Wrongful Secrets

     Then with blood dripping from the blade, he carried the axe to the door.  He was careful to open it quietly.

     Mustn’t disturb the neighbors.

     The hallway was lined with inadequately spaced night lights.  The occasional glow of these scant lights gave an eerie quality to his path.  Shadow dominated light as he walked.

     It didn’t matter.  He didn’t need to see.  He cautiously made his way down the hall.

     It felt as if he had traversed this path before.  He just walked…very quietly.

     Mustn’t disturb the neighbors.

     Blood still dripped from the shiny blade.

     The beautiful stairway stretched out before him.  It was just where it was supposed to be.  He started to walk down the steps to the second floor.

     There was an old man on the stairs.  A farmer.  It didn’t bother him to see the old man.  He had seen him before.  Although it was the first time he’d ever seen that farmer without an axe in his hands.

     This time, he held the axe, as he walked downward….

     …Down to the second floor.

     The same dim, eerie lighting met him on this floor.  Still, he knew his way down the hall.  He walked slowly, with a deliberate stride.  He walked steadily to Room 8.

     He was still carrying the axe.  A few drops of blood still dripped from the blade.

     The blood dripped quietly.

     Mustn’t disturb the neighbors.

     Finally, he found himself standing in front of the door to Room 8.

     He reached out to the doorknob.  It felt cold in his hand.  It turned easily.

     Somehow, he was not surprised that the door was unlocked.

     He pushed the door open.  He entered the room.  As expected, everything was dark.

     He closed the door for privacy.  It was easy to find the bed.  The rooms were nearly identical.  Besides, this room seemed to have borrowed the same gaunt wisps of stark moonlight that had illuminated the bed in Room 29.

  &