Honey and The Intimidating It: Chapter 2

Things were evidently not as they were just a second before. For one, little Honey no longer had in her possession the books by literary greats, or the freshly buttered honey sandwich given to her by her dear Mother. Furthermore, excuse the very overused saying, she was definitely NOT in Kansas anymore. Honey wasn’t even in the United States, or (as she gathered her bearings she came to this conclusion) quite possibly – planet Earth itself. Whatever place, or time, or dimension, or faraway land Katch had abruptly swept her off to was without a sliver of a doubt NOT of Honey’s own world.

At first, it seemed difficult for her eyes and feet and senses to make sense of where it was she was -or wasn’t as the case could have been. She wasn’t certain. Just like the confused, and hungry child wasn’t certain why, out of all the unremarkable specimens, it had to fall her to be the unwilling participant in this It’s agenda. Whatever that was. Honey was so preoccupied with her own questions that she paid no attention to Katch skulking off in to the shadows behind her. When she turned around to interrogate the It, Honey found herself staring at something far more shocking and awe-inspiring than the It was able to muster. The frame was nothing extraordinary, made of some sort of polished metal (Honey was never too fond of Chemistry). It wasn’t even worth noting the absence of a suitable vertical surface for which to hang such an object. The life-size, framed portrait just hung there, off its own accord, as if it wished to introduce itself as a living, breathing, feeling… thing. Everything about the picture was remarkable. The lips turned up at the right corner. The hair, gold like honey, was parted in just the right place. This Honey was even wearing the same gun-metal grey school dress and the accompanying black lace up shoes. The only difference between her portrait, and herself, was the painting looked quite pleased with itself, whereas real Honey wore a look of increased displeasure and confusion.

‘This is all too much for one morning,’ Honey said aloud breaking the eerie silence. ‘Katch, I demand you come back at once and take me home!’ She hoped holding a firm tone would cause the It to come out of hiding and admit defeat in his absurd quest. Alas, no It came, and the silence continued. Honey scowled, and tapped her foot on the dull, bright blue tiled floor. The darkness shrouded her with such ferocity that Honey believed it was closing in her inch by inch. Little did she know at the time, the darkness was doing just that. From every corner, smothering the dull blue tiles, ever so slightly. Honey slumped to the floor, burying her hands in her face, and sobbed. She was not one to sob frequently.

The last time this had occurred was during the carnival day at her school. She attempted the long jump event, not in an attempt to win at something (sport was never Honey’s calling) – rather in an attempt to win the heart of the dreamy Colin Stubbs. He was a year older, and he was on raking duty. Colin raked the sand flat after a very dismal effort by Cornelia Jameson, and motioned for Honey to approach her starting position. Honey smiled sheepishly at him, her heart beating more rapidly with every passing second. The shrill sound of a whistle came to her ears, and off she shot. She ran faster than she ever thought her little legs could manage, determination to succeed at long jump and gaining the attention of Stubbs the only things on her mind. She glanced over one last time at Colin, just before launching herself with all her might in to the air. Well, that was the intention. Her left foot, poised to lead her body to victory, stepped on a lace that had come loose on her right running shoe.

It all happened in a sickening slow motion, as these happenings tend to do. Both Honey’s legs snapped straight instead of bending at the launch mark, sending Honey’s face and her flailing hands straight in to Colin’s freshly raked sand. Honey, although unharmed, did not want to remove her face from its shallow sand grave. She wanted to lie there until everyone left and she could leave with her dignity in tact. Honey hoped that by burying her head in her face and sobbing, that all the peculiarities that had followed her that morning would simply disappear and she would once again find herself with her sandwich and books, on her way to school.

‘It’s no use you sobbing like a baby,’ came an instantly familiar voice. ‘It serves no purpose in this place but to give you red eyes and a swollen schnoz.’ Honey looked up to where the voice, her voice, was coming from; unless she had indeed gone absolutely mad – it was the Honey portrait speaking. Real Honey was FED UP. She stomped to her feet, walked up to Honey the portrait and poked her square in the chest. Portrait Honey gasped. ‘Now you listen, you, you… ME,’ Honey snapped, visibly irritated at the whole thing. ‘You have no idea the sorts of things I’ve been through in a very short amount of time. Now would you please lend me some sort of assistance, or at the very least – tell me where I am?!’ Portrait Honey returned to her ‘pleased with herself’ expression, and looked through Real Honey to the blackness which was now lapping at the girl’s heels. ‘You’re in the same place I am, Honey,’ Portrait Honey hummed cryptically. ‘And unless you want to die of ingesting too much of that hideous dark gunk, I suggest you take my hand and step on through.’

This comment alerted Real Honey to her now dire predicament. Portrait Honey was right, the darkness was now up past her ankles, and had swallowed the blue tiles completely. Real Honey looked up at the outstretched hand that was hers, and grasped it firmly, feeling it odd to do so. With a swift tug, both Honeys were catapulted in to the depths of the peculiar portrait, now lost forever in the murky darkness.

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