The Pattern in the Ivy

I had lived in this place for so long that I cannot remember a time when I wasn’t here; and somehow I wouldn’t change that. The air was so thick and cold in this place that one could taste the pure dread that filled it. After spending so long in this place I have become accustomed to the musty tomes that line these ancient shelves. The plethora of characters that line their pages have become like family members. Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, cousins, and even a few lovers. Each one of them has their own distinct personality, their own aura. Some good. Some bad. 1

One could argue that the sad state of loneliness would drive a man insane. I beg to differ. These ancient tomes were all the company I needed. I had collected them over the course of many years. Or at least that’s what I had told myself for as I said before, I cannot remember a time when I was not here. I had never seen the sun or the moon or the stars. I had only read about them and dreamt of them from the descriptions I was given in my books; you could scarcely call them memories or at least the closest thing to them.2

There were but two rooms in my domicile: my own little hole in the wall which I often referred to as my “sanctum” and my vast library where I spent most of my time. The floors were made of some kind of old stone. Not marble or granite but almost sandstone, perhaps what I thought to be sand was in fact dust from the thousands of books that were to be found in the archaic library. There we some books that I had never laid a finger on and others that I touched every day of my life. I did not sleep much in this place. Usually I would pace the rooms back and forth either reading or noting the glorious patterns in the ivy that had consumed the vast stone columns which stood as supports. They stood so proudly and straight it was as if the Gods themselves had placed them there. 3

The aforementioned ivy was quite a sight to behold. When my eyes were tired from the text that they had consumed I would sit in the soft, dusty, red chair that was placed adjacent to the glowing fire place and gaze at it. The ivy covered all of the numerous columns in the room but on in particular caught my eye; the column in the far left corner of the room. The ivy on it had the most distinct pattern of any of them. The other columns’ ivy was wound around it but not in the graceful and articulate fashion as was on this column. It was wrapped around it perfectly. There was no flaw in it, nothing that I could point as wrong, not even the slightest arbitrary thing. The other columns had the ivy spread all across with some leaves torn and tattered. But this, this ivy was special. There were no tears in the leaves, no imperfections in the designs; it was almost as if the ivy were painted onto the column. It was that perfect. 4

I would sometimes pass the hours running my index finger across its smooth surface closing my eyes and dragging up one of my made up memories of a beach. The ivy’s leaves were so soft that it reminded me of the delicate descriptions of beach sand that I read so much about. I could almost smell the salty water even though I had never left this place. I wept from time to time at its soft elegance. No book could match the beauty that this single ivy pattern held.5

More time wore on. I lost count of the hours that passed, the days, the months, even the years. I’d forgotten how old I was, even what year it was. I’m not even sure if I knew how old I was or what year it was. I longed for memory. I longed for knowledge. Knowledge beyond what I had amassed from the numerous tomes that lined my shelves. The knowledge in those books are grand and marvelous to the hilt but I thirsted for more! More I say! A man can only be holed up so long with the denizens of fictionalized works before he starts to yearn for more! It was at this time that I began to think. It was more than mere logic thought however; it was clear, pure, and unbridled thought. There were no restraints on my imagination, now chains to bind me. I had the gift of free will, a gift that all have but few put to good use.6

I began to bring the fictionalized characters of my books to life. They were no longer just things that I thought of it my head; I brought them into the world. I made them from my own image, my own thought. They lived, breathed, and had free will themselves. Allison was my favorite. She was never as trite as all the rest were. Of course the others gave me good company in my times of lonesomeness, but Allison took on a more prestigious role. I would bring her to life more often than any other character. 7

She was a beautiful woman. Perfect in my eyes. She had green eyes, long flowing brown hair, was just the right height, and a smile that would melt the ice caps themselves. She would always appear in the same blue dress every time I brought her to life (I was never quite sure if I made that happen or if she herself chose that dress because I loved it so). She would never say the wrong things, never bring me down. She was ideal. She was alive. I could actually reach out and touch her soft pale skin and feel it. I was in love with the woman. I knew it had to be love for it was a new feeling, a feeling of something that was remotely warm. Most of my feelings before that time were non-existent and if they were in fact there I could never feel them or describe them to you.8

