turned the knob and pulled gently.
There was a creak as the door moved.
Grace stood back and pulled the door further. It was now completely open. The wallpaper on the front of the door, she noticed, remained intact; it didn't rip or tear at all as the rectangle came away from the wall. She braced herself as she peered inside.
The cupboard was completely dark.
That's odd, she thought, noticing that none of the light from the hallway seemed to penetrate the recess. There was no way of telling how deep it was, or whether or not there were shelves for her books.
At the bottom left corner of the cupboard, however, Grace noticed a small thread of light fighting its way through the darkness; it seemed to be coming from the bathroom.
There must be a hole in the back of the cupboard, she decided, but she was certain that she hadn't left the bathroom light on.
There was a gentle shuffling sound coming from behind her. She turned to see that it was only Bella coming up the stairs. She paused at the top step to lick her paws.
"Up to your usual tricks again, Bella?"
The mischievous cat didn't bother to acknowledge the accusation. She stood on all fours and continued on toward Harriet's bedroom.
Bella was the sort of animal that ignored the old saying, curiosity killed the cat. She was a springy animal, always exploring. They'd once caught her stuck in a large flowerpot when she was a kitten, obviously trapped after one of her adventures had gone wrong. Any sign of new territory and she had to stic
k her paws in it. It was completely out of her nature to ignore the before unseen cupboard in front of her. In fact, it was as if she hadn't seen the cupboard at all.
Grace convincing herself it was nothing to be concerned about, and turned her attention to the dark shape in front of her. Since she couldn't see anything in the darkness, she decided she was just going to have to feel for the depth of the cupboard with her hands. She took a step closer and reached her arm out.
It must be deeper than I expected, she told herself. I can't seem to feel the back wall yet. She moved one foot inside the space as she edged closer.
Finally, she pressed her hand against something firm: the back wall. She brought her other hand forward so she could push both palms against the surface. It felt like wood, not the brickwork she had imagined. Just as soon as she had considered this to be quite peculiar, the golden thread of light in the left corner began to worm its way along the edge where the wall met the floor, growing until it reached the opposite side. Grace glanced down, her eyes widening.
A strange wind began to pick up inside the cupboard, swirling a cold breeze around her. It seemed to be coming from the direction of the back wall, but she'd just confirmed that the wall was solid. How could this be possible?
She was about to run out of the cupboard, but the thought had occurred to her too late. The door slammed shut behind her, camouflaging itself once again as it blended into the wallpaper. There was no time to panic as the wooden panels that had once posed as the back wall shifted from beneath Grace's hands, plunging her deeper into the darkness.
4
As she emerged on the other side, the light nearly blinded her. It only lasted a second. She had stumbled as she'd fallen through the cupboard, losing her balance as the back wall had disappeared right under her grasp. She stood now, having just managed to regain her equilibrium. She wondered for a moment if she had perhaps taken a bump to the head. Maybe this was all a dream, or some crazy concussion-induced hallucination. She told herself that it wasn't likely, but neither was the other option she had to consider: that she'd just fallen through a mysterious cupboard in her own home that she'd never before seen. She quite clearly remembered holding the key, and the door had definitely been cut out of the wallpaper at the top of the stairs. She had no idea where she was. Something told her she was no longer in Hampstead though, and she desperately needed to find out what was going on.
The only source of light seemed to be coming from a candle situated in the corner of the room. In order to gain a better view of her new surroundings, she would need to fetch the candle and guide the light directly in front of her. But that would require her to cross over to it, and she had no idea whether or not that was going to put her in danger. She remained rooted to the spot where she stood for a few minutes as she frantically tried to come up with an alternative solution, but she soon had to face the truth. There was no alternative. Her only option was to fetch the candlestick. Not without hesitation, she allowed her right foot to slide forward an inch. When she was relieved to find that it didn't collide with anything, she moved her left foot so that they were together again. The floor was rough, uneven, and painful on her bare skin. She guessed it was wooden, and began to worry that splinters would cut into her feet. But she had to get to the candle. With nothing in her path, she continued to move her feet one at a time, ensuring that her steps were soft and silent. Several moments later, she was standing directly in front of the candle.
She tried not to move too swiftly as she reached for the candlestick. There already seemed to be a draft in the room, and any sudden movements could cost her the only source of light. She lifted it and turned to face the centre of the room.
Her eyes widened as she took in her surroundings, which were now softly illuminated by the candle's glow. It appeared to Grace that she was standing in some sort of narrow cabin. As she had surmised, the floors were made from wood, with the panelling of the walls made from the same material. The rough splinters surrounding her could be noticed even in the dim candlelight.
