An Improbable Cave
You're about to give up all hope, when you come accross the entrance to a cave. Something inside you--perhaps it's intuition, perhaps you're delusional from the cold--tells you not to go in. That even to die on the frozen mountainside would be better than going into that cave. But you ignore it. The cave means shelter, and shelter means survival. And ultimately, the will to survive outweighs whatever premonitions your snow-addled mind can cook up. You go into the cave.
It's warm in the cave. That's good. The snow begins to melt off of you, and you're overwhelmed with a feeling of safety. Wherever you are, you've escaped the mansion...you can rest here for the night...you can try again tomorrow. The road will be easier by daylight, and besides, maybe the snow will have--
<b?>WHAM!</b>
You are jarred out of your reverie by an impossible sound from behind you. It's the sound of a steel door closing over the mouth of the cave. In a blind panic, you rush to the door and try to force it open, to no avail.
"Don't worry about that right now." says a disembodied voice. But not just any disembodied voice--it's the Voice, from the mansion! "The ice from outside must have frozen the door shut. It will thaw in the morning. In the meantime, you can rest in here."
"Let me out!" You scream, making another attempt at the door.
"You'll die if you go back out there. You would have died if you had stayed out there much longer. I saved your life. You owe me that much." You must admit, the Voice has got you there.
"At least tell me where I am, then," you say, trying to sound firm despite an unpleasant realization that's been creeping up on you.
The voice sounds almost mocking: "You're back in the mansion. The mansion does not only exist above-ground. The bit of the mansion you saw on your way out is a tiny fraction of the whole thing. Our towers stretch thousands of feet above the soil. Our tunnels dig thousands of feet beneath it. And throughout the mansion are doorways--portals to micro-universes. Entire galaxies are entirely within our walls! One of our bedrooms has a whole planet in the linen closet! The mansion is infinite, and you are finite. Therefore, you cannot escape it!"
"But you said--"
"I know what I said: 'You can leave at any time.' What I meant was, you can leave at any time, once we are done with you. "
The enormity of it all is staggering. The mansion, for all intents and purposes, is its own universe. You could spend the rest of your life walking and the next cave you duck into would be filled with the same Voice. Speaking of The Voice, the Voice speaks again. This time, its tone is much less menacing. It's condescending and benevolent, almost paternalistic.
"Don't worry about that right now. You must be very cold." On this cue, a spotlight shines on a small, neatly arranged table with a steaming mug of hot cocoa resting on it. "Drink some of this," the Voice says, "it will make you feel better." You obey, and find that the Voice was right. You do feel better. You feel much better. You're still locked in a cave with a disembodied voice in an alternate universe that is trying to transform you, but for some odd reason you're now cool with all that. "Get out of those wet clothes," the Voice says and, once again, you obey. "You must be so very tired." You realize, suddenly, that you are. Another spotlight clicks on, shining on a large, luxurious bed. "Sleep now," says the Voice.
You climb into the soft, enchanting bed, pull the covers over you, and drift at once into a deep, dreamless sleep. You don't even notice the spotlight that's still shining on the bed. You don't notice when the spotlights dim, leaving you in total darkness. You don't notice the mechanical humming that pervades the cave. You don't notice the fact that the bed, with you in it, is slowly being lowered to some other place. You don't notice when the motion stops. You don't notice a single thing, until...
Written by Zodiac on 13 January 2008
