The Clew of Ariadne

The walls were moving all around her. The floor rose and fell and dazzled her eyes. Several times she caught herself staring at it, thinking of nothing, wanting nothing, motionless, unafraid. A soft music seemed to come from somewhere ahead of her. It pulled at her arms and her legs. She walked as through mud toward the melody.

The air was cold on her naked skin. Her hands were wide and empty, slick and oily feeling. She shouted: “Hi! Hi!”

The echoes chased the music further away. She laughed, and clawed at her body. Long red scratches covered her belly and arms. An animal bellowed far in the distance. The music was the bellow.

She was staring at the floor again.

Hours. She came to the center, where the music stopped pulling at her. The creature was crouched in the middle of the floor, naked and enormous, slobbering and tumescent. It bellowed. It saw her. She stared at it. Her eyes wouldn’t focus. It drooled at her, and she drooled back. She giggled naturally.

It rushed toward her. She ran to meet it. There was a great shock of contact; the sound of flesh smacking together. The music began again.