The Corridor

The corridor was dark. Narrow. Too narrow. Too dark to see more than what was right in front of me. I could just make out the outline of objects scattered in my way, but not what they were. I did not want to know.
The floor was cement, a thin carpet running along the middle of it. The walls were slab. Cold. Wet.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Echoing. From somewhere. An insistent reminder. I did not want to move past the doorway.
Tiny scrabblings, buzzings, of cockroaches, flies, and worse. Bound to be spiders. Huge. Spinning webs the width of the human-less corridor.

Deep breath. My heart was not hammering: I did not have a heart.
I could feel my veins pulsing, throbbing.
Dripthrob… Dripthrob… Dripthrob
Slowly, cautiously, I put a foot forward. Crunch. Then the other. Crunch. Darkness, all darkness. I wanted to put my hand on the wall for reassurance. But there was no reassurance. I moved again, kept going. Manoeuvre around the unknown objects. Avert eyes, close eyes, don’t look. Don’t touch. Move with foot if I have to. Crunch crunch.
Dripthrob…. Dripthrob….. Dripthrob

Slimy, squelchy, crunchy, wisps of webs, dankness, darkness. Always darkness. Godless. Hades would not rule here. This belonged to the Nemesis of Bacchus; too much temptation for eternity, the joy burnt out aeons ago, indolence, carelessness, strength born only of anger and selfish indulgence… passion gone wrong. Anti-passion. The fruit of passion left to go rotten.

Squelchcrunch Dripthrob Squelchcrunch Dripthrob Squelchcrunch Dripthrob

The corridor ended. I sought for the door – here, on the left. Not even the door-lock gleamed. Gloom and dank sucking in every scrap. The door felt sticky. I used my foot. The door swung open, creaking. Lifelessness continued. Light – there at the far end. No panic. Just an abstract desire to not be here. A thought risen unbidden from the deep pit of the mind, the part that simply watches and observes its vehicle at work. This place was like that. Pit of the mind. Repressed past.

The light. Low wattage, but still light.
Pale unmoving bodies lay strewn around. Blank eyes followed me. I was at the back of the room.
I kneeled down. Bodies on either side, but enough space, enough not to touch. Barely. Moans issued from their mouths like banshees at torture.
I closed my eyes. Nonsensical sounds crescendo from pale, parted lips, faster faster, faster.
I spoke silently. Lips and mouth moving. Not vocal chords. Shudder, shudder. Racked by convulsions.
Moaning moaning screaming.
Shudder shudder.

I found my heart.
As I did every time I came here.
I found my heart.
And I left.

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  1. Chapter Excerpt: THEIBES HOUSE Book One of Keepers of the Ancient Tomes « Creative Musings of Ledia Runnels

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