Twin Spirit

by Matthew Thompson

  Rose began to imagine Stanley running; from what, she dreaded to think.

  With caution, she walked along the colossal corridor, but something wasn’t right. The door at the far end continued to appear as a tiny speck in the distance.

  “Move quicker,” ordered Lily, observing the door they had entered becoming smaller.

  Rose quickened her pace, which rapidly turned into a sprint. Faster she ran, passing the arches and candles over and over again. She let out a sudden gasp and stopped. The far door remained a dot in the distance, and the door they had entered from was just as diminutive.

  She fell to her knees and sat on the stone floor beneath flickering light. “I think we’re trapped,” she said, breathing deeply. “I think we should go back.”

  Lily frowned. “Wait till I get my mind on him, I’ll –”

  “I’m going back. Stanley is probably waiting for us at the entrance,” she said, standing. She soon began to sprint. Her heart beat faster as she sank deeper into despair. Yet again, the door remained static; a small speck of an exit lingering far out of reach. “We really are trapped, sis. What can we do? It’s too confined here.”

  “Calm down,” said Lily. “Next you’ll think the walls are going to close together.”

  Rose clenched her teeth. Her eyes were wide open. Unable to bear it, she slumped to the ground and buried her head in her arms. “Get me out, get me out, get me out, get me out, get me out…” she muttered, faster and faster, eyes closed tight and shaking her head. “Get me out, get me out, get me out, get me out, get me –”

  “Shut up!” exploded Lily. Her voice echoed through the endless corridor. “You call this trapped? You have noooooo ideeaaa!” she screamed at the top of her voice.

  A moment of poise ensued, where only the whisper of breath and the flickering flames could be heard.

  * * *

  Rose’s phobia eventually subsided. She raised her head from her arms and opened her eyes. Her focus was at first blurred, then restored as she observed an oddity: subtle and hardly legible, she studied etched letters on a wooded panel, then moved for a closer inspection.

  “What are you staring at?” asked Lily softly.

  “Sdra-wrof, dee-corp, ot, sdraw-kcab, ev-om,” said Rose as precisely as she could. “What does that mean?”

  “Have you lost the plot? What are you rambling on about?”

  “There, look,” said Rose, turning to her side and pointed.

  “Is that even a language?” asked Lily.

  Rose shook her head, trying to figure out the nonsense. “A puzzle? I don’t know, sis.” She went over the letters one by one, then gasped. “Wait a minute, ot, could be… to, you think?” She began looking through the rest carefully. “Dee-corp, that’s… p-r-o-c-eed – proceed!”

  “Okay, smarty, work out the rest.”

  “F-o-r-wards, proceed, to, b-a-c-kwards, m-ove… It’s all broken. It makes no sense.”

  Lily perked up. “Move the words around, try that.”

  “Proceed, to, move, forwards, backwards…?”

  “No wait,” said Lily, “move backwards to proceed forwards! That must be it!” she added, pleased with her conquest.

  “That still doesn’t make much sense. But…” Rose stood and faced the entrance she had come through. One leg reached back and she took her first step, followed by her other foot.

  Lily, for the first time, was moving forwards. It felt odd, but right; so much so that her face broke into a smile and she said, “I think it’s working. Yes, it’s working. Keep going, you’re doing it.”

  Rose was brimming with joy too, though she didn’t look back, just in case their progression was broken. After thirty-six paces, Rose began to wobble in her strides.

  “Closer… not far to go,” assured Lily. “Okay, a little closer, and… stop,” she added, admiring the previously evasive exit.

  Rose clenched her fist with accomplishment and placed her hand behind, searching for a handle; not wanting to break their progress, she took no chances.

  “Up, up a bit, a bit more,” said Lily.

  Rose grasped the handle and gave it a twist. It clicked open. She continued to walk backwards through the door, just in case, then turned to view her new surroundings.

  The door closed behind as she ventured into a cosy theatre venue. A dozen rows of red-cushioned seats featured in a semi-circle. Each seat was numbered with golden thread. At the front of stage was a house which reminded her of the Punch and Judy show she had seen on Scarborough beach.

