Sweetheart With Blond Hair


Sweetheart With Blond Hair


Sweetheart With Blond Hair

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I’m on my way to a party. I have the car keys in hand and am about to step out of the house when I hear someone call me from behind. It’s late at night, so it can’t be one of my neighbors calling for help or something like that.

When I turn around to look back into the room, there is no one there…or rather, everything has changed. The walls are gone! There isn’t even any furniture inside anymore—only an empty space with nothing but darkness all around me.

“What?” My voice echoes strangely as if I were speaking underwater. A chill runs down my spine, making me shiver. “Who called me? What did you say?!” But before I can find out anything more, a black shadow appears right next to me.

The figure looks human enough up until its face. Its skin is covered in dark spots and boils, while its eyes stare straight ahead without blinking. And then there’s the hair: long and white, falling down over its shoulders. It reminds me of cotton candy. This must be some kind of monster. That much should’ve been obvious just by looking at it.

But what really makes this creature stand apart from other monsters is how beautiful it is. Despite being covered in dirt and grime, it still manages to exude an aura of gracefulness and elegance. If not for the fact that it was standing near me, I might have mistaken it for a princess.

It takes only a moment to realize that I don’t know who this person is. In spite of that, I feel compelled to answer her question. “Yes,” I reply. “That’s right.”

“…You’re lying!” she says, glaring at me. Her tone is sharp, almost like a knife cutting through the air. She seems angry. Then again, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised since we never met before now. Maybe she doesn’t remember me at all. Or perhaps she does but hates me because I betrayed her. Either way, I’m sure this will end badly once things get started.

“Why would I lie?” I ask. “If you want proof, come with me.” I take off running toward the front door. Before I can reach it though, another girl appears from nowhere and grabs hold of my arm.

She’s wearing a pink dress, which contrasts sharply against her pale complexion. Her hair is tied up in two pigtails, and she has bright red lips and big round eyes. She also looks familiar somehow.

“Hey, let go of me!” I try pulling away from her grip, but she won’t budge. “Let me go!”

“Don’t move,” she warns. “Or else…”

Suddenly, I notice the figure standing nearby watching us. It’s the same one who grabbed me earlier. For some reason, it’s smiling. Is it laughing at me? Why?!

As I struggle to break free, the girl’s expression changes. Suddenly, she’s furious. “Do you think you can escape me?!” she screams, taking a few steps forward.

Her eyes are full of anger, hatred, and rage, and they seem to burn holes directly through me. As I watch in shock, she raises both hands high above her head and swings them downward.

Before I know it, I’m flying backward. I land hard on the ground, and pain shoots throughout my entire body. I can’t breathe, either; I’m choking on blood and struggling to stay conscious. Everything goes dark…but then suddenly, I wake up again.

This time, I’m sitting in bed with a pillow pressed tightly against my chest. I look down at myself and see that I’m completely naked. At least my clothes didn’t disappear along with my memories. Thank goodness.

I slowly sit up and glance around the room. I’m alone here, but there’s no sign of anyone. Just as I start wondering where everyone went, I hear footsteps coming closer from outside.

Then a woman enters the room. She’s tall and thin, with large breasts and narrow hips. Her long blond hair reaches down past her waist, and she wears a short-sleeved shirt and tight jeans.

“Good morning,” she greets me cheerfully. “How do you feel?”

There’s something odd about her smile. It feels forced as if she’s trying too hard to hide the truth. Still, I manage to respond politely. “Fine, thank you. How did I get here?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she replies. “We’ll explain everything later. Right now, I need your help with something.”

“My help…? What do you mean?” I ask.

She smiles even wider than before. “Well, it’s nothing serious.”

“Nothing serious?” I repeat. “Is that supposed to make me feel better or worse?”

For a second, she hesitates. Then she quickly shakes her head. “No, no. Nothing like that. You just need to go somewhere with me for a little bit.”

“Where exactly?”

“Just follow me,” she answers. “And please hurry. We don’t have much time.”

