The Drowned Room

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by tower727

by tower727

Pete descended the spiral staircase, torch in one hand, skillet in the other. He rarely felt he needed a weapon during a dungeon delve, so he hated to bother to buy and carry a sword or anyhing, but walking into a dark and secret place like this completely unarmed seemed... unwise.

There was a splash when he arrived at the bottom of the steps. The chamber was flooded, and now his boots were soaked. He raised his torch higher, something loomed at him out of the darkness. He gave it a resounding blow with his skillet, then thrust the torch in its face. There was a sighing whumpf as the oil in the brazier caught fire, and an answering series of sighs as every brazier in the chamber lit in sequence. Pete had attacked a brazier–a decorative iron lamp in the shape of a stylized griffin, a pool of flammable oil in its mouth. Somehow, lighting one of the braziers had lit the rest in the room.

The chamber was a simple stone rectangle, with waterfalls pouring in from two grates near the roof, into troughs that were probably meant to empty into drains in the floor. There was a single door on the opposite wall with a massive padlock in the center. The four braziers looked like they'd been arranged into a square before one had toppled over. Dungeons like this often had puzzle rooms, rooms where some detail was out of place and had to be set right in order to release the key to open the door. The four braziers, in this case, had been meant to be placed on switches, but one had fallen over, and the room was flooding now because... ah.

There was a drain in the corner of the room, under the fallen brazier. A skeletal form was stuck there, crushed beneath the brazier, with its head stuck in the grate. Pete circled around, and peered down the drain. Over the skeleton's shoulder, Pete could see the glint of a key stuck in the drain, just out of reach of the poor guy's bony fingers. It didn't take long to push the broken brazier out of the way, then Pete peered at the key and the skeleton. "Don't want to end up like you, friend." he said cheerfully as he lowered his fishing hook into the drain and snaked up the key.

Something still felt off about this place. Pete got the feeling he was missing something. He checked the waterfall drains. Nothing. He checked the troughs. Nothing. Then, in a flash of inspiration, he righted the broken brazier and pushed it onto its rightful plinth. There was a click, and a hatch dropped a treasure chest onto the floor with a splash.

As he bent to rescue the chest, he narrowly dodged a sword that splintered the lid. He whirled around, reaching for his skillet.

A dripping skeleton clutching a sword in one hand was glaring at him. Its head, neck and right arm were haloed by a rusted iron grate. Red light, a dying sun, burned in the infinite depths of its empty sockets. "That is my key." it croaked. "Give it to me."

When it spoke, water bubbled from its mouth, and it hefted the sword, its body twisting awkwardly to accommodate the head still trapped in the grate. It lunged and Pete turned the sword aside with his skillet. "I need this key to get through the door!" he shouted.

"That key. I must get the key!" wailed the skeleton. He swung and chopped, his body rotating unnaturally on a loose spinal column. Pete backed between the braziers, sword blows ricocheting off of his skillet.

"Monster. Beast. I will complete this dungeon!" rasped the skeleton, not seeming to notice as Pete slipped between each failed strike, until finally it lunged again and Pete swung his torch between the grate and the scowling jaws of the griffin brazier. The torch flared to life and the skeleton howled and kicked and splashed and raged as Pete swung his skillet, hammering the grate into the brazier until they were tangled. Pete swung back, out of the bite of its sword and its rotting boots. "You can have the key once I've opened the door!" he panted.

He trotted back to the chest and smashed it open with his skillet and veins full of adrenaline. He was rewarded with a candle, shaped like a human hand with an iron candleholder at the wrist. It was pretty gross, but Pete always found use for things like this. Pete wrapped it in wax paper from his lunch box and stowed it in his bag. He wanted very badly to get out of this room. Away from the howling, struggling skeleton. He went to the locked door.

"The key!" wailed the skeleton. Pete paused, and looked back at the shambolic creature. He pictured this thing, this person, dying face down in a drain in a dungeon in the middle of nowhere. Pete was not heartless. He pictured this person, sad and alone, decaying in the dark, reaching for a key that was always just out of reach. Pete was not a monster. "I'm going to give you the key, okay?"

The skeleton stopped struggling and looked at him. "What's your name?" Pete asked.

"...I am Arono."

"Hi, Arono. Listen, I need someone to join me for a picnic. I packed all this food and I can't eat it all alone. You want to come with me? Maybe open a door for me?"

The skeleton Arono nodded cautiously. Picnic Pete grabbed his torch and the grate and lifted. Pete, skillet still held in a low guard, carefully handed the skeleton the key. "Alright, go open the door."

The skeleton stared at the key in awe. "F-finally...." he whispered. Arono let his sword drop. "The key..."

He accepted it reverentially and put the key in the lock. It clicked like it was answering a prayers. The torch burned where it was stuck in the grate, giving the skeletal figure the look of a fallen angel, its iron halo bathed in red light. Pete began to get a bad feeling. "The door..." whispered Arono. "The door is opening..."

The padlock rotated. The door opened with a sigh, and Arono pulled out the key and stepped through. "Hey, wait–!" Pete interjected as the door swung shut behind the skeleton.

Pete stared at the door.

Peter stared at the door.

"Well, I'm glad he's moved on. But I wish he hadn't taken my torch. And the key."

Pete stared at the lock. He tried tugging on it. Nothing happened. He tried listening to it. There was nothing to hear. Finally, he dumped out his bag and went through the items there. The fishing pole offered no obvious help. Neither did the bow, the pieces of torch, his skillet. He unwrapped the hand candle and sat staring at his supplies as he chewed thoughtfully on a sandwich. There was a gurgling sound, and the first brazier went out. Pete looked up in alarm, as the second brazier went dark, casting the room into a menacing gloom. There was a burp and the third brazier's fire evaporated. Well, good thing he had the candle, he supposed. He grabbed the candle and rushed to the brazier, just narrowly managing to light the index finger.

Pete was no longer standing in a chamber. He was standing, now, in a tiny circle of firelight. Working in the candle's dim glow, he repacked his bag. "I should go back outside. Get a new torch, regroup. Well... I want to look at the door one more time."

The door seemed bigger in the light of the candle. The flickering flames made the reliefs on the door frame glower like judgmental eyes, and for the first time Pete realized that the door had huge, square teeth carved into its surface. He leaned in to inspect the lock one last time, and there was a hum. The fire of the candle flared green and burst with a pop, and the padlock swiveled and fell loose. Pete leaped back as the door fell open again, and then, forgetting himself, rushed through before the door could slam shut again.