Through the Hobbit Door

Should she go down the rabbit hole through the very British, red telephone box or not?

That was Sibby’s choice: Should she follow her friend on a not so magical adventure, or stay with her feet grounded, near the stinking festival toilets?

Well, not much of a decision there, she thought.

Sibby wasn't one for festivals anymore.

She felt she'd grown out of them: Was too old. This would be her last one if she had any choice in the matter.

She was near physically dragged to this one by her friend, Arabelle, who was still keen to make the most of what youth remained. Arabelle had persuaded, forced Sibby into thinking she needed a weekend of wild abandon.

After a blemished beginning to the year leaving Sibby downcast and lost, Arabelle had taken the reins and led Sibby, as usual, into an Arabellesque cure.

She had to admit there was something ludicrously comforting about being there; a reminiscent sensory overload, where even the smell of the festival toilets were in a way welcoming in their familiarity-that mixed with the scent of alcohol and fast food, and ear splitting music, with the banging beats that gave her heart palpitations- it was an enveloping jaunt down memory lane, that for now would make do to cloud her present life problems.

No matter where she stood there was a fantastic display of mis-en-scène to get lost in: people drugged-up spinning poi, drugged-down slouched and sparko, drunk and immobile, trampled, or trampling- mobilised on stilts and unicycles. Some naked, some dreaded, some simply beautiful with their flamboyance and sparkling body paints; unbeknownst to them all were acting as a barrier to Sibby’s depressing world beyond.

“Arabelle Wait”...

“Oh come on, Sibby! Look- Everyone's going down there! It’s just a hole in the ground with a ladder and a tunnel, it’ll be fun!”

“Yes, exactly..Everyone, the world and her wife have gone down there and been up to God knows what...” She perused the books that lined one side of the telephone box; Alice in Wonderland, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, a few Harry Potters...all positioned there to help conjure up a feeling that this phone box would lead you down a rabbit hole onto a magical journey. But reality, Sibby knew, would be far from it... “Can’t we just go in that direction?”

Arabelle rolled her eyes. Here she goes again-Sibby the spoilsport...

“Why that direction pray tell?”

“Because,” Said Sibby, “it's not this direction.” She went on to try and sell her idea to Arabelle:

“There’s a woodland walk that way, decorated with lights, and some peace and quiet and a decent compost toilet at the end of it, instead of the plastic stench bogs in the main arena!”

“Okay, okay, look, I get it. You want a decent, quiet shit in the woods!” Arabelle teased.

“Come with me down the rabbit hole and then we'll go to this mystical Fairy Glade you’ve spotted after, Okay? I promise!”

Sibby was used to Arabelle getting her way. She always had done, since they were little girls.

Arabelle was the leader who walked all over Sibby but Sibby didn't mind. She liked it that way, or at least...she was used to it.

It meant she didn't have to make big decisions or decide anything in particular: She could sit back and be led. Occasionally she liked an opinion and occasionally Arabelle listened, but overall Sibby was happy to be the lazy, laid back coward of a friend who lacked confidence & spine in all matters important and irrelevant, to life and it’s mysteries.

“Arabelle, if we go down there you do know we're not going to come out as the same people?” She joked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, firstly your dress won't survive it. Nor your hair. Look how cramped it is in there; You'll be crawling on your knees for part of it! And...”

“Oh Sibby darling, a little bit of mud never did anyone any harm, and it's not like you're going to stay clean at a festival! I mean look at it.” Arabelle flounced her arm circularly in front of her at the mess that was this temporary festival city.

She knew Arabelle was so keen to go down the rabbit hole because she was following the path of a man she’d spotted, earlier in the crowd, by the Lunar stage; a darkly dreaded, wild and attractive ensemble she was determined to play with.

They had definitely made eye contact, Sibby noticed, but he certainly wasn't as interested in Arabelle as she was in him. But then Arabelle revelled in a challenge.

For him, Sibby imagined, it would be a quick fuck with a first class snob, who did her best to look the part, but was too pristine and polished and shallow to really fit in with the truly wild, free spirits that she was trying to dress and act like.

To give her credit Arabelle was fully aware of herself and how others likely perceived her: She liked playing the play and acting a part -she didn’t want the part full time, she just liked dressing up and getting her kicks from it.

For instance, for this festival weekend she’d bought a whole new wardrobe of designer, Bohemianesque festival clothes that had cost her a fortune. She’d had her hair dressed, her nails painted and bought an array of professional make up for the occasion, all of which she’d likely bin at the festival exit.

She looked BEAUTIFUL. She always did.

But she was also an obvious fish out of water.

Sibby just rolled her eyes at her.

If Arabelle was happy to just act the part for the weekend and go back to wearing her designer fast fashion, in her designer apartment and live her high end, high maintenance lifestyle after this festival, well...who was she to judge and what harm did it do...? Sibby loved her anyway.

Arabelle had always been the Lead Actress and Sibby her Plain Jane Sidekick: she’d never been able to carry off what Arabelle did.