  Rose headed towards the front row while the lights dimmed and a merry tune played; pleasant enough, but nevertheless creepy in such circumstances.

  She and Lily watched two puppets appear in the house; not Punch or Judy, but puppets that looked like the Burrow Bandits.

  “Well, hello, angels…” said the puppet on the right in a squeaky voice. “We’ve been expecting you, haven’t we?”

  “Oh yes… the twins, Rose and Lily, are very special girls. And special girls deserve special treats,” squeaked the left puppet.

  “Like chocolates, you mean?” asked the other.

  “Oh no, much richer and more succulent.”

  “How about candy floss?”

  “No… life.”

  “Oh, of course. I love to save lives. It makes me feel so holy.”

  Rose winced, wondering what may happen and who, or what, controlled the puppets, if anyone at all.

  Lily frowned, tiring of this farce, and felt the urge to do something about it with haste.

  “The best of three questions is the winner,” said the left puppet. “Let’s start the show nice and easy.”

  It pressed a switch. The red curtains behind the house parted to reveal a projected screen. On it was a Burrow Bandit sitting in the moonlight. He sprang to his feet and scrambled up the sides of a deep ditch, but he failed to scale the earthen walls. He slumped to the ground, placing his head into his hands, rocking back and forth.

  “The bandit’s in trouble, the bandit’s in a muddle. Get the question right, and free Archie tonight!” said the right puppet. “The five members of The Ayes are?”

  Rose took little time for contemplation. She spoke clearly. “Mohawk, Spike, Braid, Curly and Quiff.”

  “You… are… correct,” said the left puppet. “I hope you enjoyed their show – we sure did.”

  The twins gave a sigh of relief and watched the screen as a rope ladder appeared in a blink of an eye. Archie took hold and climbed towards the surface. He expressed relief, and dashed beyond the trees and out of sight.

  Their elation soon depleted upon witnessing another Burrow Bandit in distress, standing on a tree stump with his hands tied behind his back and a noose around his neck.

  “Question two. How many bandits currently reside in Orwellville?” asked the right puppet. Both brandished two cards on sticks which read: Fifty-two – One hundred and eighty – Thirteen – Two thousand and six.

  “Which is it, which is it? Decide to save a bandit,” said the two puppets in harmony.

  “We know this,” said Rose. “Mohawk said there were eleven, but including Archie and Biggs, then the answer is thirteen.”

  “Right, if you’re sure,” said Lily.

  “Thirteen,” confirmed Rose.

  The puppets lowered their cards. “The number of Burrow Bandits currently residing in Orwellville is… thirteen!”

  “Yes!” cried the twins.

  “However… that is not the question,” said the right puppet.

  “What?” uttered Rose.

  “The number of bandits within Orwellville, including our beloved burrowers’, is two thousand and six.”

  “That’s a trick question!” screamed Lily. “You evil monster!”

  “Say bye bye, Biggs – see you in another life,” said the left puppet, waving his woollen hands.

  The twins winced and watched the screen to see the tree stump vanish. Biggs fell.

  Rose looked away in horror.


  “Stop it! Stop it now!” ordered Lily.

  “That’s a tie,” said the left puppet. “One a piece. Next point wins.”

  “Wins what?” said Rose.

  “We just win. You win life.”

  “Final question!” announced the left puppet, revealing another Burrow Bandit on show. “Get it wrong, and Spike gets flung.”

  On screen, Spike sat within the treetops. He looked out, perched on a branch, over a seventy-foot drop.

  “Stop this…” pleaded Rose. “Please, stop this.”

  Lily took a deep breath. “You’ll regret this, Orwell. You’ll be sorry you ever invited us.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The Orwell Night Show

  “Question three,” said the elated left puppet. “Recite the first line of The Ayes song ‘Freedom’.”

  Rose played the intro in her head.

  Lily hummed it.

  “Was it ‘Meet my… maker’?” asked Rose.

  “Quiet, I’m thinking.”

  “No, wait. I know this. I remember thinking about it when they played it.”

  “You’re absolutely sure?” said Lily.

  “Yes. It’s ‘Forever in the Realm of the Black Rose…’”

  “Oh, that line.”

