I am wet and cold and in more than a fair share of pain. It is a long way from the gate to the front door of this place. The rain beats upon my skin. My clothes are dyed red but I can't tell if its from the rain or my blood.
I look up and see the door looming before me. Its carvings are demonically obscene. How could anyone build such a place? How could anyone live in it?
My left knee doesn't want to bend coming up the stairs of the porch. Succubi hold up the roof of the porch while winged cats balance the succubi on their heads. Blood slithers down wooden bodies. I am afraid of touching these winged, demonic females. I Knock on the door and count succubi as I wait, trying desperately to block the truths my touch has revealed.
I want to go home.
When the door doen't open I grit my teeth and knock again. I don't know how many times I do that but each time the impressions get more vague, more tolerable. My temper is flairs with each knock. Why don't they answer the door.
I finally test the door handle. It turns with the lightest pressure and I pull open the door. The hinges don't squeal.
The hall beyond the door is gloomy and darker than outside. I feel a cold wind seductively caress my cheeks inviting me into the room beyond. I step over the threshold and wonder if I will ever leave this place.
The door creaks as the swing closed behind me. I try to jump out of my skin when it slams shut. I am so scared and tired and alone.
I shuffle over to the old grandfather clock that stands in this hall and smile. The numbers on the face of the clock are represented by little skeletons forming roman numerals. Skeletal arms mark the time. I reach out and caress the glass cover of the clock.
I slump against the far wall and slide down the wall. Tears wash away blood from my face. This entrance hall is worse than anything else I have experienced today. I cry myself to sleep, no longer capable of facing the horrors of this day.
May 1, 1997
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