A Halloween Diary
I had spent many a night in the old mansion; alone with echoes of its haunting past. Dry, cracking portraits, on stained (What were those troubling dark blotches?) peeling walls. Flaking frames glittering the carpets with scattering speckles of gold, as if each frantic particle was desperately seeking escape. Ringing sparkle from crystal chandeliers – unknown where entered that cold breeze, constant and unrelenting.
I walked the gloomy, oppressive halls; aware of restless dead pacing my every step. Cold hands and pale faces, invisible presence made apparent by the bleak nature of their tormented souls. My pace greatly slowed with trepidation. The hallway becoming evermore foreboding as I traveled deeper into the blankness, the air seeming sucked away from my panting lungs with every ensuing, forced footstep. Oh how I longed for the cheeriness of sunlight, an open field beaming with blossoms. My path blessed with fragrance, and the curious wings of butterflies unafraid of a stranger's harmless sojourn. But further into the dank throat of the mansion, I grew deathly aware of fiendish hunger, longing for a renewing taste of life – wanting my essence for its main-course.
The door at the end of hallway now seemed to grew smaller, as if I were getting larger or it moving off into greater distance. The oblong nature of the hallway morphing, becoming tube-like, winding with abrupt, murky turns. The clearness of the air deteriorating to a plasma of red, swirling hues. The surrounding walls pulsating, breathing in and out as though struggling against suffocation. Tiny, bright red bubbles obscuring my vision. They floated before me, around me, seeming to enter my mind by way of the veins in my bulging eyes. As the bubbles popped, my spirit automatically breathed in their extrusion of freshness, an atmosphere I and the entire mansion seemed jointly craving with mortal imperative. Some of the bubbles swelled to much greater size, hideously deformed beings trapped inside, each struggling vainly against its membrane enclosure, trying to puncture through, striking at the slimy interior surface to no discernible avail. Pleading countenances. Yet, strangely hopeful.
Outside, in the darkness, a white wolf moved closer to the dilapidated exterior. I had seen him before in the shadows, thinking him a scavenging predator. But now his presence crowded my frantic thoughts with kinship. I was aware of his struggle to enter, somehow come to my aid. From the rooftop, on the screen of my mind, I saw several stone gargoyles became grotesquely animate, leap into flight, and dive savagely toward the noble creature now frantically tearing at the front-door, attempting to splinter his way in. He howled for his pack, while desperately fighting off his attackers, huge talons and gaping, sword-like beaks tearing at him, unlike any threat he had faced in his heroic past. But instead of wolves, responding to his manic yelps, came hoards of creatures, witches and goblins, skeletons and all sorts of other maniacal beings, creeping from the surrounding gloom of darkness, onto the main walkway leading toward the mansion’s massive ingress.
Finally the wolf, shaking off his tormentors, took a tremendous leap, crashing through a huge stained-glass window, landing inside a lavishly decorated antique room. He immediately raced up the winding marble staircase to where I was fending for my life. Invisible forms had gotten hold of my arms and legs, and I was being carried helplessly off, deeper into the bleak hallway, what I realized now, was total oblivion at its end. In an attempt to help me, he leaped at the air circling me, growling ferociously, his jaws finding nothing solid to latch onto. When all seemed lost, the mood was paused by a loud knocking on the front door. The metal clapper reverberating throughout the entire dwelling. The creatures holding me fast let loose. With great effort I was able to right myself, and then stand firmly on my own. As my head further cleared, I recognized the white wolf at my side was no other than my long time companion Rex—a white German Shepard. Upon opening the door we were greeted by a roar of “Trick Or Treat”. Yes, it was Halloween. To my left on the mantle, next to a jar that read “Medical Marijuana” (Right, medical—a sigh relief) were bowls of candy I had set out earlier, for our neighborhood was exceedingly festive on this holiday. Still breathing heavily, sweating profusely, I handed out extra candy to each of my little ghoul visitors. I’m going back to scotch, I muttered under my breath, Rex nodding sagely.
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