Troll Chamber

         Based on the information gathered from the farthest corner of the kitchen where the phone was located, Elenore was able to reassure her suspicions of her father's intentions for her future. As she sat quietly against the wall separating the kitchen from the library, carefully hidden from her father's sight, Elenore put down her crayon and examined the results of her artwork. Perhaps her father was right; she never really understood things in a manner which satisfied the expectations of others. Although, in her defense, they were the ones who never understood her. Nobody seemed to appreciate the way the crayons would roll and slide across the hardwood, like little rainbow beetles. Everyone seemed to overlook the satisfaction attainable from rubbing one's fingertips against the waxy surface. Elenore's fascination would sustain her for hours, causing her family to assume a lack of creativity flowed between her ears. What occurred, in fact, was the complete opposite; a never-ending stream of thought occupied Elenore's imagination, filled with the over-exaggeration of the simplicity that surrounded her. The doorknob to her father's study was the multidimensional glass eyeball of a troll who criticized her courage, and whose mysterious dialect might have suggested a grand treasure beyond his guard. However, the treacherous dragon that protected the treasure from inside was easily irritated and stealth was a necessity (although not always enough) in order to reach the great treasure and divulge the wealth of its knowledge and rew-

The green crayon had disappeared. Elenore blinked out of her dreamland and looked around the floor, sweeping aside the piles of paper, the artistic results accumulated from since that morning. She bowed her head to the ground, cheek pressed against the wood; her eyes darted between the lower crevices of the bookshelves, crowded in the library like an uncomfortable family reunion at a funeral of a distant third cousin. She wouldn't have been able to turn on the light to get a better look, or else her father would surely notice and drag her back to her bedroom.
"No. There's nothing wrong with the other children."
Elenore lifted her head at the sound of her father's voice in the kitchen.
"Yes. Yes. Temporarily. Well she's the eldest. I know. Yes."
There was a faint glow from the in the kitchen that leaked into the library, giving Elenore minimal light in order for her to distinguish between her primaries. Her father's shadow emerged and darkened the doorway. Elenore inhaled stiffly.
"Ah. Yes. I'll have it ready within two weeks. Right. What time can I expect you to arrive? Yes. Well. Yes. I understand. The sooner the better."
The shadow disappeared back into the kitchen. Elenore exhaled silently. She pulled at her lip with her forefinger and thumb, deciding against her earlier plan for a forest concept as her next great work. The crayon would be waiting for her early next morning, before the household awoke. Elenore began deftly collecting the scattered papers.
"Elenore!"
Head bowed, Elenore slowly shrunk to the ground, seeking protection amongst its cold wooden boards. The same fear at being found by the dragon electrified her being. She suddenly experienced the sensation of being lifted from underneath her shoulders and fidgeted against her father's grip.
"You're. Suppose to. Be. In your. Bedroom," he grunted, trying to pull the scrambling girl up to her feet.
Elenore screamed. She flailed, kicking crayons against the shelves and walls. Struggling, she closed a fist around the coloured pages and cried out as her father pulled her across the kitchen.
"Please..." she sobbed, "Daddy, don't..."
"You know you're. Not allowed. In the library,"
"I love it there... take me back... Please, daddy..."
As they traveled up the stairs, her father took great care in the amount of space between Elenore's waving limbs and the tight confinements which accompanied the old fashioned stairway.
"It's full. Of old books. And. Dust. Not. Suitable for. A young. Girl,"
Finally, they reached the second floor and her father, with great difficultly, pulled the crying girl toward the end of the hallway to the last door on the left. The bright pages crumpled and torn in her hand.
"B-b-but I hate my room... I want to go back..."
Approaching the door, the father gave an exhausted sigh. For a girl of her age, Elenore possessed an unheard of amount of stamina, but at last she had yielded and finally collapsed against the opposite wall like a wet cloth doll. He searched in his pants pocket and inserted a well-used key into the lock; a faint clicking sound was heard from within the door and it swung open like the arm of an unenthusiastic host. Elenore's father turned back to her, the wrinkles around his eyes tense, and tenderly carried her limp body into the chamber. The coloured pages were forgotten in the hallway.

The telephone rings.
"Good morning, this is Mr. Williams speaking, what can I do you for? Oh. Yes. Hello. I'm well. Yes. I believe so. I'm putting them in her breakfast every morning as you suggested but there doesn't seem to be any developments. Well. I don't believe she is aware. Yes. Considering her current state that would be unlikely. Ah. Well. Yes. Well. I found her in the library last night. Yes. I know. Yes. She found the crayons. I don't know. I suppose she took them from one of the younger children. Well. I guess. Yes. You're probably right. Yes. But they're so young. Yes. I understand. You're right. This is the best I can do for her. I know. I know she'll be in the best care possible. Yes. Of course. If I have any I'll let you know. I will be seeing you tomorrow afternoon then. Yes. Nice hearing from you Mr. O'Connor. Right. Good-bye."

         There would be an unpredictable amount of time that would have to pass before Elenore would awake. The energy that was required for rebelling against her father's large hands had drained her and she would regret expelling it in the morning, when her younger siblings would rise from their beds and go about their morning routine. Forbidden to attend school, Elenore's playmates consisted of her brothers and sisters; they would chase each other around the kitchen with their socks on, slipping on the hardwood and shrieking with laughter until father scolded them for such dangerous behavior and insisted they get their on their wool coats or else they would surely be late for school. From behind the lattice curtains, Elenore would watch as her siblings leaped onto the golden bus that waited for them every morning. She always imagined they were little squires, going off on a fantastic journey of slaying dragons and saving princesses. When they children left Elenore's only company became her father, who confined Elenore to her bedroom during the day as he worked in his study, insisting he "required utmost silence". Ever since their mother had left them, father had committed himself to his career. He spent hours in his study, writing down articles for the paper the next day. Father said it was a rigorous task, keeping up with the news. He would often have gentlemen come by the house and they would exchange papers and folders. Elenore rarely saw them, now that she was to be locked in her bedroom when the children were at school; but she could hear them discussing things like politics and weather. Occasionally father would get a phone call from Mr. O'Connor. Elenore remembered the first time he came to the house. His white coat was long, and swallowed his fragile figure.
"Mr. Williams, your order has arrived," he said, avoiding Elenore's eye.
He had given father a glass jar filled with beige pills; they looked like capsules filled with sand.
"Twice a day, with food or drink,"
Father had nodded, giving Elenore a grave look that made the wrinkles around his eyes sag.
Elenore refused the pills. Father would wait until the children were gone before he would try to give them to her. Eventually, he gave up. Elenore stopped eating the meals he made for her.
So before the house awoke, Elenore would climb out the only window in her bedroom, shimmy down the pipeline and re-enter the house through her youngest brother's window, which he always left open for her at night. Giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead as she passed, she crept into the kitchen and stole into the cupboards and the pantry. Arms full of groceries, she would carry her load to her bedroom window and toss the food up into her room. After that, she would climb back up the pipeline and fall into room, exhausted from the amount of effort required to complete the task. Her thin figure would swiftly hoist itself up the pipe, but her lack of outdoor activities weakened her muscles, causing her strong will to become easily frustrated with its inability to push itself outside its limits. This, however, never occurred in her imagination; there, her strength matched that of the most ferocious sailor and she never lost an arm-wrestling match against even the fiercest octopus. Everything that existed in her reality was forgotten in the fantasy of her mind; the walls were majestic and guarded by great marble pillars, as opposed to the moldy cushions of which she was all too familiar. The capes were studded with the finest crystals and the suits of armor gleamed in the sunlight, for nobody had even heard of a confinement jacket.