Corporeal Nightmares

The Ceiling

John Harris kneeled, staring at the gray ceiling. He prayed silently at first for a miracle, then aloud.

"Just another five minutes."

When the ceiling didn't respond, he bowed his head again. Clasping his hands together with fingers tightly interlaced, as he been taught to do. The realization hit that he had never believed in miracles until truly wanting one.

He lifted his head again, tears welling in his eyes. Again, the ceiling didn't respond.

Time was up. There was no changing the situation.

"Why won't you answer me!?" Tears began to trickle from the edges of his eyes as he shook a fist towards the stoic corner of the gray room.

"At least answer me!" His voice cracked as he attempted scream. He hadn't tried to raise his speech beyond a whisper in decades.

But again the corner sat silent to the man begging.

He stood and focused his gaze, trying to manifest the fury in his forehead. To focus the rage of all of the years of silence, that the tile might move. That something would change. The akimbo thumping of his heart was the only response.

Clenching his jaw, he turned towards the still locked door. It was the only visible break in the room. The metal of the door frame felt cold against his hands but even cooler against his head as he rested his still wrinkled forehead against it.

"John, you must calm yourself." The corner had spoken. Finally.

He turned slowly, gritting his teeth, holding back words he knew he would regret saying. As his vision settled on the indented corner tile, the words flew from his lips.

"Why can't I have five more minutes!?" He raised his arms this time, on the border of frenzy. They flopped about like wet noodles on the edge of a colander.

"You know the rules." The tile spoke evenly and with authority.

"Why can't the rules change? Why won't you hear me?"

"You know the answers to both. They have and we do. The light is sacred. Remember, you now have an additional three minutes compared to two years ago."

John scoffed at the idea. Another three minutes, bah. Yet the warming gratitude in his stomach made him realize his error.

"Yeah, OK. It is better." Raising his shoulders in resignment and agreement, John hoped the gesture meant something, somewhere.

"John, please try to understand: within a certain window, everyone is given a certain amount of time, and the amount of time does not change."

"Another minute. That's all I ask. I need to see the change."

The ceiling fell silent again. It hadn't flat out rejected his request. Maybe it was truly considering his request. Or maybe it was just keeping up appearances. He turned and faced the still locked door, grinding his back molars again. The doctor had told him to stop but he had few releases.

"Alright John. I hope you remember this when the time comes." The tile seemed to suppress a whimsical sigh. John had never heard the tile speak in this manner, without heavy emphasis on each syllable. Like a mother speaking to a child, and in a way the tile was his guidance.

"It's not nice to make fun of people." John shook his head, pointing his finger again in the direction of the corner. "I don't like being made light of."

The tile emitted a low, kindly laugh. "But I thought light what was you wanted?"

His arms dropped to his sides and his jaw began to slack.

"It also isn't polite to stare, especially with your mouth open. But we'll let that one slide..." Without another word, the tile slid noiselessly away.

Bright, white-yellow sunlight streamed from the ceiling. Real light! He ran to the corner to bathe his face in it, the rare lumination beginning to burn his alabaster skin even after a few moments. But John didn't care. The others would be truly jealous when they saw the redness around and on his face. He would surely be the man of the week.

He began to strip out of his overcoat and began removing his undergarments.

"John, ten seconds." The tile spoke again with authority but more sternness now. "Please leave your bottom layer on."

Without taking his vision from the scalding light he squinted, attempting to see further into the light that he might understand its secret better. As the last few seconds ticked down, he swore he could see a shaft of immense height, the rays refracting off its metallic sides.

But the tile slid shut, this time very quickly. The cloak of warm motes of light snuffed into darkness by the harsh click of its mechanism closing.

"I hope you enjoyed it John."

"Thank you!"

The tile did not respond. It sat as it always had, quiet.

John had truly enjoyed another minute in the light but realized the once grey room was now slowly fading. He could barely see the door anymore. He blinked, clearing the welling tears. The gray continued to fade to a midnight black.

Against clenched teeth, he whispered angrily. "Why are you making it darker!?"

"You did that John. You know not to stare directly into the light. You read the sign outside this very room before you entered."

The walls had faded almost completely now. The light in the gray room had no definitive source so it was difficult to tell if he was indeed losing his sight. Rubbing his palms into his eye sockets, he whimpered, hoping that the pressure on his head would change something. Maybe reset his vision.

But when the weight of this fingers moved away from his face, nothing had changed. The room was gone. There was no light. There was no sound, not even from the ventilation.

Licking his lips slowly, John began to sit. To at least assure himself that he was not floating in a weightless void. The floor was there, reaching out as far as he could feel. He had never tried to touch the floor before. It was surprisingly smooth and without seams.

Looking up, he began to hope he would see a dim glow or a blinking beacon light but he remained in the dark. Why had the tile allowed him to blind himself? The tile had never led him astray before. Why would it start now?

"I cannot see." He hung his head. "What do I do?"

The door slid open in response.

"No." John stood quickly now, falling backwards and landing on his side. The electricity of pain shot all around his hip as he moaned. Despite the pain, he struggled further backwards. Two sets of dull footsteps began to move in his direction.

As he struggled slowly across the impossibly smooth but unslippery floor, he reached for something. He wasn't sure what he reached for, only that he felt there should be something there. After several excruciatingly painful moments, he found it.

The wall was just as smooth. Even the edge where the wall met the floor had no gaps, no hand holds. It was flawless.

The dull footsteps stopped a few inches from his huddled body and then began to drag him by his feet. His face fell against the hard surface, smacking his jaw solidly. Again, lightning bolts of pain.

"No..." His hands clawed across the veneer, seeking in futility to find anything other than the flat open expanse of the room.

His heart pounded solidly as the threshold graced his fingers. Struggling to hold onto the door frame as long as he could, despite his escaping breath, his hands yielded to the forces pulling him forward.

And as the door slammed shut, the space beyond the room where John Harris had seen the light seemed somehow darker.