Going Down
an excerpt

Prologue
“Grandpa, tell us a story!” The little girl kicked her legs into the leaves like a pool of water, sending red and orange palms cascading down onto the cement sidewalk. Her brother launched himself forward like a diver and landed with a soft crunch! onto the cushion of leaves next to her.
“Yeah! Tell us a good one!” the boy spluttered, his hooded head buried somewhere under the leaves. “A new one with lots of action and adventure and not too much romance.”
“Let me see,” the old man said slowly and clearly, leaning on his rake. He admired the bravado in which his grandchildren upset his afternoon's work in less than a minute. But their smiles were worth it, so he did not chastise them, but kept raking absentmindedly. “What story haven't you heard yet? Have you heard the one with the prince and the dragon?”
“Yes, Grandpa,” the girl said, flipping onto her tummy without disturbing the regular kicking motion of her legs. She looked something like a dollop of whipped cream on the center of a pumpkin pie, squatting in a sea of orange and brown, fitted snugly in her puffy white coat. “We've heard that one a million times. We want a new one.”
“How about the one with the troll that fell in love with the cricket?”
“Heard it!” the boy piped up, shooting out from the leaves like an excited jack-in-the-box. “And also the one with the birds and the fishes. We want to hear a new story!”
“Yeah, a new story!”
The old man chuckled to himself quietly and scratched at the ground with his rake for a few seconds before responding. “Where am I supposed to come up with a new story when you've just about heard them all? What would you like me to make a story about next?”
“Tell us a real story!” the girl suggested, chin propped in her hands.
“A real story?”
“Yeah, tell us something that really happened,” the boy said, plopping next to his sister and poking his head in and out of the pile.
“I don't know about any magical creatures around here,” the old man said, holding his rake in mock reflection. “There haven't been any around in ages.”
“Not even in this whole big park?”
“There had to be some monsters in this park!”
“There were,” the grandfather said, his eyes falling to the ground once more as he swept back and forth. “Just not the sort of monsters you usually hear about in fairy tales.”
The girl stopped kicking her legs and the boy coughed out a few leaves he inhaled. “You mean there really were monsters? Here in the park?”
“Oh, yes,” the old man said, adopting a hushed tone despite himself. “All sorts of terrible things happened around here. Monsters worse even than the boogie man or the spiders that creep under your bed were involved.”
The siblings exchanged a meaningful look before returning to their grandfather.
“But wouldn't people notice a monster lurking around in a park like this?” the boy asked, leaning forward with rapt attention.
“These were no ordinary monsters,” the man explained. “They could walk undetected among ordinary people. And this place was not always a nice, open park.”
“Were you around when the monsters were here?”
The old man nodded. “Indeed I was.”
“What about Grandma?”
The old man stopped his work and stiffened. He paused for half a minute before carefully breathing “She was.” He lowered his head and continued his raking.

Chapter One: Ground Floor

1928

No more mirrors.
The dirt of ages past swirled and danced in moisture like a painting on the smooth glass surface. The dust had peacefully slept on the mirror for several, peaceful years before James intruded upon its slumber. His rag circled on the glass, trailing dripping streams of water down the mirror's face. When the glass had been washed completely, James swept the grime away with his squeegee, wiping off the grime with a towel after each swipe.
James reflected upon his countenance as he uncovered it portion by portion. He was used to washing clear windows, ones that revealed something laying beyond – an important looking board room, an office bustling with activity. On the outer surface glared clear images of the sky and the surrounding buildings, along with his own figure, rooted steadily on the scaffolding. He did not like watching himself stand precariously on the minute platform, rocking back and forth in the breeze. Watching like some spectator just waiting for a rogue gust to upset his world and send him tumbling down. Stretching and straining out of morbid curiosity to see a person become a non-person. Years of cleaning windows taught James to see the ephemeral middle world inside the glass. This hidden dimension was closer than the humdrum scrambling of humanity behind the glass but not as intruding as the reflections on the outside. It was clear and smooth and perfect. And it was James's duty to keep it that way.
But this middle world did not exist with mirrors.
Finished, James set the squeegee and rags into the empty pail before he unstopped the sink. He clutched the edge of the cool porcelain sink watched the dirty suds spiral down the drain. He tilted his head upward and gazed into his reflection's eyes. They looked like long, dark tunnels and he couldn't see the light on the other side. Dark tunnels he wanted desperately to escape from.
Not much longer he thought. Soon I will be free.
James straightened up and forced his gaze away from his own eyes. He distracted himself by looking at his hair, patting it down with his sweaty palms. He put on his blue cap and adjusted it until it was just right, and twitched the folds out of his collar. Wrinkles in his shirt were smoothed out meticulously. Crouching down carefully to avoid creating more creases in his trousers, James took hold of the empty pail and squeegee and slowly stood once more. He turned his back to the mirror and breathed deeply.
Soon it will all be over.
He walked resolutely to the bathroom door.
Here goes nothing.
He grasped the cold metal handle.
Or rather, he thought with a wry smile, here goes everything.
He pulled the door open and stepped into the brightly lit lobby.