A House Filled With Night

Was it possible to be both cruel and worthless, at the same time, with such efficiency? This was the question Runa found herself pondering that day. Mr. Heikki had hired a new manager named Mr. Aksel, and he seemed to be defying the lawful limits of both cruelness and worthlessness.

“What does your mother look like?” Mr. Aksel was asking one of the shop boys.

“E-excuse me, sir?”

“I said, what does your mother look like?”

“Um, well, let’s see...she’s got brown hair, brown eyes, a little mole right here, and—”

“Good grief, boy, I want to know if she’s as ugly as you! Who could produce you? I’d like to see it for myself. She must have a cabbage for a nose, judging by what I see here. Alright, then. Since none of you seem capable of doing anything the right way, I’m just going to have to go inspect the pantries myself.”

The boy watched, open-mouthed, as Mr. Aksel waddled over to the pantry and closed the door behind him. He promptly began inspecting his favorite cookies and candies.

Usually, working under a fool was tolerable to Runa. She excelled at tolerating things—it was practically in her job description. So why couldn’t she tolerate Mr. Aksel today? Perhaps because Mr. Aksel was not just a fool. He was an irritating, unkind fool, the sort that was drunk on power and quick to abuse it whenever he got the chance. This is what she told herself, anyway. But something in the back of her brain told her it was something else, too. Something to do with the memories of that night she just couldn’t seem to get rid of.

The jingle of the shop’s doorbell made Runa come back to reality. She shook her thoughts away as a man entered the store.

“Welcome, sir. Is there any way I can help you today?”

He nodded, smiling. “Yes, my daughter’s wedding is in a month’s time, and I’m here to make arrangements for the food to be served at the banquet...”

He went on to describe the details of the event as Runa showed him around the shop. She noticed immediately, with uneasiness, Mr. Aksel’s apparent interest in the man. During their conversation, he came out of the pantry and stared openly at them for a while before moving to his desk to glare at them in comfort. He looked absolutely hateful.

“We can deliver it for you on the day of the wedding—” Runa was interrupted by one of the shop boys grabbing her by the arm.

“I’m sorry Runa, but Mr. Aksel wants to speak to you.”

This can’t be good.

“Is it urgent? I’m with a customer—”

“Runa...” he muttered, eying Mr. Aksel.

Biting her lip, Runa excused herself and went to find Mr. Aksel.

“Sir,” she said, cautiously. She already had a bad feeling.

“I want you to take this man’s order.”

Perhaps she had misjudged him!

“Then, on the day of the wedding, I want you to fill every package with dirt send it to them.”

No, if nothing else, Mr. Aksel was consistent. Runa bit her lip. Whatever he had against this customer, she did not want to be involved. A part of her knew the best option would be to just nod and do as he said, but another part of her—a crazier, but growing part of her—was already formulating the best words to rebuke him for suggesting something so unbelievably ridiculous.

“Sir, I...I don’t understand. Why would we throw away such a large order? Aren’t you worried about how it will reflect on the shop’s reputation?”

“That is none of your concern.”

“But how could you do this to him on such a happy occasion? It isn’t right.”

She didn’t look up, but she could practically hear his eyes popping out of their sockets.

“Did you, you shopgirl, talk back to me?”

She gritted her teeth. “Yes sir, I’m afraid I did.”

“Do we talk back to Mr. Aksel when he tells us to do something?” Mr. Aksel’s voice had become squeaky; a sure sign that he was growing truly angry.

It was at this point that Runa realized she only had three options: apologize immediately and do as she was told, prolong the conversation and then get fired later, or end it right there, right now.

“Did you hear me, shopgirl? Do we talk back to Mr. Aksel? Hm? Do we?”

She closed her eyes, as if in momentary prayer, before looking back up at him steadily. “We do when he’s being a coward and a tyrant.”

Runa didn’t wait to hear his response. She turned around, left his office, then the shop, dropping off her apron as she went. It was a struggle to hold herself together. She barely made it out of the door before she began to cry hot, angry tears. But she wasn’t just mad at Mr. Aksel. She was mad at herself. Mad at herself for being reckless, mad at herself for crying, mad at herself for acting so strangely these days.

“You idiot," she hissed. “Since when have you been able to afford the luxury of acting so stupidly virtuous?”

The poor customer was probably going to end up with nothing at his daughter’s wedding regardless. So what was the point of stepping in? Why did she do that?

Because it was right.

She laughed at herself. “And who are you? The defender of righteousness?”

A shiver ran through her body as she turned into the next alleyway. Another cold night awaited her. These days, it was becoming more and more difficult to get through them. Not just because it was so painful. Because it kept her awake; and when she was awake, she remembered. She remembered the night at Lord Cargan’s ball. As much as she had tried to forget, her mind seemed eternally trapped there. Every night before she fell asleep was full of the colors of the ballroom, the swell of the music, the smile on his face.

It was a dream, Runa. Just a dream.

A little glimmer out of the corner of her eye made her look up. Her eyes grew wide. High above, almost reaching the top of the alleyway walls, a stream of tiny, silver lights appeared to be suspended in midair. They wound like a river down the length of the street, turning just around the next bend.

Wordlessly, thoughtlessly, Runa followed them. As she did, a very faint, sweet melody became gradually more distinct. It sounded so familiar. She wanted to hear more of it. As she went on, the lights grew in number and brightness. She could not discern which way she was going or from which way she had come. The lighted pathway seemed to be carrying her, drawing her nearer, nearer. The melody grew so clear and pure, her mind filled with it. A soft whisper called her, pleadingly.

And then, all at once, Runa found herself at the door of the old boarding house where she resided. She blinked. Had she imagined it all? Was she so disoriented that she was hallucinating now? She rubbed her face and groaned. This was not good.

“It was a dream, Runa,” she told herself, this time aloud.

She repeated this to herself as she walked up the stairs, as she entered her cramped apartment, as she lied down on her cot, as she pulled up the scratchy blanket to her chin.

She shivered.

“It was a dream.”

Then why did it seem like she could never wake from it?

__________________

~ A/N ~

It was definitely not a dream. Probably. At the same time, Runa doesn’t seem like the most sane person at the moment. What do you think? Anyway, I am happy if you think anything at all about this story and even more happy if you deeply ponder it upon your bed in the wee hours of the night. Please share all your thoughts with me. Thank you.

__________________

~ COMMENT OF THE WEEK ~