Page 51 of Jacob Michaels Is Not Jacob Michaels

Being awoken abruptly was something I was just getting used to so it didn’t startle me as much when I sat bolt upright in bed. Had I heard something again? Had Lucas snored or talked in his sleep or was he moving around due to a nightmare or dream? Did I need to go look out the window to find some hooded figure staring up at my window like a weirdo? I wouldn’t go outside even if I saw that again. I refused.

Glancing over at Lucas, I could tell he was in a profound sleep. The fact that I could see him well because he was cast in an eerie green light was not lost on me. It dawned on me that I could see everything in the room very well due to the illumination that the light provided. Looking over at the door, I found the source of the light, just as I expected. The green light was pouring through the cracks around and under the door, reaching into the room like slender fingers, searching me out.

I twisted my hips to let my legs hang off of the bed and then pushed away from the bed, landing on my feet. I was naked, never having bothered to dress after Lucas and I brought each other to two of the most intense orgasms we’d ever had. I reached down to the floor and retrieved my pajama bottoms, sliding into them quickly as I kept my eyes on the green light sneaking into the room through the door cracks.

For a few moments, I stood there, my feet cold on the floorboards, staring at the door. Somehow, like Lucas, I knew what was going to happen. I knew that the light had returned at that moment because it was time. I was ready to follow it down to the cellar again. Padding across the room quietly, though I knew Lucas would not wake up, I made my way to the bedroom door. Just as before, when I pulled the door open, the light was moving down the upstairs hallway. I glanced back at Lucas. He was peacefully and deeply sleeping. I smiled over at him and exited the room, closing the door gently behind myself.

I’m coming back with our memories, Lucas.

I promise.

Nervously following the light down the hall, I tiptoed along, though I knew that Oma and the Kobolds would not awaken to come investigate either. The light moved down the hallway just a few yards ahead of me, then started down the stairway to the floor below. When I reached the top of the stairs, the light was moving into the living room below. Step by step, I followed along, making sure it never got so far ahead that I lost sight of it. The light moved along at a pace that matched mine, only moving towards the kitchen when my feet touched the foyer floor.

Through the living room, I continued to tiptoe, as though there was any reason to be quiet. As I walked through the living room and headed towards the kitchen, through the large kitchen entryway, I could see the cellar door was wide open. The light moved across the kitchen, towards the door, then started to slip down into the cellar, illuminating the usually dark stairwell. My feet hit the cold linoleum, and I jumped slightly at how cold it was, but I continued my forward movements towards the cellar door.

Once I reached the top of the stairs, the light was halfway down, partially illuminating the room below. Without thinking about my decision, I stepped down, my foot connecting with the top step. My other foot followed. Then I went down another step. And another. One after another, the green light moving slowly, beckoning me to follow it. I knew where we were going, so it didn’t have to wait, but it was considerate of the incorporeal light source. Finally, my feet touched down on the dirt floor of the cellar, and I was staring at the stone wall before me.

I took a deep breath.

Turning to see what was there was…big.

It was significant in a way that I hadn’t fully understood before.

I needed a moment to collect myself before I took the final step in this journey with the green light.

Breathing deeply, I collected myself and my thoughts, then finally turned towards the center of the room.

The well was there, and the light had collected inside of it, making it look like it was shooting a beacon into the sky, stopped only by the ceiling above. Though, if I had been outside of Oma’s house and seen a green searchlight reaching into the sky, I would not have been surprised. I swallowed hard as I looked at the well, the glowing green light within, the way it beckoned me forth, to peer into its depths.

The dirt floor was rough beneath my feet, made the spaces between my toes feel gritty as I walked cautiously towards the well. Inside the well, the green light seemed to pulse or throb, though it did not sink into the lowest recesses of the well like it had before. It stayed near the top, illuminating the well and the cellar around it as I approached. When I was next to the well, I placed my hands on the stone side, taking in the dimensions of this illuminated entrance into the Earth beneath my feet.

At least as wide across as I was tall, the sides coming up to my waist, the well was impressive. I probably could have climbed up onto the side, spread my arms wide and fallen forward. Falling, falling, falling, never once hitting the sides as I descended into whatever was below. Something told me that if I did that, I would never hit bottom, though that had to be impossible. Reaching out, I pushed my hand towards the light in the well. Though obviously light, it felt like something between a liquid and gas between my fingers. There was resistance, but it did not moisten my hand.

What have you been keeping from me?

I dipped my hand into the well’s light again.

Did you want company up there?

Do you love me?

Have you been waiting on me?

Did you see that?

ROBBIE!

I shuddered as the voices seemed to come from within my own head, though I knew that they emanated from the well. Without giving it another thought, I climbed up onto the edge of the wall around the well and stared down into the light. I could see nothing but bright green light shining up to me, preventing me from seeing anything below. If I leaped, the light would swallow me whole, wrap my body up.

Then what?

“You couldn’t wait for breakfast, could you?”

I started and nearly fell into the well, as though being yanked out of a dream. Correcting my stance, I turned my head to look over my shoulder. Oma was standing at the bottom of the stairs. Her hands weren’t on her hips, and her arms weren’t crossed over her chest. She didn’t look angry or furious or frustrated. She looked concerned. Maybe sad?

“Hi, Oma.” My voice sounded trance-like.

“Robbie.” She shook her head and moved forward cautiously.