Lynn Crain

Melinda was determined to open her eyes this time. She struggled to talk. Finally, she managed to squeak out, “If you turn down the lights, things might get better.” Instantly the light went down to a normal level. Melinda opened her eyes and scanned the room again. Sitting up slowly, she knew the only way to face her demons were head on and she felt determined to allow that to happen this time. She sat quietly until the wave of dizziness passed. Must be the sleeping pills. Melinda was startled to realize she remembered her last action before she had gone to sleep. Usually, she was fuzzy before and after the incident, taking up to a week to fully remember the incident.

Walking on unsteady legs, she tried to explore the room. The surfaces of the walls were smooth, very smooth and just like she remembered from seeing it during her previous encounters. It reminded her of metal, except it was pure white. Somehow she knew there was no earthly equivalent. She continued her shaky exploration. There were no true corners in the room, no place to hide anything. Or at least not that she could see. Everything that should be angled had a roundness to it thus making it seem like a continuous piece. Leaning against the wall, she looked at the table she had been on. The table itself wasn’t frightening, but the instruments next to it were. Although many were not unlike what she had seen in hospital operating or delivery rooms, some were strange. The one that intrigued her the most was one reminding her of an octopus. It had a centralized body with many arms. She walked toward the table when she heard the soft hiss of the door. Slowly, she turned to confront whoever or whatever was coming to see her.

“I really never thought you would be this brave, Melinda. The pills were meant to knock you out so we could complete our work.”