The Writer's Lodge

The marble flooring of the bank had such a glossy sheen you could almost examine the tinier pores on your nose by looking down at it. It was the type of floor that would protest with a loud screech if you scuffed your shoe. And it seemed to Leila that it was the type of bank that would not take kindly to shoe-scuffers.

Rounds of hushed bank-chatter bounced timidly off the roof and the clock clock of purposeful footsteps snuck out from behind giant columns. She was in the middle of mustering up some determination when an unapologetic businessman bumped her from behind as he passed. She stared after the rude man, burning holes in the back of his head. He was now about twenty paces away, but she started after him; knowing that she was only trying to distract herself from why she was really there.

To her surprise, the man stole a furtive glance back at her and hurried his pace.

Leila quickly looked over to the lengthy bank-teller queues and then back in the direction the businessman had taken. A moment later she was in hot pursuit.

Many pairs of eyes flicked to her as she darted around a column and up a broad flight of stairs. But she never warranted more attention than a once-over. Her sneakers, skinny jeans and hooded sweatshirt set her apart from the overcoat-wearing, briefcase-carrying crowd. She rounded another corner and slowed her pace. The large room into which she’d entered was deserted.

She reached the centre of the room and stopped. Sunlight poured in through a giant solitary window on one side of the building, but it didn’t reach the walls on either side of her. It almost felt like the darkness didn’t want to be penetrated.

Leila peered into gloom uneasily, beginning to wonder whether this had been a good idea. Then she remembered the alternative.

‘Anybody home?’

The room darkened and Leila quickly looked back towards the window. It was just the sun going behind some clouds.

‘Hello?’

Something vibrated in pocket – her phone. But it was something else that she withdrew: she looked down at her hip uncertainly at a small piece of folded paper.

She stood very still. The strange businessman, it had to be his doing – he must have slipped it in when he had bumped her. She bit the tip of her thumb nervously.

A shuffle of footsteps from within the darkness made her jump. She tried to keep the nerves out of her voice, ‘Look, I know you’re there… Just give it up already.’

Nothing.

I should just go. she told herself. But somehow, inexplicably, she knew that something was keeping her there.

The piece of folded paper looked old; the edges slightly tattered and yellow. It felt like what she imagined papyrus would feel like – really old papyrus. Trembling ever so slightly, she unfolded the note.

Huh?

She turned the paper over and over in her hands – it was blank.

…Until she inched ever so slightly to her left, when, before her eyes, words shimmered to life on the page one by one. Leila blinked, hard, several times. There were now three lines, but only the first seemed to be in English: “Stay inside the sun.”

Leila looked to the muted sunlight coming from the window behind her and then to the impenetrable shadows again. ‘Inside the sun…’ she said quietly, mulling it over. ‘It doesn’t say sunlight. But how could someone be inside the sun?’ She scratched her head and flicked her eyes around the room again. A presence was lurking in the shadows, she could definitely feel it.

‘Wait, “Stay”? Am I already—’ Leila’s eyes widened as she looked down at the floor. She was standing dead in the centre of a large pattern on the tiles: a depiction of an Aztec sun stone.

‘No way…’ she marvelled, stumbling back to get a better look.

A deafening, labouring groan shook the room. The force of it knocked Leila to the ground. Panicked, she watched as the darkness from either side of the room started to close in on her; the light coming through the window progressively and quickly narrowing.

She scrambled to her feet only to be buffeted over once more by a powerful blast of wind from within the encroaching walls of shadow. The paper in her hand seemed almost to glow. “Stay inside the sun.” it urged her.

Leila desperately crawled along the floor towards the Aztec sun stone. She was only a few metres away, but so was the darkness either side of her. She thought she could hear whispers carried by each gust of wind, imploring her to succumb to the inevitable.

The wind was too strong, she wasn’t going to make it in time - the whispers on the wind told her so, and she was starting to believe it. As the doubt swelled up inside her, so did the painful memory of why she was here: Stella’s deposit box.

Anger and yearning fuelled Leila as she made a final lunge for the sun. Just as she pushed off the floor she felt something propel her forward much further than she could have jumped by herself. Someone had pushed her. She landed just shy of the sun stone pattern but commando-rolled onto it. She spun around just in time to see the rude businessman smile kindly and incline his head to her before the darkness enveloped him and he was gone.

The circular sun stone pattern was staving off the dark, leaving Leila trapped inside a cylinder of light. Leila could hear the light buzzing, as though vibrating at a high frequency. It seemed to be getting louder, and the light brighter. She was curious about it, and the businessman, but couldn’t help but wish that this wasn’t happening to her. This wasn’t what she needed right now. Whatever it was.

The light became so bright that Leila had to close her eyes. There came a series of flashes, each happening more quickly than the last. With each flash came a different memory of Stella.

After a while, she felt an odd sensation, and then disappeared entirely.