A bed was situated in the far corner of the room, opposite to where she now stood. It was a peculiar size, much smaller than the single bed she'd had as a child, and much lower to the ground too. She steadied her breathing and moved closer to it, still clutching onto the candlestick. As she leaned over and placed her hand flat against the bed sheet, she confirmed to herself that it was real.
It was becoming increasingly more challenging to convince herself that she was simply experiencing some peculiar dream—or maybe a nightmare, she couldn't quite tell which. She lifted her hand off the bed. The surface beneath the sheet was solid, and certainly uncomfortable. Grace wondered how anybody could sleep there.
She turned to take in the rest of the room. There was not a lot to see. Next to the table bearing the candle was a small wooden chest. The metal rings on the top shone as the light of the candle reflected off them. Enticed, she walked over to it and knelt down in front of it. She tried to open the chest with one hand but the lid was too heavy. Setting the candle on the floor beside her so that both of her hands were free, she pressed her palms onto the wood and gripped the metal rings. She struggled with its weight until the lid began to move. It creaked as she lifted until it was fully open.
At once she dropped the lid, letting it crash down.
What she'd seen had frightened her. The chest was almost empty, but the candlelight had managed to seek out the only object inside. A sword stretched the length of the chest, a warning for any intruder.
Where on earth am I?
She stumbled onto her feet and straightened herself up, lifting the candle with her. As the fear grew inside her, she knew she had to get out of this place.
She was about to head for the door behind her when she paused. It had taken her a moment to realise that she was heading for a different door. This was not the door through which she'd entered. She turned to find the other door against the wall near the bed: the entrance that had brought her here.
She left the candle in the centre of the floor so that it would cast just enough light throughout the entire room, setting it down so that it wouldn't topple over. She approached the door and placed her hand on the doorknob.
She turned it. Nothing happened.
She tried to push the door, but it wouldn't budge. She fought and shook with all her might but still it would not cooperate. She was trapped.
Thinking quickly, she decided that there was only one thing to do: Unless she wanted to spend the rest of her life stuck inside this strange room, she was going to have to try the other door.
"It's now or never," she whispered to herself as she lifted her hand toward the new doorknob. She turned it, carefully rotating it counter-clockwise.
The door clicked as it released, a strand of light appearing through the crack in the opening. A draught hissed through the gap as well. Grace stepped back, pulling the door open further. She decided not to open it all the way since she had no idea what lay on the other side, and there was every possibility that she'd need to quickly shut it again. But it was a risk she was going to have to take. Whatever happened, she had to finding answers.
Angling her body, she slipped through the gap and left the room behind.
She was almost blinded by the sunlight as she emerged on the other side of the threshold. She blinked to shield her eyes until they had adjusted to the brightness. A sigh of relief washed over her when she realised that she was outside. If nothing else, being out in the open didn't make her feel as suffocated.
When she was finally able to fully open her eyes again, she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. What lay before her had taken her by surprise, perhaps even captivated her. It appeared that she was now standing on a ship, its entire length stretching out from where she stood.
Turning to check what was behind her she noticed the cabin from which she'd just emerged. There was a large wheel positioned to her right as it stood motionless. Was this supposed to make sense to her? Was she
supposed to understand why she was here? If she climbed down onto the main deck, maybe something would become clearer.
She reached the last rung of the ladder and landed with a thud. She turned and stared the length of the ship. Thick masts stood at the centre, each one situated in front of the other. In the middle, the tallest of the three stretched toward the sky. As she approached it, Grace reached out to touch it, only to find that it was a lot smoother than she had imagined it to be. She allowed her eyes to follow its height as she traced it toward the clouds. She had to place a hand over the top of her eyes to shield them from the brightness of the sun, its warmth beating down directly onto the ship. The clouds, white and fluffy, rested peacefully in the blue blanket that gazed back at her.
Grace took a step sideways, her attention remaining on the top of the mast, when she bumped into something at the foot of the tall pole. She turned to find a stump on the floor, around which a length of thick rope was coiled. She followed it to discover that it stretched right up the mast to the very top. It was attached to something but Grace couldn't quite make out what it was at first.
Of course! It's the sail!
Hanging loose and wrapped around the masts, she wondered how they'd look when unfurled and ready to take the wind.
Continuing down the deck, the ship appeared to be deserted. Where was the crew and the captain?
"I'm not imagining this," Grace told herself.
She moved to the other side of the ship and leaned upon a shallow wooden ledge. She gripped onto it to balance herself and leaned over, looking out at the ocean. It seemed never ending. In the distance she was sure she could see something—land of some sort, an island perhaps. As she watched the sun reflect its daylight against the surface of the water she realised that she no longer felt as scared as she had at first. She still had lot of questions needing answers, but she had become so mesmerised by the gentle waves as she listened to them lapping against the hull beneath her that, if even for a moment, everything seemed peaceful.
