The White Hallway

Bradley was afraid, but he tried not to show it. His whole life, he had lived in fear. It started when he was a child, and it never left him. He tried to steady his breathing, as he made his way down the white hallway. Bradley should not have stepped inside, but something told him to walk down those stairs. The white stairs that he had found out of nowhere, that were waiting for him in the woods, in the dark. 

Once he stepped onto the first step, there was no going back. The stairs led him to a hallway, a long hallway that felt like there was no end in sight. 

Until he saw one. 

There were two large doors, with something standing on an easel meant for a painting. When Bradley got closer, he realized that there was a painting on the easel. The painting was of him, his hands touching resting on his shoulders, like he was hugging himself, or trying to protect himself. It was something that Bradley used to do when he was a child, whenever he felt afraid. His eyes were closed, and the painting was encased in colors of purple, red, yellow, and black. 

Bradley couldn't help but think it was a beautiful painting, despite the fear that was starting to build up within his body. He almost hugged his body, about to mimic the painting, and that simple realization made him snap out of his scared state, and he looked down at his hands, that were hidden by his black gloves. He clenched them into fists, remembering what was at stake. 

The doors opened on their own, the creaking of the doors reminding him of a heavy sigh, a sultry sigh that belonged to a sexy woman, as if she was excited to let him in. He could now hear music, but he could have sworn that the music wasn't playing before. A record player was playing a tune by an artist he couldn't remember the name of, inside of this white room. 

There was a stage in the front of the room, with black curtains, but no one was on stage. There was a single white table in the middle of the room. The record player was next to the table, and a man was sitting there. A young man, that had the familiar face of someone that he knew. He was drinking a cup of tea, and there was an empty chair, waiting for Bradley. 

Another teacup was also there, waiting for him. 

A tall man is standing next to him, his black hair shielding his face. 

The young man smiles at Bradley, beckoning him to come and sit at the table. The doors close behind Bradley as he enters the room. The doors closing Bradley left him with an eerie feeling, and for a second, the room felt like it was breathing. This was the feeling of stepping into the jaws of a hungry beast. 

But still, Bradley did not show fear. 

He sat down across from the young man, remembering that he had his gun in his holster, as he kept his eyes on the tall man. He could barely see an eye peeking at him through the forest of hair. 

"Bradley. Do you know who I am?," the young man asked. 

"You're Henry."

Henry shook his head. "I just look like him. I wear the faces of those that I possess. I do have a real form, but I don't want to scare you."

"Are you saying that you're possessing the body of Henry?"

The Henry thing smiled. 

"Yes. But it's not the right one. None of them ever are."

"What do you mean?"

Henry takes a sip of his tea, ignoring the question. 

"I've been here for a long time. Confined to this space, for eternity. No matter how often I change it, I'm always left disappointed. I just want to walk again."

"Walk?"

Henry pointed upward. 

"The man upstairs saw me as a threat."

"Why?"

Henry poured more tea for himself.

"I wanted more. He did not listen. So, he made an extra layer, and left he here."

Bradley looked down at his tea. 

"Which man are you referring to?"

Henry smiled. 

"You and I both know the one we are talking about."

Bradley grew silent for a second, processing that tidbit of information. It didn't make him feel any better, knowing who really put him here.

"Why did he see you as a threat?"

"I want the world. I want to create my own image. I've gotten enough practice already down here. My ideas are endless."

"None of them are good, I presume."

Henry threw back his head and laughed. Instead of a young boy's laughter, it was that of an older man. One far older than Bradley anticipated. He shifted in his seat, trying not to come off too uncomfortable among his presence. 

"Will you help me walk again, Bradley?"

Bradley touched the gun on his holster, knowing that it wouldn't do much good, but it was comforting, and that was all that mattered. 

"No. Never."

Henry leaned back in his chair. The tall man leaned toward Bradley, his body bending like a snake. Henry waved a hand at the tall man. 

"No. There is no need for that."

The tall man backed away, and stood there in the same posture, one eye peeking out at Bradley through the forest of hair. 

Henry put his arms on the table, clasping his hands together. He smiled at Bradley, but there was no humor this time. 

"The next time I invite you here, I will take what I want, Bradley. I'm only giving you a pass this time around, since I'm so fascinated by you. My one and only s -''

Bradley shot out of his chair, and it clattered to the ground, echoing throughout the white room. Henry stared at Bradley, raising one eyebrow.

"Too soon?"

Bradley was now holding his gun out, his hands shaking. 

"You forgot to take the safety off," Henry replied in a calm manner. 

"Why? Why me? Why my mother?"

Henry grinned, showing his white teeth. But there was something lurking there, Bradley couldn't see it, but he could feel it. 

"Because she let me in. Just like you will."

Bradley took a few steps back, and then ran out of the white room. Henry's laughter followed him out of the room, as Bradley ran through the white doors. The doors slammed shut behind him. He put his back against the wall, trying to steady his racing heart. The hand that held the gun was still shaking, but he did not let go of his weapon. 

He took several deep breathes, and his eyes landed on the painting. 

There was something different.

Bradley was now holding his hands in a prayer, as if he was trying to call upon someone to help his soul. But it didn't seem that way to Bradley. 

The smile on his face was one of malice, not peace. 

---

Thank you for reading!

Emy Quinn