David Policar 1994
The chamber seemed small and cramped, but that was mostly because it was dark. From what I could tell, it was really about twenty feet wide and maybe fifty feet long... I couldn't see more than a a half-dozen feet from the doorway, but there seemed to be a dim light at the other end of the room. It was cramped, though... in the light from the hall, I could see three small desks cluttered with miscellaneous objects, several bookcases, and an assortment of knee-high items -- bags? footstools? dirty laundry? dust bunnies from Hell? -- scattered across the floor. Whatever the place was, it was a safe bet the cleaning crew wasn't allowed in.
I wished I still had my glasses... I wasn't willing to use the flashlight until I had a better idea of what was in the room. Instead, I sidled away from the door towards one of the desks, waiting for my eyes to adjust.
It wasn't really a desk, I noticed, just a solid block with items arranged on it... several clear bottles filled with some dark liquid; a half-dozen bright metal rings, about three inches across and a quarter-inch thick; a few carved twigs; a brown, shrivelled apple; a short metal paring knife with a white handle. A breakfast nook, maybe; I wondered what was in the bottles. The block itself was a light grey, marbled in darker colors, cool and rough to the touch. The top surface had been smoothed, and a thin layer of dust had collected on it and its contents.
By this time, my eyes were as dark-adjusted as they were likely to get, and I was curious about the light at the other end of the room. The walls were lined with bookshelves, except for a rack of long wooden poles, like thick pool cues; the floor was cluttered with bags, foot-high stone blocks, and miscellaneous items I didn't stop to inspect. I was getting used to the monotony when I noticed the figure of a man chained to the wall.
At first, I thought it a sculpture... a tall, naked man, chained to a metal ring about six feet in diameter. A glowing blue globe in the corner gave his skin the look of marble. Even when he turned his head to look at me, the illusion persisted - the athlete's body, lean, muscular, and smooth, looked more like a perverse Greek statue than a prisoner in a dungeon.
But no statue had eyes like those... glistening with life and purpose. His eyes held mine for a long time.