With that, she turns and starts walking out of the room. I wonder why she needs my help so urgently, but I decide to trust her anyway. After all, she saved me when I was unconscious. So I quietly get dressed and follow her downstairs.

Once we’ve left the house behind, she leads me over to a black car parked next to the curb. The windows are tinted all the way down, making it impossible to tell what color it is. But judging by its size, it must be quite expensive.

The driver opens the back door for us, and the woman gets inside without saying anything. Once I climb in after her, she closes the door and leans across the seat to speak to me.

“Now, listen closely,” she tells me. “You need to keep quiet while we drive. If you say anything, I might not be able to protect you. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” I reply. “But how am I going to talk? I can’t use my voice.”

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“When I woke up, I couldn’t speak anymore,” I explain. “So I have to communicate using hand gestures. Or maybe I should call them ‘hand signs.'”

“Hand signs?” she repeats. “That sounds interesting. Tell me more. And remember: Don’t talk unless I give you permission.”

I nod. “Okay, got it. Now, where are we headed?”

“To meet someone very important to you,” she says. “Are you ready?”

“Sure,” I answer. “Lead the way.”

After getting into the car, she puts on her seat belt and pulls out onto the road. I try to pay attention to our surroundings, but I still haven’t figured out this place yet. All I can see are rows of identical houses lined up side by side. There aren’t any cars driving alongside us—just other people heading to work. This neighborhood looks almost deserted.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” the woman assures me. “Our destination isn’t far away. I promise you won’t be bored.”

“Thank you,” I reply. “By the way, what happened last night? Why were you chasing me?”

“Don’t worry about that right now,” she replies. “All you need to know is that you’re safe. That’s enough for today.”

At first, I think she means she wants to avoid the subject because it’s complicated. But then I realize she doesn’t want to tell me until we reach our final destination. So I remain silent for the rest of the trip and wait patiently.

Finally, after several minutes, she finally stops the car. When I open my eyes, I find myself standing on a small street surrounded by trees. A few feet ahead of us stands an old building made entirely of stone. Two huge pillars support the roof, which has been covered in moss. The whole thing seems to be sinking into the ground.

“Welcome to the mansion,” she explains. “It used to belong to a wealthy family many years ago, but they abandoned it shortly after moving here.”

“Why would anyone live here?” I ask.

“Because it’s beautiful,” she answers. “This area was once known as the Garden District, and most of these mansions belonged to influential families.”

“Do you come from one of those families?” I ask.

“Yes,” she replies. “My ancestors built this place themselves. They lived here for generations, but eventually, their descendants moved out.”

“And who owns it now?” I press further.

“Nobody does,” she answers. “Not since the city took control of it during World War II. It’s considered too dangerous to live in, so nobody lives there anymore.”

“Then why did your parents choose to move in?” I ask.

“They wanted to buy it,” she replies. “But unfortunately, the price was beyond their reach. My father had a lot of influence at the time, though, so he managed to negotiate with the city council. He bought the property for less than half of what it cost originally. At least, that was his intention…”

We walk toward the entrance together. As we step inside, I notice something strange about the walls. Instead of being smooth and white like everything else in the neighborhood, each wall is covered in intricate designs carved deep into the rock. Some of them look similar to the ones I saw in the forest, but others seem completely different.

As we continue forward, I start noticing other details. For example, some of the columns supporting the ceiling are shaped differently from the rest. In fact, every single detail has been carefully crafted to make this building stand out even among all the other mansions in town.

“Have you ever seen anything like this before?” she asks as we approach the stairs leading up to the second floor.

“No,” I reply. “Never.”

She leads me through the hallway and down another flight of steps. We stop outside a large room filled with bookshelves and desks. On top of one of the shelves sits a glass jar containing a blue liquid. The label reads:

 JACOB’S LABYRINTH

The woman places her hand over the lid and shakes it slightly. Then she removes it and lets the contents spill onto the desk. A small cloud appears and rises slowly into the air. After a moment, it settles back onto the surface.

“What’s that supposed to do?” I ask.

