Doorbell

I am still here, waiting for the doorbell to ring.

I have been here a long time, waiting for the doorbell. I do not know how long I have been here, exactly. It is certainly a long time, but I also cannot remember eating a meal since I entered this room, so perhaps it was not that long after all. Or perhaps I have eaten in this room, and the Minotaur ate my memory of that too.

No, that’s not possible. The Minotaur isn’t in this room with me. That’s why I’m waiting for the doorbell. When the doorbell rings, the Minotaur will come.

I am in a dingy apartment. I am in a kitchen with a fridge fifty years out of date. I remember ransacking it when I entered, but I do not remember what it contained. Perhaps it contained nothing edible, which would explain why I did not eat. Were the cupboards empty too? They must have been.

One door leads to a small bathroom with a shower, but I could not get them to produce running water. Another door presumably leads to a bedroom, but it is locked. I tried to pick the lock with a paperclip I found in my pocket. I have a memory that I was skilled at lockpicking once, but having a memory of a skill and having that skill are different. I was not able to unlock the bedroom.

The kitchen is dark. If there was once a ceiling light, it is long broken. I flicked the switches on the wall when I entered and they did nothing. Where many apartments might have a window, here there is only a brick wall.

A single bare bulb illuminates the entranceway. It flickers sometimes. The flickering is mostly annoying, but I can’t help feeling paranoid every time it happens.

At the door lies a body. A skeleton, actually. Its bones have been picked white by time, so it must have been there a while. The skeleton lies against the door, as if its former occupant was desperately trying to keep the door closed. I cannot imagine how it would have helped, since the door has thick chains with heavy padlocks bolting it to the wall from the inside, as if the door itself was a monster attempting to break forth into the apartment. But I know the door is just a door.

I cannot quite remember how I entered the apartment without disturbing the body or the chains on the door. I can only remember that I fear the doorbell, because…

Outside the door is the Labyrinth. I cannot recall how long I wandered those sunless halls. The moments blur together, like a montage of someone else’s life. I remember the fluorescent lights. I remember the sickly yellow wallpaper. I remember trying one door after another. Some would open onto an identical hallway, some would open onto small apartments little different from this one. I must have been wandering for a long time…

And all that time, I could feel the presence… just behind me… just around the last corner… just behind the doors I chose not to open. I would cast a sudden glance behind me, as if I could take it by surprise. But nothing was ever there.

Was anything ever there?

What was I talking about, again?

Right, I am waiting here. I am waiting for the doorbell.

I must have had a childhood, once. Perhaps it was a happy childhood, perhaps not. But those memories have been obliterated. Actually, most of my memories of my adulthood have been obliterated, too. I have a vague memory of a child… a lost child, perhaps… am I waiting for a child?

I am not sure why a child would be in a place like this.

I am convinced that the presence, which I took to calling the Minotaur, has been eating my memories. I have memories of having memories, but no longer the memories themselves. Do you know how strange a feeling that is? To know that you once had a purpose? To know you were once searching for something? To remember the act of remembering what you were searching for, but finding only a blank hole when you think of what you were searching for?

I suspect my memory was already faulty before I came to the Labyrinth. Perhaps that is why the Minotaur chose to prey on me. Perhaps it knew I would not miss any of the memories it chose to consume.

I check my pockets. There is a small paperclip. I look over to the bedroom door. It is a shame I never learned to pick locks.

I have been waiting for a very, very long time. Perhaps I have been waiting for my entire life.

The doorbell rings.

What was I waiting for, again?