She would sit in the other chair that I had made up and sit and watch the ivy columns with me. I didn’t need the books anymore nor the characters that resided within them. I had Allison and I had the ivy. It was all a man could ask for. It was all a man really needed. I kept Allison alive for a long time. She never left my side and never returned to the book from which I pulled her from. In fact, that book is the only book remaining in my library still. 9

I pulled the thousands of tomes from off the shelves and piled them in neat stacks by the fire place and book by book I burned them. I burned them not only for warmth in this cold place but for security. It was my self-actualization that I didn’t need the books to stay happy. I just needed Allison. That was all. Book by book I burned them. 10

At first it was almost too much to bear. I heard screams emit from the books as I tossed them into the flames. The screams would echo for what seemed like hours. They were more than screams however; they were blood curling horrific shrieks that chilled me to the marrow. I would yell at the burning book to shut up! Shut up! Shut up I say! No more! And all at once it would stop. The ashes would glow for a moment and then completely fade away as if they were being assimilated into the darkness of my domicile. 11

After the first few hundred times I became numb to the shrieks of terror that the books sent forth at me. I even laughed at a few of them. The whole time Allison sat there and did nothing but watch me. From time to time she would glance at the ivy pattern and copy me by running her index finger across the soft leaves.12

For days and days I went on burning books through all hours of the night until there was one left. One single book remained from my vast collection. Allison’s book. It was the only book that survived the mass text genocide. I kept it hidden in a secret compartment inside of my wardrobe. It was under lock and key and the key you ask? It was always on me at all times. Call it paranoia if you will but I think of it more as protection.13

More time passed, I know not how long and honestly I did not care, and Allison and I continued living together in our humble abode. We would enjoy the dimly lit fire which would reflect off her glassy pale skin and admire the ivy on that one particular column in the far left corner. Allison never talked much but when she did it was either a question or a very profound statement. I remember her most chilling statement of all to this very day. We were sitting in our chairs gazing up the ivy and enjoying the warm fire when she spoke up in her soft child like voice.14

“Is this all we are going to do? Sit silently and watch a plant grow?”15

Her head slowly turned toward me and for the first time in my being I experienced anger and fear. Anger from her blatant disrespect for my hobby and fear because I realized at that time just how perfect she looked and acted. It was too perfect.16

“Allison my dear there is nothing else. Do you not enjoy my company?”17

Her green eyes stared at me for the longest time. It was as if she was gazing right into my soul and the more she stared the colder and angrier I became.18

“I enjoy your company it’s just that I wish there was more. A woman can only be holed up so long with the denizen of a vast home for so long until she begins to yearn for more.”19

My eyes widen and my face went pale. I had said those same words to myself a few days, or perhaps it was months, ago. 20

I stumbled upon my words and said “W-w-well I’m sorry Allison. There is no more. So please, sit back and enjoy what we have.”21

Her heard turned slowly back towards the ivy and nodded. It was in that moment that I noticed her doll like qualities. Perhaps she was not as real as I thought she was. Or maybe she was metamorphosing into something I could not control. In either respect I was afraid. I began to twirl the old wardrobe key around in my pocket around that time.22

I awoke at one point to find Allison gone. I climbed out of my cold bed and searched the house for her. She couldn’t be far away; after all it only had two rooms in it. I searched every nook and every corner in the dimly lit archives and sat down in my chair perplexed at where she could possibly be. Was it possible that in my dreams I subconsciously un-made her. Was it possible to destroy life as easy as it was to create it? I sat in my chair and stared at the ivy. It was not until sometime quite later that I noticed something different in the perfect pattern of the ivy on the column in the far left of the room. One of the leaves was torn.23

I sprung out of my chair and hurried to the column and ran my finger across the leaf. Sure enough it had been torn and my finger was cut upon. I look up at the cast column and noticed that it was more than just the one leaf that had been torn. Several if not all of them had been torn. I unwrapped a bottom portion of the ivy and pulled on it. I heard a shriek from high above me.24