In fact this weekend Arabelle had had to dress her, like a doll, from head to toe:

“You are not going to a festival wearing that! Seriously, ripped jeans and a T shirt? Is that it? Oh, come on Sibby, put a little effort in, please? For me?”

And so began a relentless dressage of temporary tattoos, body paints, slinky tops, long skirts and loose boots, and everything Sibby wasn’t.

The feathers made her sneeze, the earrings itched, her heels had blisters. At least Annabelle allowed her to keep her sunglasses on. They were to hide under; to disguise her lack of confidence and faith in herself to pull off such a getup.

She was a paradox: She sort of liked but also completely disliked the attention it brought her. She saw everyone looking at her and she buzzed, but panicked also at what they were thinking, anxious to know: Were they looking at her and laughing? Did they think her fantastic or beautiful or ridiculously stupid?

She hated how people, humans were so unpredictable in their thoughts.

That's why she liked to hide in comfortable clothes where she could blend away, merge with a background, where she wouldn't be bothered by people and their indecipherable brains.

She liked her torn jeans and her T shirt, she liked hiding under her beanie or her baseball cap.

She...

“Hello! Sibby! Look, take this little number,” she said, handing her a tiny pill.

“It’ll cheer you up,” she smiled devilishly.

Sibby obeyed and swallowed.

The tunnel was tactile-humid, emanating off the drenched, red velveted walls, where people’s bodily fluids had stuck; pausing to puke or piss, pound one another, or parade.

The UV lights did nothing to improve the ambience and only emphasised the rapidly deteriorating decor around them. The floor squelched underfoot, with undefinable liquid-solid masses permeating it’s non slip grid structure; She wasn't looking forward to having to bend down towards it as the tunnel decreased in height.

“Arabelle, why do I let you get me into these things?!”

“Oh Sibby shush! Look, I can see the light quite literally at the end of the tunnel, Come on!”

“Good job I’ve got a years worth of outfits back at the tent, hey Sibs?” She laughed. “Look at the state of us!”

“Hmmm.”

Sibby had to agree they were starting to smell like their surroundings and looked more disheveled than dazzling.

She’d by far prefer her roll top bath and oversized hoodie with leggings, Followed by a good book, glass of red and a roaring fire...But considering their current position, she would be grateful of a wet wipe and anything Arabelle saw fit to dress her in.

“With the amount of clothes you’ve brought, Arabelle, you'd be better off with one of those expanding tents out of Harry Potter, -You could have your own gigantic walk-in wardrobe attached to a luxurious boudoir to entertain in...”

“Oh, wouldn't that be fantastic!” Said Arabelle dreamily.

“In fact, next time, I think we should definitely hire one of those yurts. Can you imagine?”

“Oh, I can't believe we have a basic pop up tent. Ridiculous. Oooh, we could hire a camper van next time too Sibs?!”

Sibby frowned, “I've told you I'm not doing this again Arabelle...”

“Sibby. Don't be so...old.”

“Yes, but we are Arabelle; old I mean. 10 years ago, fantastic. This would be amazing. Now, all I can think about is how much I won't sleep back in the tent because of the noise and my hips will kill and...” Sibby’s words trailed off, she knew Arabelle wasn’t listening.

They continued to stoop, half crawl towards the tunnel exit, and where it ascended upwards Sibby could see a man leaning in with his hand held toward them, in a gentlemanly manner, ready to help them out.

Sibby couldn’t help being surprised at seeing it was the dreaded wild thing Arabelle had been following.

“Why thank you, kind sir,”giggled Arabelle with a coy smile.

Sibby rolled her eyes, “urgh...”

“Want to come get a drink with us Sibby?”

Arabelle was already being led away by the man to the nearest drinks tent.

“No, No, you go. I'll head for that Fairy Glade I mentioned through the woods. Either find me there or I'll see you back at the tent.”

“Okay, darling, well if you’re sure!” Arabelle called, already walking away, “don't do anything I wouldn't do!”

“I'm sure...I won't.”

Sibby looked around about her- a panoramic view of the festival at night;

The amusements, the smoke, the hazy lights, the boundless tents and caravans. If it wasn’t for the noise and smell that came with it, it would almost be palatable.

The Woodland Walk was far out on the edge of the festival. There was gentle music coming from the speakers erected sporadically on the trees, and the lights complemented instead of causing a garish mess.

This was exactly what she needed.

Branches bent over her, the gentle breeze swayed and creaked them. She walked away from the insatiable noises of the festival and headed to the quiet ahead.

Deep in thought, trying to make sense of the day, the past year and life in general (as she tended to do while alone), she hadn't noticed how much time had passed, or how far off the beaten track she’d walked.

There were no more fairy lights around her, no Fairy Glade in sight. The music had faded to a dull hum and there were zero humans to annoy her.

Although happy enough in her current predicament she convinced herself she should back, just in case Arabelle had come looking for her.

