The Society

I had just caught a glimpse of him, but I was convinced that was Jefferson Lang, the recent missing person. I made my way to the man with short black hair through the sea of red. I put my hand on his shoulder and he turned around.

"Are you Mr. Lang?” I asked. “Mr. Jefferson Lang?”

He stared at me with vacant black eyes and gave me an empty smile. “Yes,” his hollow voice said, then he scrunched his brow in thought and his smile fell. “Do I know you?” Suddenly, realization hit him, and he smiled that deserted smile again. “You must be lost.”

I blinked in confusion. “Excuse me?”

He smiled wider. “Don’t worry, sir,” he spread his arms out, the red robe billowing around him, “you’ll fit right in. We’re all lost here.” At his words, the crowd turned toward me.

Countless vacant eyes looked at me. They started walking toward me, the parted red sea closing in. As they came closer, they repeated “We’ll guide you” over and over. Before any of them could touch me, they stopped, frozen still. There was no talking, no rustling of their red robes, I couldn’t make out their breathing. I heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps and with each step, my heart beat faster and faster until a man in purple robes stood in front of me.

“Mr. Miller, I presume?” Unlike the figures in red robes, his voice was full and commanded attention. I found myself swallowing and meeting his gaze. I wasn’t expecting to see an emotionless white mask staring back at me. My voice caught and I knew it was a mistake to have come here alone. I discovered that all I could do was nod. “My name is Mr. Ashford. If you would be so kind as to come with me, I can guide you in peace.”

He walked back through the still, red waters, and when I didn’t immediately start following, he turned around and stared until my legs started to move. I followed him up a grand staircase made of dark wood. We turned to the right when the stairs split into two directions. I was overly aware of how little people there were up here, and my mind started running through worst case scenarios.

The walls were painted a crimson red. The doors looked heavy and were made from the same dark wood as the stairs; the doorknobs made of iron and appeared soft against the solid wood. Nothing was lining the walls, no tables or plants standing upon them. No paintings hiding any imperfections, or to try and liven up the grim hallway. We walked the bloodied corridor for what felt like hours in a stifling silence. Mr. Ashford stopped outside one of the indistinguishable doors, opened it, and ushered me inside.

Inside was a large wooden desk in the center of the deep purple room. Two chairs with red cushions had been placed on either side of the desk; another door was inlaid behind the desk. Bosch paintings depicting hellish landscapes hung from the walls, as well as those of ethereal planes from an unknown artist. There were a few plants in the room which gave me a strange calm. Mr. Ashford took a seat behind the desk and motioned for me to sit in the empty chair. I complied out of fear of what might happen if I refused.

“Do you have any questions?” He asked.

“About what?” I responded in confusion.

“About what we do, of course.” He said it like it was obvious to everyone in the room. “Why else would you be here? You got the invitation, did you not?” He waved a hand in the air as if to disregard any questions I had floating around in my head. “I’ll make it short and simple: we are the Society of Historical Preservers. We do exactly what the name suggests. We make generous donations to preserve historical buildings, objects, and things along those lines.”

“You’re…like a charity then?”

“In a way, yes. Now, I’m assuming that since you’re here, you want to take up our offer to join.” He didn’t let me get a word in before he continued. “Before you decide, I’d like to show you something.” He stood up and walked toward the door behind him. I got up and followed him to the door. “Go ahead in, I’ll be right here upon your return.”

I cautiously turned the doorknob and opened the door. On the other side was pitch darkness for as far as I could see. I didn’t want to go in there out of fear for what would be on the other side, but I hadn’t a choice in the matter as I was pushed through the threshold and the door was closed behind me. I tried the doorknob but found it locked. I was stuck in the dark room. No one knew where I was. I was going to die here. I tried the doorknob again with more force and banged on the door, demanding Mr. Ashford let me out. I heard no response, turned around and slumped against the door.

Out of the blackness came a thump with more following in succession. A few seconds after each thump, a light on either wall illuminated the darkness. There were ten lights in total, and at the other side of the room stood a woman I thought I’d never see again. I stood up straighter and watched her walk with poise toward me. She gingerly ran her fingertips under my chin and my eyes fluttered closed involuntarily.

When I opened them, the sound of a piano filtered through the air. I was sitting in a familiar auditorium next to my wife, Mary, a proud smile on her face. On the stage was the source of the sound and a young girl who looked equally as recognizable. She finished her piece and bowed for us as we clapped. It was then I could name her: Elizabeth. She was a ray of sunshine with her blonde hair and blue eyes, but I didn’t feel warmth when I watched her walk off the stage; I felt confused. I turned to Mary, but she wasn’t there anymore, no one was. I was all alone in the auditorium with the darkness slowly circling in on me. It crawled over me, under me, in me. I started falling and falling until I heard a loud thump. I blinked and there was Mr. Ashford’s masked face staring back at me.

“Now, I’m assuming that since you’re here, you want to take up our offer to join.” He didn’t let me get a word in before he continued. “Before you decide, I’d like to show you something.” He stood up and walked toward the door behind him.

I followed him to the door. He told me to go ahead in and I turned the doorknob. He pushed me through again, and as the darkness tided over me a few times, it started to recede until I could see another door. I had a feeling I was supposed to go through it, as if a higher power were luring me toward it. I hesitated, but something pulled me toward the door and made me turn the knob, made me step through.