“Allison is that you?”25

“Don’t pull on it! You’ll break it!”26

How in the hell had she gotten up there I wondered to myself. It was a piece of ivy! How could any human climb up a piece of ivy?! Then it dawned on me. Allison was no human. She was a character from one of the tomes. She was not real. I could think of one thousands things that could ideally make her real but never would. I pulled on the ivy again testing its strength.27

“Stop pulling!” She screamed from high above “Your going to make it fall and if that I happens I fall with it!”28

I looked up into the darkness above and saw no sign of her. What was she planning to do I wondered to myself.29

“What are you doing up there Allison? There is nothing by darkness!”30

“No my love, there is far more than that. There is white! Blinding white! It’s so beautiful my love. So beautiful.”31

White? What on earth was white in this place?32

I pulled again on the ivy and began to hoist myself up on it and started to climb the large stone column. Again Allison shrieked from high above. 33

“You’re going to make me fall! Stop!”34

“I want to see this white for myself!” I yelled from the cavernous depths.35

I climbed and climbed for what seemed to be an eternity until I finally saw a small white crack in what must’ve been the ceiling. My mouth dropped open as I elated with joy and sorrow all at once. The white was beautiful. So beautiful. It was then that I realized Allison was no where to be found. I would’ve surely known if she had fallen from this height. My only logical guess would be that she had escaped through the blinding white. 36

I continued my assent high into the air on the ivy. I never knew how that ivy supported me. All the same however I continued to climb and climb. The white space in the ceiling still the same size as it was before. Eventually it became closer to me and became much brighter. But it did not grow in size or at least if it did, it was such a small amount that no man could notice it. I had still heard nothing from Allison and decided to call upon her.37

“Allison? Where are you? Allison?”38

I then heard her child like giggle from high up on the column.39

“Up here! You’re so close. Come on now lover you’re so close to the end! Follow the sound of my voice!”40

I hurriedly climbed my way up the column until I was right upon the white space. My face turned whiter than the light at the horror I beheld. The white space was no bigger than one of the thousands of tomes I had burned. I could barley slide my hand through it let alone my body.41

I called for Allison but got no reply. I hung there on the ivy for another lifetime before calling her name again. This time she appeared. But what I saw in her face was not the beautiful doll like quality I had come to love. It was a hideous monster. She was as pale as the white light itself and on her face she wore a devilish smile that I will never forget. She looked at me quizzically with her daemon green eyes and widened her devilish smile.42

I hung, suspended in the dusk of my personal hell and looked back at her. Her face vanished behind the opening and I heard what sounded like fingers brushing across leather. I knew that sound quite well. It was an unmistakable sound of a finger caressing a soft object. It was the same sound that I had produced when my fingers graced the covers of the tomes that I long destroyed.43

As I continued to look upward into the white I saw a shadow cast over it. It was like one of those dark rain clouds I had read about except it was growing larger every second until the shadow maker finally revealed it self. At that moment I experienced what real horror was. I could feel nothing but terror course through my veins. My blood ran and my face turned a gruesome white. The shadow maker was something from a nightmare. I know understood fully why the white opening was so small, so small like a book. I was in a book. The shadow maker which undoubtedly was the front cover slammed down over top of me and a thunderous crash echoed off the walls. It shook the very foundations of my body and my hands loosened from the ivy. I was ready for the long before my demise to my surprise and horror I did not fall hundreds of feet or even ten feet. I fell 2 inches before my body hit the floor with a loud thud and looked up at the closed space. The book cover had the same pattern that was in the ivy on it’s inside jacket. My face went a deeper white as I tried to get up and run away but as I tried to stand my head collided with the ceiling. I got down on all fours and began to scurry off to where my room was, but there was no room. I ran head first into another wall. I then realized that I was surrounded by darkness. No light emitted from anywhere. The fireplace was gone as were the shelves and my room. There was nothing. Just the darkness of hell. I wanted to cry but found that I couldn’t. I wanted to scream but I found that I had no voice. As I lay back in my now black tomb I experienced that agonizing realization that no words can possibly describe. All this time, it was I who was the denizen of a fictionalized work. 44