  The puppet paused. “You are… correct.”

  The lights brightened, the puppets descended, and no more bandits’ lives resting on their whims.

  Rose dashed to the door with Exit lit above, and hesitated. She opened it while wincing, and her face dropped as she witnessed yet another epic corridor. Soon enough, she hopped like a rabbit and jumped with arms and legs stretched out all the way to the opposite door. The writing on the wall said it all:

  pmuj rats poh poh poh

  * * *

  Rose looked at the stone steps before her, barely five-foot wide and curved down to the left. Two wall-mounted candles lit the passage at either side.

  She began to walk down. Candles lit spontaneously as she stepped parallel to them, and instantly went out the moment she had passed. Step after step, the descent became all too familiar.

  “This is far too long,” said Rose.

  “Like the corridors,” said Lily. “Look for some nonsense.”

  During their search, mirrors appeared around the corner. A large selection featured on the inner wall, all framed in gold.

  “This is different. We must be making progress,” said Rose, moving step by step, candle after candle, mirror after mirror. “Wait a second, we passed this one before, and this one.”

  “Great… we’re going in circles now.”

  Rose dashed down the steps in the hope her fears were untrue. Each mirror repeated like a continuous loop of Soul Reflection.

  “Ha-ha-ha-ha…” cackled a faint voice.

  “Not again,” said Rose, feeling the walls leaning closer as a faint breeze of tepid air tickled her neck.

  “Know your horoscopes?” boomed the voice. “Speak of one at a time, and receive a lifeline.”

  “Horoscopes?” uttered Lily.

  “Speak of one at a time, and receive a lifeline?” repeated Rose, trying to decipher the riddle.

  “Look, creep. You don’t know who you’re messing with!”

  There was no response.

  Rose sighed. “Look at every mirror, there must be something.”

  Their search covered multiple loops before one mirror, smaller than the others and at eye level, triggered an idea. It featured four spaces on all corners of the frame. There were two carved creatures made of gold: a bull in the top right corner, and a fish in the bottom left. The other two corners appeared to be missing something.

  Rose continued down the steps, passively lighting the way as she went. The same mirror appeared again; there was only one creature, a bull.

  “This might be it,” said Rose. “Look, these animals change every time we see this mirror. And horoscopes feature animals.”

  “So…?”

  “So I suppose one is the first. And bull, that’s… Taurus.”

  “Right,” said Lily, none the wiser.

  Rose stared into the mirror and spoke clearly at her own reflection. “Taurus.” The tight spiralling corridor become less dark as two more candles lit up ahead. Rose gasped.

  Further down, the twins passed the mirror of four creatures, followed by the mirror of three. Finally, Rose stood in front of the mirror featuring a bull and a fish. “Pisces,” she said, igniting another row of candles.

  “Leo,” said Rose, at the third mirror.

  “Scorpio,” she declared, at the fourth and final mirror.

  The lit candles were unseen. She hurried down the steps, now completely bathed with flamed light. Like a mirage, a door appeared at the base of the spiral. Rose gripped the handle, fearing their next task.

  * * *

  Another mystery door opened, revealing the outside world of Orwellville – an enclosed tropical courtyard featuring a fountain where an oval of water sprayed beneath a stone parrot. Its wings, at least twice the size of Brunel’s, were outstretched and lit by a changing hue every few seconds.

  The door closed behind as Rose stepped down to follow a cobbled path. It led through a tropical canopy, where tall plants released a smell of rotting eggs. Others looked capable of swallowing Rose’s head. She held her breath and quickened her pace beyond bushes with thorns the size of fingers.

  Rumble… !

  Rose stopped to listen.

  Black clouds rolled overhead, and she assumed Orwell had planned it.

  “Thunder,” said Lily. “I think we’re in for a downpour.”

  A faint patter in the distance suggested Lily may be right. It appeared the rain had started ahead. Rose stepped upon a short wall and glanced into the distance. As she did so, all preconceptions dissolved. No rain poured. Instead, a murky white veil plummeted from the black sky, moving closer, swiftly becoming denser. Before Rose could understand what was falling she was bombarded with pink and white marshmallows. They rolled off the rooftops and thumped through the trees, dancing across the pebbles.

