October 28th, 2009
The man withdrew a step in seeming reverence as something was emerging from the hole. The thing was an earthworm; it fell ungracefully to the floor, and the man collapsed, nose to the worm, watching its unremarkable contortions. In other circumstances one might have found more spectacle in the unsheathing of a blade of grass, yet there in that dark room the scene was a revelation.
I heard the doorknob turn and fled into a corner of the room. The same old fellow who had let me into my suite entered and closed the door quietly behind. He studied the projection for a few interminable minutes then appearing satisfied, exited the room. I stood in paralysis, wanting to leave but wholly unable. I regretted the whole affair. At last I pulled my wits together and made for the door.
The helpless man in the adjacent room wailed in abject terror: I looked and saw that he had bit away half his prize, half his beloved worm. He howled and raged as though he had destroyed himself. I groped with new urgency for the handle and finding it stumbled blindly out of the room. Possessed by trepidation I bolted down the corridor and made the desperate choice of another door. Here was a spiral stair of well-worn marble; I closed the door behind – all was quiet and dim.
I mounted the steps, winding my way upwards. I soon noticed an unusual feature of the stairs: with each step the central post seemed to rotate by a few degrees. I gained the top and found there a small circular room with few features other than a narrow window with a fixed view of the cold and starlit sea. When I started back down the stairs the center post no longer moved; a terrible notion entered my brain. I flew to the bottom and found my fears confirmed: it was not the center post that had turned but the stairs themselves and now the door was sealed away. By my own folly I had found my proper room: a place where I might live out my days learning to marvel at worms.
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October 21st, 2009
A faint light emanated from the other side of the room. There to my trepidation I saw the body of a willowy man. He appeared thrown into the far corner, his head pressed against the wall at an odd angle. I supposed I was looking at a corpse, but then the rumpled figure shifted and gave me a violent start. However, I had noticed something peculiar: his stirrings had not produced even a whisper of sound.
I realized then that what appeared before me was only the ingenious projection of an adjacent room; I was in the remarkable chamber of a camera obscura. Remembering then to breathe, my fascination returned to the man: his jaw was set at a tight, mad slant; his troubled white eyes, though unfocused, burned at something.
After a time his dry lips parted from his broken teeth and I imagined him producing some kind of awful moan, but again no sound passed the walls. He then entertained himself by waggling his fingers before his own eyes, fascinated, watching them go like a passive witness and wearing a sickly smile. I sat down on the floor and covered my mouth – I could watch him forever.
A tiny door in his chamber drew back. When this pathetic man finally noticed it he clutched his face and fell over. The walls were not enough to contain his hideous squeal. Trembling, he threw himself awkwardly at the little door, poking his finger in the hole, the ruin of his mouth hung open in manic pleasure. This was perhaps the greatest moment of his life.
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October 14th, 2009
I tiptoed past a succession of rather common doors that I supposed were other suites like mine. At the end of the corridor I happily found a more inviting portal: painted green and adorned in bronze. I held the knob tightly and turned it ever so carefully, like the minute hand of a clock; feeling the latch relax, I eased it open a finger’s width.
I perceived a long hall, with high casements that framed the dimming sky. At first I heard only the susurration of my pulse, but this was soon stifled by the sound of singing: quiet, pained words in a foreign tongue. An ominous, heavy scraping punctuated the song and returned at regular intervals. Though the sound grew closer my violent curiosity held the door.
The singer appeared in the half-light: a little girl in a wine-coloured dress and pinafore. She drew something ungainly behind her by a rope: the broken head of a marble statue depicting a grotesque old man, his face contorted with despair. After singing each measure she collected her strength and dragged the stone another step.
I entirely forgot myself, slammed shut the green door with the bronze adornments, and paced quickly back down the corridor. Soon I realized that I had lost my suite among the succession of damnably plain doors – I was motivated to guess. The one I tried was not my suite, but the room was darkish and hearing no stir within I slipped inside, easing the door closed behind me. I turned then and bore witness to the most bizarre thing I have ever encountered in my life.
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October 7th, 2009
The old man showed me to my suite; I brushed past, eager to inspect the accommodations. I stepped into an elegant parlor: the walls were green with mahogany features, glass cabinets, bookcases abounding with romance and adventure. The room was furnished with a pair of finely upholstered reading chairs and an attractive end table, also mahogany. Upon the end table stood a blushing lamp of warmly tinctured glass and a polished backgammon board inlaid with mother of pearl.
The bedchamber was no less fine: rib-vaulted with brass ornaments and a cream bed under a canopy of vaporous fabric. Opposite the bed loomed a stately Victorian window with a view of the gray and melancholic sea. A Windsor clock tended the corner, amusing the room with its tick-tock rambling. “The Viscount asks that you confine yourself to chambers, Lady,” the old man said quietly before taking his leave.
I heard an ominous note in the request and fancied myself in a murder mystery. I dropped my valise and slayed myself into bed, my expressionless eyes gazed out at the gray and melancholic sea as I exhaled a death-rattle. Writhing and wriggling in the silk sheets, I relished my luck, and falling out of bed, jogged gaily back and forth between the rooms until winded.
Taking an inventory of the countless books in the parlor I laid In the South Seas on the floor and manned it with white backgammon pieces. They sailed across the floor failing to notice the Kidnapped bearing down upon them. As it came alongside black checkers stormed the decks putting crew to sword and pitching the bodies overboard. The nefarious black pieces cheered, but their celebrations were premature – they had neglected a single white piece. This last worthy collected himself then staged a valiant retaking of the book, banishing the black pieces to the abyss. Inspired by the heroics of the white piece I quit my suite at once.
…