“Nothing special,” she replies. “Just a little experiment. I’m trying to figure out how to use it to help me communicate with Jacob.”

“Jacob?” I repeat. “Who’s that?”

“He’s the man I told you about yesterday,” she explains. “I met him when I was younger. He helped me get away from my abusive mother, and now I owe him my life. Unfortunately, he rarely comes around, so I have no idea where he is or if he’ll ever return. Even worse, I’ve never seen him take off his mask. It’s always covering his face, so I can only guess what kind of person he really is.”

“Doesn’t sound very trustworthy,” I say. “Are you sure it’s worth talking to someone who hides behind a mask?”

“You don’t understand,” she says. “When I found out about this place, I couldn’t believe my luck. This is exactly what I needed to finish my research. You see, I started working on a project involving the labyrinths of ancient Greece. I had hoped to discover more about them, including any possible connection between them and the legends surrounding the Minotaur. However, I ran into a problem. Every book I read said the labyrinths were destroyed long ago, along with all traces of their existence. But then I discovered a manuscript written by a Greek historian named Diodorus Siculus. According to his account, the Labyrinth of Knossos in Crete was still intact until the end of the fifth century B.C., which means it could be hiding somewhere in modern-day Europe.”

“That sounds promising,” I say. “Where did you find this information?”

“In a library in Athens,” she replies. “Unfortunately, it wasn’t easy to track down. Most of the libraries in Greece have been closed due to budget cuts. And even if they weren’t, I doubt I’d be able to access the restricted sections without an invitation from the librarian. Luckily, I knew somebody who works there.”

“So you’re saying the labyrinth might actually exist after all?” I ask.

“It’s hard to tell,” she admits. “There are many theories claiming the stories about the labyrinths were fabricated by Homer and Hesiod. Others claim the labyrinths existed independently of mythological tales, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t play a role in shaping our culture.”

“If you’re right, it would certainly explain a lot,” I answer. “For instance, why people keep finding mysterious labyrinths across history. They must be connected somehow.”

“Exactly!” she exclaims excitedly. “And I think I finally know how to prove it! All I need is a piece of the puzzle. If I can find it here, maybe that will give me enough evidence to convince everyone else.”

“Sounds interesting,” I say. “Can I come with you? Maybe I can help you solve your mystery.”

“Thanks for offering to join me,” she says. “But I already asked Mr. Gribbleflotz to bring you by today. I thought it would be best to work alone at first. That way, we won’t disturb anyone while I conduct my experiments.”

“Okay,” I say. “How should I get there?”

“Follow me,” she says. She walks past the desk and heads deeper into the room, leaving me standing in front of the jar full of blue liquid. As I watch it, the cloud inside begins to swirl. Suddenly, it forms two figures. One stands tall and proud, wearing a crown and holding a scepter. The other looks much smaller and has its arms wrapped around the larger figure’s waist.

“Hello again, Jacob,” the taller figure says. His voice is deep and resonates throughout the entire room. “Do you remember me?”

“Of course,” the shorter figure answers. Its tone is soft and gentle, almost childlike. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

“Indeed,” the large one continues. “Many years ago, during the time of King Minos. We spoke together in the palace of Phaistos, just outside of Athens. Do you recall?”

“Yes,” the small figure responds. “I remember everything.”

“Then let us continue our conversation,” the big one says. “I hope you enjoyed your visit last night as much as I did.”

“Oh yes,” the small figure replies. “The food was delicious, as usual. And I especially liked the wine. So sweet. Almost like honey.”

“Did you enjoy yourself?” the tall figure asks. “Seeing the sights of London?”

“Very much so,” the little one says. “Especially the Tower of London. What a fascinating place. I loved seeing the torture chamber, although I’m not sure I want to go back there anytime soon.”

“Good,” the big figure says. “Because I plan to make a trip over there myself once we’re finished here. I’ll take you both up to the top floor to show you something special.”

“Really?” the small figure says. “That would be wonderful!”

“As long as you promise to behave yourselves,” the big one adds.

