"She climbs out from her dream with lungs hardly as she screams stereo scream..."
The man and woman are behind me, pushing me wide-eyed and bewildered through rooms. My waking self feels accosted by the sudden influx of images and chatter, my dream-self is urgently trying to remember everything, slowly they settle into one self. I am trying to remember what these people tell me, I know it will be important later on, but I am still in shock from being here. Sometime in my recent dream-past I was brought here, to this large breezy Cape Cod house, to be institutionalized.
I am gawking too long at a white vase; the lady strides in front of me and pulls my hand impatiently. She leads me through the doorway, into a small connecting room that is purple. Before me is a wall. The lady turns right, into the next room. There is a click behind me, and I turn to find the door I passed through closed, with the man on the other side. Another click, and I twirl quickly to find the woman has closed her door too. The doors are royal purple like the wall, with thin gold borders and moulding. I note there are no doorknobs, and the locks themselves are small raised bumps with small indented glyphs on them. My throat feels tight, my breath quickens. I push, but neither door moves. I rap with my knuckles, then slam with the heels of my hands, one on each door. Panic is setting in, and I continually glance over my shoulder towards the open room behind me. It becomes shadowed; He is there. The Waster. I do not see him, could not have ever seen him, but I know him in my mind's eye. He reminds me of the creature from Spirited Away that eats everything, or the demon from Princess Mononoke - amorphous, bloated, vile. He looks slimy, but I know his skin is smooth and dry to the touch, like black latex covering his entire body and all 6 arms and hands, everything except his face, which is a frozen white mask of polite and contained glee. This is the most frightening aspect of all.
He corners me in the small room. I have turned to face him, but paw furiously at the door behind me, feeling the glyph, hoping desperately for a hidden latch. He does not touch me, only points back down the hallway from whence he came, beyond the white porcelain and gold fixtures of the bathroom to rooms I am not supposed to know. I shrink back - oh please, don't make me want that forbidden knowledge. Don't make me desire that unknown. The longer we stand there, the more certain I become that he will lead me into the temptation of curiosity.
Then I will be damned.
I am gawking too long at a white vase; the lady strides in front of me and pulls my hand impatiently. She leads me through the doorway, into a small connecting room that is purple. Before me is a wall. The lady turns right, into the next room. There is a click behind me, and I turn to find the door I passed through closed, with the man on the other side. Another click, and I twirl quickly to find the woman has closed her door too. The doors are royal purple like the wall, with thin gold borders and moulding. I note there are no doorknobs, and the locks themselves are small raised bumps with small indented glyphs on them. My throat feels tight, my breath quickens. I push, but neither door moves. I rap with my knuckles, then slam with the heels of my hands, one on each door. Panic is setting in, and I continually glance over my shoulder towards the open room behind me. It becomes shadowed; He is there. The Waster. I do not see him, could not have ever seen him, but I know him in my mind's eye. He reminds me of the creature from Spirited Away that eats everything, or the demon from Princess Mononoke - amorphous, bloated, vile. He looks slimy, but I know his skin is smooth and dry to the touch, like black latex covering his entire body and all 6 arms and hands, everything except his face, which is a frozen white mask of polite and contained glee. This is the most frightening aspect of all.
He corners me in the small room. I have turned to face him, but paw furiously at the door behind me, feeling the glyph, hoping desperately for a hidden latch. He does not touch me, only points back down the hallway from whence he came, beyond the white porcelain and gold fixtures of the bathroom to rooms I am not supposed to know. I shrink back - oh please, don't make me want that forbidden knowledge. Don't make me desire that unknown. The longer we stand there, the more certain I become that he will lead me into the temptation of curiosity.
Then I will be damned.