I was in the office again, Mr. Ashford sitting at his desk. He turned toward me at the sound of the door closing. “Well?”

“I—” Was all I could manage through my confusion. I kept trying to form a word, any word, but nothing came out.

“Are you feeling alright, Mr. Miller?” He stood and walked over to me, his purple robes dragging behind him.

“I’m-I’m fine,” I finally managed.

“Are you certain? We have rooms here if you need to lay down.”

I made a show of checking my watch, to look anywhere but that emotionless mask. “It’s getting late. I should go.” I started to move toward the door, but he blocked my path.

“I’d feel better if you stayed; you look as if you’re about to fall over. Please,” I could feel a concerned smile peek through the crackless white mask, “lay down for an hour before you leave.”

I must not have noticed it before, but I was a little dizzy. Maybe it was better if I laid down for a few minutes before driving to the station. I let Mr. Ashford lead me to a room with a few single beds. I tried my best to not focus too hard on the corridors moving past, and instead tried to get the dizziness to subside some. Mr. Ashford left me in the room with the beds, where I promptly laid down in one closest to me.

I must’ve fallen asleep and upon awaking from the nap, I felt much better. I sat up and found that I was home…or a place like it. This was my bed, my décor in the room, but the painting on the wall, I had no recollection of it. It was of a man with white hair, abnormally pale skin, and blue eyes with this wicked smile on his face. Looking at it made me feel scrutinized, like the eyes had a life of their own. I got out of the bed and watched the eyes follow me as I went to the door. I flung the door open, only to find a never-ending hallway full of doors. It felt unwise to pick a direction and keep walking until I found an exit, but that’s what I did.

I turned to the right and started walking past the same door, the same table, the same plant for what felt like hours. After passing what must’ve been the hundredth door, it opened. Out walked Mr. Ashford; dread following him into the hallway.

“You look a little lost, Mr. Miller.” He placed a hand on my upper back and started pushing me forward. “I can guide you to an exit.” A few seconds of silence fell between us before he changed topics. “Did you put any thought toward membership while you laid down?” He asked.

The words I wanted to say never formed in my throat; however, someone spoke for me. “Yes,” they said.

He lowered his voice some and kept it unnervingly even. “And what did you decide?” Mr. Ashford asked the question as if he already knew the answer.

“I’ll join,” they decided for me. Mr. Ashford removed his hand and I sucked in a breath. It took my mind too long to catch up with what had happened.

“Wonderful!” He clapped. “I’ll bring you to a room.”

He brought me to an unmarked door, placed a hand on my shoulder for a quick moment, then continued down the hall. I could hear muffled voices, familiar muffled voices. I raced to throw open the door.

There they were: my dear Mary, and my sweet little Elizabeth. I never thought I’d see either of their smiling faces again. Elizabeth ran up to me and gave me the biggest hug her nine-year-old body was capable of.

“I missed you, Daddy,” she whispered.

I knelt down to hug her properly. “I missed you, too.”

I had to get a good look at Elizabeth. There was no logical explanation as to how she was here. I watched them put her lifeless body in the ground. There was no explanation for Mary, either. I found her body slumped in our bedroom, blood and brain matter splattered on the wall, my gun still in her limp hand. The note by her feet made it clear she couldn’t live with herself after the accident that took Elizabeth’s life. But they were here, standing in front of me in their red robes, alive and well. I felt whole again.

***

The days started to blur together. Since joining the Society of Historical Preservers and donning my own red robes, I’d been forgetting things—important things. Mr. Ashford assured me this was normal, and it would pass soon enough. I kept wondering when. Some days I’d forget my own name and others had me speculating as to why I was here in the first place.

Today, I had a vague idea of my primary mission: I was investigating a missing persons’ case. My time here had uncovered a large number of missing people, there were photographs on the walls of those who had disappeared as far back as the 1860s. My gut was telling me to leave, go back to the police department with my findings, but there was this tiny voice in the back of my brain telling me this was the only safe place.

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been at the Society, but I had had enough and walked the confusing corridors to find an egress. I had ambiguous visions of walking these halls with Mary and Elizabeth, and although I had seen them less than an hour ago, I couldn’t remember their faces. I came upon a door that exuded a terrifying energy. Despite my better judgement, I opened it and walked into the dimly lit room.

The room was furnished with a brick fireplace and a single purple chair. The crackling fire was the only source of light, and it illuminated the man sitting with his back to me. I was getting that dreaded feeling again and started to back out of the room when the man stood up.

“It’s no use, Donald.” His voice was calming and flowed like a small stream. He raised a hand unenthusiastically. “There was never a door there, anyway.”

Panic filled my entire body as I turned to find an empty wall. I swirled back around, not wanting to take my eyes off the back of the man. “What-what do you want from me?” I asked, trepidation clear in my voice.

“The one thing that makes you, well you.” With a flick of his hand the fire was extinguished, and the room was plunged into pitch blackness. I could hear him moving toward me, a sense of hurry about him. I couldn’t see his face, but I felt it alarmingly close to mine. I could smell the smoke on him and the honey of his breath when he talked. “I want your memories. I want to be you.” Without warning his hands were on my temples and my brain was clouded in muddy darkness as the man inhaled.