  “Candy for my captives…” bellowed Orwell amid the thunder. “All girls like candy.”

  Crash! Crash! Rumble! Rumble!

  “Run, Rose!” cried Lily.

  The floor became swamped with sugary sweets, causing a slippery sprint. Rose arrived at a fork in the path and hesitated. Even though the marshmallows were soft and probably yummy, they hit with tremendous force, and she felt every impact.

  “There, over there!” said Lily, pointing.

  Rose dashed to what appeared to be a storm shelter. There she pulled on the handle, prising open the doors while the marshmallows flowed and rolled, forming pink and white streams.

  Inside, she caught her breath. The outside bombardment soon eased, and the last few reached the ground, trickling amongst the blanket of candy.

  “I never want to see marshmallows ever again,” said Rose, raking a handful out from her hair, followed by closing the doors.

  The interior was dingy, dank and familiar; a replica of the bandits’ burrow. The décor was not only eerie, but haunting. Rose stepped over the soil-covered floor to see photos of their entire evening on the walls of the burrow.

  Rose searched for a clue as to what may be in store for her and Lily. In the centre of the burrow, tree stumps were placed in between two wooden pillars. A table stood adjacent, on which two televisions displayed a snowy picture and emitted a faint hiss.

  “Take a seat. Rest your feet, for you’re in for a treat,” said Orwell.

  She headed towards the seats, on which blueprints lay. The paper appeared to be outside plans of Orwellville. She sat at an angle, giving her and Lily a view of the flickering screen. A black and white image of Stanley appeared on one. He sat on his bottom in the bamboo maze, ankle deep in marshmallows.

  “Stanley!” shouted Rose. “Don’t you hurt him, please.”

  “I don’t hurt people, Rose. I present possibilities…” he said
with a touch of wickedness, “which may, or may not, harm. Now, my tremendous twins, watch closely.”

  Orwell demonstrated his magic by adjusting the bamboo maze. A parting emerged opposite Stanley. That alone sent horrid thoughts rippling through Rose’s mind. However, it was what came out that terrified her.

  On all fours, a black-haired beast entered the maze. Its mane was like a lion’s. A horn protruded from its forehead, and its white, beady eyes caused light trails to linger on screen.

  “Speak to him if you desire. Ike and I will watch and admire.”

  “Aah-ahh!” screeched another; a monkey, perhaps.

  Rose knelt at the foot of the screen, eyes glued to the unfolding event. “Stanley, you need to get out. A beast is in there. It’s coming for you. Get moving, quick!”

  Stanley sprang into the air like a jack-in-a-box. He stood poised, eyeing all directions, and settled for one way, the way of the beast.

  “Wait! Stop! Not that way!” screamed Rose.

  Stanley shouted something. His cries were unheard by the twins, but his frantic actions spoke louder.

  Staring at the blueprints of the maze, she ran her finger from the opening to Stanley. “Okay… turn around, go straight, then left.” Stanley did just that in a fit of panic. “Oh no! I mean right, that was my left, go right!”

  The beast changed direction too, sniffing the humid air.

  “Go left, then left again, then right, quickly, it’s gaining!”

  Stanley glanced behind to witness the creature giving chase. His pace stepped up with a shot of adrenaline, forcing Rose to quicken her direction calls. “Straight, right, right, left.”

  Lily tried to get a better view. “Get a move on, you fool!”

  He galloped through the exit as if he were running the Olympic hundred-metre final. The black tyrant raged forth and continued to chase. The exit, however, ceased to be. The beast stopped, drooling for its escaped supper.

  Stanley didn’t so much drool, but panted on all fours just as well before collapsing onto his back where he took deep, life cherishing breaths.

  “Bravo… bravo… You three are much fun,” said Orwell as his slow clapping echoed throughout the sector.

  “I’ve had enough of you!” screamed Lily. “Just you wait till we find you, then you’ll be –”

  “Your manners are inadequate. You should pay more attention to your sister. She knows how to conduct herself amongst gods.”