She stood for a moment in silence, grounding herself, prepping for the fiasco that would undoubtedly unravel itself on her return: Arabelle would no doubt do her usual Drama Queen performance after too much of one thing or another, and she wasn’t looking forward to the hours ahead, consoling her and acting as full time carer.

And then she heard it. The distinct sound of a Barn Owl.

It was a few feet up in the branches above. She spied it gazing purposefully down at her.

“Hello there,” She whispered soothingly.

“It can't be much fun having this festival gatecrash your backyard.”

The owl appeared to be flicking his eyes from Sibby to what was below him, as though trying to get her to look in the same direction as him. And so she looked.

There was a large carved Hobbit-like Door in front of her, which she could swear hadn’t been there before. But then she had been lost in thought, maybe she’d just missed it, walked past it previously.

A heavy, oak door, round and solid with a brass, curved knocker sitting central to it. It stood in between two trees, and acted as a frontage to nothing but brambles, tangled hedges and ivy.

It just stood there, apparently going to nowhere. It wasn't lit up, there were no LED or UV lights, there was nothing around it to attract attention. It was as though it wasn’t meant to be there.

She looked up again at the owl; he was looking quite nonchalant, preening his wing feathers. He wasn't frightened of Sibby, more so seemed to be enjoying her company.

“So what do you reckon Owl, should I give it a knock?” She felt ridiculously silly saying it, talking pointlessly to this night creature about this obscurely placed door.

But something inside her tingled, and her adrenaline had begun to circulate around her freely.

This situation was beyond weird, yet it felt more real than anything she’d been doing with Arabelle lately. Life with Arabelle in this moment seemed abstract and pointless, this called purpose.

She looked beyond the door to the festival, a few hundred yards off. A momentary pang of guilt leaving her best friend behind but she didn't want to go back yet. Not now this feeling had taken hold. Arabelle would be fine.

“Okay, Owl. Let's go for it.” And with a determined stance she approached the door.

She studied the door and noticed it led into undergrowth so dense there was no way she would be able to push through it. She laughed to herself and closed her eyes. Here goes nothing.

She knocked three times.

She swore she could hear music coming from the other side. Not from the festival, but through the door.

And the door, it moved.

It creaked open, a slice of light shone through.

And the music grew louder and the ray of light grew wider. As she pushed the door forth in her excitement, against the brambles and bushes beyond, the force that had previously prevented the door from opening, had completely dissipated.

It swung open and she could see nothing else but light as she staggered and fell forwards onto her hands and knees.

What had she stepped into? She lifted her head and eyes and was immediately mesmerised, transfixed by the magnificence; She saw what could only be described as a glass roofed baroquesque ballroom found only in the most elaborate, fantastical palaces of her mind.

Frightened, hesitant, she gingerly raised herself to standing and saw before her a dancing mass of beautiful bodies bedecked in gowns, suits and masks.

It reminded her of the ballroom scene in the film The labyrinth and how, when she was a little girl she cried herself to sleep wanting to be in that world.

And it would appear now that she was.

As she regained some composure, tried to breath steadily and stop her whole body shaking in shock, she noticed her own clothes had changed: she was dressed in a ball gown too.

She breathed in through her nose, out through her mouth. Calm down, calm down Sibby, be calm, stay calm. She turned to look for the door she came through. She wasn't quite sure if she wanted to escape just yet, but better to know she had the option.

However the door had disappeared but above its space, was the owl perched on an elaborate Stand. He was gazing upon her as though her guardian, reassuring her that she was okay.

She really had gone down the rabbit hole this time. Nothing like the one her and Arabelle had gone down earlier that night.

This was her kind of rabbit hole, this was where she wanted to be. It was the polar opposite of the chaotic festival Arabelle had dragged her to.

The owl took flight over her and around her and landed amongst the guests, and it came as little surprise to her (or maybe it was the shock that cushioned) when he transformed into a man.

She knew in that moment he would sweep her off her feet, into his arms, and she would be lost there forever...

He came towards her with confidence and charm and familiarity. If this was a hallucination caused by that tiny tablet Arabelle had fed her earlier, or a dream, she didn’t care. She didn’t want to wake up. This was hers, her world, her dream, not Arabelles.

And unlike Sarah in the Labyrinth, she had no baby brother to save, she had no reason to leave. Her seducer could seduce her all he wished. Fuck you festival and shit world beyond.

Arabelle, I love you, but this is me.

She stepped forward and took his hand, he pulled her to him and they danced, and she closed her eyes and smiled serenely.

This is me.

****

Arabelle taped the last of the ‘missing’ posters to the tree. It had been six weeks since she’d seen Sibby. She stroked the photograph and wiped tears from her eyes.

It was getting dark, she’d been at it all day and the temperature was dropping. The early Autumn cold crept in but Arabelle stayed warm, wrapped in Sibby’s practical clothes, under Sibby’s cosy beanie.

She kissed her fingers and planted it on Sibby’s image.

Miss you so much Sibby. Please come home.

I promise, no more festivals.

I promise.