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the color of her nightgoas light blue, allow Her toenails were painted ochre

And the house

At last, she stood in the woods, and the gloas coround beneath her feet now, earth, grass, stonesa path A little trail, heavily overgrown, that led to the door

Her feet hurt as she moved forward She could hear her own exclamation as she stepped on stones and cried out softly in pain Then, it seemed as if she first stood so at the thick, heavy old door

Before she realized she had taken a step, it suddenly loomed before her She was there She wasn’t certain she had coly, but she was there

The knob was cold in her hand as she reached for it Brass Rounded More than cold It was icy

The door seemed to move, to shudder inward, then outward, as if the house itself were breathing

Whispering

Co you

The voice of sanity in her mind called out with valiant, determined, effort No, no, no! It’s what they want you to do! Don’t go in, don’t go in

She stilled the voice, because there was another I have to go in I have to go in, and find out what is behind the door I have to go in for Jacques I have to go in, becausethe truth is within the housesoo in, because it’s only a dreahtly over the knob She twisted, pushed the door open, and the squeaking, creaking sound itacross a blackboard She could hear it so clearly

And then

Candlesoh, Lord! Candles burned everywhere They were tiny accents to the fire in the hearth that seemed to roar as loudly as the door had creaked The warh, it seemed that the breeze had followed her in, and she was chilled and warreen, yellow, gold, and intensely red The large fla to the breeze And all around her, the candles burned with flutters, leaps, and bows, as if they too danced to the sarotesques lined the hearth, sat upon the newel posts to the staircase at the end of the roo hallway that went off to the side, where the yellow light see shadow, not the warm darkness of safe sleep, but a shadow that wavered and played in strange shapes

She found herself walking toward it She paused, staring up at the archway A horned grotesque seemed to escape its inert stone boundaries and co down at her as sheShe looked up at it, and knew that it could not come down for her, yet neither did she dare come too close to it Fro, harsh, cackling laughter that was suddenly only a whisper, a sound that ht have been the breeze, or the dance of the firebut was not

But was not

She looked down The hardwood floors had been streoven runners in shades of criray Battle scenes were depicted Tartar ar them down in a frenzy of death As she walked, the characters beneath her feet seemed to come to life The victims shrieked and wailed

Blood curled beneath her toes

She looked up, and straight ahead The runner was playing with her, creating fear She had to look ahead, straight ahead The night was illusion, she thought The house was a house The gargoyles were fashioned of stone, and they did not hter Deeper than any whisper It became a pulse, a beat like a heartbeat A heart that beat too hard

The hallway beckoned

She walked

Doorways creaked open as she trod through the hall She heard the eerie creaking sound as they parted, as the little rays of evil light seemed to escape from each She came to the first It was barely ajar She didn’t want to look in, but she knew that she must If she didn’t look, it had made no sense that she had come

She had to do it She had to know There was truth here, somewhere

She pushed the door open

And she saw

There were bodiesbody partstorsos headsliether, as if drawn by unseen tendons or ligaer Let go, you’ve got my foot! That’s my hand! And then, one of the heads rolled to connect to a neck, and the lips ray, sexless face Give me what is mine! Give me what is mine!

The eyes of the creature suddenly locked upon Tara The lips began to ue ollen and black, and as itchin Why, Tara, you’ve cos I was never fat before, and I’ll not take his fleshy little knees when ht there where are my arms? I must have my arms

The better to hold you, my dear, the better to draw you to me I must have my hands, the better to touch you To stroke your neck What a lovely, lovely, neck

The thing was alled aardly across the roo a full body And the eyesthe eyes were still on her, the lips were still le" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true"></ins>