continued from last entry
Let’s try this again.
Last two times I got on here, I was halfway through typing a new entry when I got kicked out for smelling bad. But late last night I snuck into a condo, took a bath on their rooftop pool, and changed into fresh clothes I bought at the thrift store.
Getting right back to it: The house bled. Not like red human blood, but something else. I got it in my eyes when I chucked that axe into the ceiling. Went to the kitchen and wiped my eyes with a towel, and when I went back to the hall, a trap door had suddenly opened from the ceiling and a set of steps or stairs extended to the floor. Like I had a whole second level or something. I couldn’t see up past the threshold, not because of the angle but because it was so damn dark. At first I thought something black and large was just blocking the way up, but it wasn’t an object.
The smell was the most bizarre. A thick, heavy scent of sweets and baked goods that was trying desperately to drown out the stench of rotting meat. Made me queasy.
And I wanted to go up there. No, that’s not entirely true. I didn’t WANT to go, but at the same time I had this URGE to step up the stairs. Like that’s what happened next, I needed to keep going, maybe just poke my head in and look around in all that dark. I started arguing with myself about it and by the time I finally listened to the screaming in my head I was already two steps off the floor.
I turned and ran fast as I could for the front door. The whole house was making these weird noises overhead, and the walls crackled like I was on an old clipper ship out at sea. The knob on the door wouldn’t turn, and my hands were all sweaty by now.
I tried kicking at the goddamn thing but it was no use. The door would not open. Behind me I heard this loud sound, like a chorus of fat men sucking on their teeth. It came from somewhere in the middle of the house. I wasn’t going to try and get past the stairs to the sliding door in back. It was out the front or not at all.
I grabbed a chair from the little dining area and bashed it against the picture window that looked out on the front yard. Let me tell you, I swung that thing like the bases were loaded. I am no wimp. I once took down a guy a full foot taller than me outside a bar, and that was when I was a little tipsy. But damned if that window didn’t break.
Here’s what it did: It stretched. Like it was made of see-thru skin. That chair bounced back and cracked me in the skull, hard, and I was left bleeding from my scalp. A real gusher.
The carpet in the living room started swaying like it was grass in a breeze, and that smell started filling up the front half of the house, making me wonder why I didn’t walk up the stairs in the first place, making me think the best bet now was to go up and see if there was a way out from the attic, and it took some miracle for me to find my way to the kitchen with a bloody face, hands scrambling for that towel again.
What I found was a bread knife. Those serrated ones with the fork end. I made like I was going back to the living room, then dove at the window again, screaming like a banshee, and
And I fell right onto the porch outside. Was like the window just opened up ahead of me. That knife was Moses and the glass was the fucken Red Sea.
That’s how I remember it. Stone cold truth.
What really did the trick was what I found when I went back two days later.
Last two times I got on here, I was halfway through typing a new entry when I got kicked out for smelling bad. But late last night I snuck into a condo, took a bath on their rooftop pool, and changed into fresh clothes I bought at the thrift store.
Getting right back to it: The house bled. Not like red human blood, but something else. I got it in my eyes when I chucked that axe into the ceiling. Went to the kitchen and wiped my eyes with a towel, and when I went back to the hall, a trap door had suddenly opened from the ceiling and a set of steps or stairs extended to the floor. Like I had a whole second level or something. I couldn’t see up past the threshold, not because of the angle but because it was so damn dark. At first I thought something black and large was just blocking the way up, but it wasn’t an object.
The smell was the most bizarre. A thick, heavy scent of sweets and baked goods that was trying desperately to drown out the stench of rotting meat. Made me queasy.
And I wanted to go up there. No, that’s not entirely true. I didn’t WANT to go, but at the same time I had this URGE to step up the stairs. Like that’s what happened next, I needed to keep going, maybe just poke my head in and look around in all that dark. I started arguing with myself about it and by the time I finally listened to the screaming in my head I was already two steps off the floor.
I turned and ran fast as I could for the front door. The whole house was making these weird noises overhead, and the walls crackled like I was on an old clipper ship out at sea. The knob on the door wouldn’t turn, and my hands were all sweaty by now.
I tried kicking at the goddamn thing but it was no use. The door would not open. Behind me I heard this loud sound, like a chorus of fat men sucking on their teeth. It came from somewhere in the middle of the house. I wasn’t going to try and get past the stairs to the sliding door in back. It was out the front or not at all.
I grabbed a chair from the little dining area and bashed it against the picture window that looked out on the front yard. Let me tell you, I swung that thing like the bases were loaded. I am no wimp. I once took down a guy a full foot taller than me outside a bar, and that was when I was a little tipsy. But damned if that window didn’t break.
Here’s what it did: It stretched. Like it was made of see-thru skin. That chair bounced back and cracked me in the skull, hard, and I was left bleeding from my scalp. A real gusher.
The carpet in the living room started swaying like it was grass in a breeze, and that smell started filling up the front half of the house, making me wonder why I didn’t walk up the stairs in the first place, making me think the best bet now was to go up and see if there was a way out from the attic, and it took some miracle for me to find my way to the kitchen with a bloody face, hands scrambling for that towel again.
What I found was a bread knife. Those serrated ones with the fork end. I made like I was going back to the living room, then dove at the window again, screaming like a banshee, and
And I fell right onto the porch outside. Was like the window just opened up ahead of me. That knife was Moses and the glass was the fucken Red Sea.
That’s how I remember it. Stone cold truth.
What really did the trick was what I found when I went back two days later.