House of Horrors
There are parts of my past that I just don’t feel like visiting.
Just the thought of doing so haunts me.
It’s pitch black in there with dim orbs of light sending shadowy silhouettes all over, and I feel like I’m trudging forward blindfolded. Unexpected puddles open up beneath me as I try to find my way in confusing corridors, and the ice cold water I’m soon sloshing in comes as a shock. The walls are slimy and repulsive and every nerve end gets activated, as I wait for something horrible to attack me.
Broken glass is everywhere. I need to watch my step.
The mirrors are all distorted and on every wall I see grotesque reflections of myself, and even though my guide keeps whispering that what I perceive is not real, but a distortion of what I really am, the hideous sight is right there and I want to shriek and escape and never face myself.
I can’t trust anything. I try to lean against a wall and before I know I’m spiraling down a slide leading to a trap door.
And there are so many skeletons here in this haunted house. Skeletons belong in closets, hidden, never to see the light of day. And here they are propped up in this murky light of darkness begging to be studied. Eeek.
Cobwebs lie low, and I soon find myself entangled in them as they settle over my brain, dulling my cells until I’m not sure how to clear my cloudy mind.
And I can never be sure what else is waiting for my in this murky haunted darkness.
Is it any wonder that I don’t want to visit?