“Oh, I definitely will,” the small figure assures him. “After all, I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Well, I suppose that settles it,” the tall one says. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some work to do.” He turns around and disappears through the wall behind his throne.

The cloud above the glass ball disperses, revealing the tiny figure sitting on the table beside it. It quickly jumps off the surface and scurries toward me. When it reaches me, it stops and stares up at me with its round eyes. Then, it smiles and waves its hand in front of my face.

“Jacob, hello!” the little creature chirps. “Are you ready to see what I found?”

“Uh… yeah, sure,” I reply. “What is it?”

“You’ll never believe this,” the little one says happily. “Come with me.”

He takes my arm and leads me out of the room. After walking several feet down the hallway, he opens another door and pulls me inside. Immediately, I notice the smell of spices filling the air. A fire burns in a fireplace near the center of the room, casting light onto various jars containing powders and liquids hanging from hooks along the walls. In addition, there are several tables scattered around, each covered with different tools: knives, scissors, tweezers, scales, and many more. On the far side of the room, a man sits at a desk, writing furiously. At his feet lies an open book, which contains dozens of pages filled with notes and diagrams.

“Mr. Gribbleflotz?” I ask. “Is that you?”

“No, no,” he answers. “This is Dr. Gribbleflotz. My assistant. He’s been helping me for quite some time now.”

Dr. Gribbleflotz glances up at us and gives a quick wave. “Hi! How are you doing?”

“Fine, thanks,” I answer. “And how about you?”

“Not bad,” he says. “Although I think I might need to use the restroom.”

“Oh, right,” I say. “Sorry. Go ahead and wash your hands. There’s a sink on the left side of the room.”

“Right,” he says, looking away from me and rubbing his palms against his pants legs. “Thank you.”

Once he leaves the room, I turn back to Dr. Gribbleflotz. “So, what have you got for me?”

“It’s very simple,” he explains. “All you need to do is follow these directions exactly. If you don’t, then you won’t get anywhere.”

“Where should I start?” I ask.

“At the beginning,” he responds. “If you begin by reading the first sentence, you’ll find the rest of the text is written in reverse order. The second paragraph starts after the third line, and so on. Follow the instructions in the paragraphs until you reach the end. Once you’ve read the entire thing, you can return here and give me a report. That way, I know you understand everything.”

“Okay,” I respond. “But why would anyone write a story backward? Why not simply tell it normally?”

“It wasn’t meant to be told forwards or backward,” Dr. Gribbleflotz says. “In fact, most people who wrote books didn’t even bother to put them into chronological order. They were more concerned with putting their own thoughts and ideas on paper than they were trying to organize things properly.”

“I guess I shouldn’t judge too harshly,” I admit. “My stories aren’t nearly as well organized as yours.”

“True,” Dr. Gribbleflotz agrees. “However, you still managed to create a fantastic tale. Your characters are memorable and interesting, and the setting is unique. You did an excellent job.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Maybe someday someone else will appreciate it just as much.”

“Who knows?” Dr. Gribbleflotz says. “Perhaps one day you’ll become famous enough to publish your works yourself. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Yeah,” I agree. “A lot of authors dream of being able to do that.”

“Then perhaps we shall meet again,” Dr. Gribbleflotz says. “Until next time, Jacob.”

With those words, the doctor closes the door and returns to his desk. I look over at the book lying on top of the papers but decide to leave it alone for now. Instead, I walk across the room and sit down in a chair, where I wait patiently while the clock strikes midnight.

When the hour finally arrives, I stand and head back to my room. As soon as I step through the doorway, I feel a sudden chill run down my spine. Slowly, I turn around, expecting to see something terrible behind me. However, all I am greeted with is a dark shadow standing in the corner of the room.

“Hello?” I ask nervously. “Can you hear me?”

The figure doesn’t reply. It only stares at me silently, its face hidden beneath a hooded cloak. For several seconds, neither of us moves. Then, suddenly, the cloaked figure raises its hand towards me. With a loud clap, the wall beside me explodes, revealing a large hole. Before I can react, the creature leaps out of sight.

The End

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