Looking for Answers (and coming up short)

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Looking for Answers (and coming up short)
Topic Started: Mar 10 2007, 11:01 AM (191 Views)
Magpie	Mar 10 2007, 11:01 AM Post #1
Member Posts: 22 Group: Guest Lodger Member #11 Joined: November 29, 2006	‘What the fk’s going on?’ I snap testily at the tom as he preens his arse intently in front of me. ‘Now, now, there’s no need for that sort of language, Miss’, he replies indignantly continuing with his bathing. ‘Look, can you stop that!’ I bite back, trying hard to keep cool. ‘How the hell did I get back here? And how come my bedroom, is there’, I say half-turning pointing an accusatory arm behind me, as if he had something to do with this impossibility. ‘What the F’, I mouth silently as I glare at a dimly lit hallway, where not a few seconds before stood my sanctuary of sleep. ‘Please! Really, Miss Magpie! I must protest at the vulgarity of your speech’, the tom retorts with a scolding tone, finished with his cleaning sitting statuesque-like on the Oriental rug. I feel as if I’m captured in a viscous fluid as I turn back to face the tom. ‘I feel like I’m insane’, I mumble with a hollow laughter that could easily become a torrent of tears. I squat down and rub my palm across my forehead at the confusion of it all. The tom chuckles lightheartedly as if he’s seen it all before and regally pads towards me with what looks like a glimmer of pity in those emerald eyes. And reaching his target (me) he begins with a hard pressure, to smooth my knees- from the tip of his ginger chin to just above his jaw line- tagging me with his musty scent in case I flee, again. Obviously pleased with his work he places himself fastidiously in front of me. ‘Welcome to Crooked House my dear’, he proudly states. ‘May I offer you a drink?’ I try not to burst into hysterical laughter at the offer, my thirst being the last thing on my mind. ‘Now, let me think. A drink…Would I like a drink? Yeah, got a bucket of brandy? I retort acerbically. ‘Even though I’ve been transported to the acid-heads version of Narnia, where wardrobes suck you in and spit you out, and bedrooms disappear and…?’ I add trying to stifle the hysterical derision in my voice. Now feeling as mad as a bag of enraged badgers on smack, I try to keep my near lunacy from spilling free by clamping my hand over my mouth. ‘This is a right mind f::k isn’t it?’ I snort through my fingers. ‘And you’re offering me a welcome drink? Got any nibbles to go with that? Or better still got any answers, Mr. Tom?’ I add accentuating the Mr. Tom as if goading him for a response. I sense that he knows more than he’s letting on. With an impatient flick of his tail (I think I’ve offended him), he walks out into the shadowy corridor making absolutely sure I see his puckered posterior and on seeing this, I have to stifle the urge, yet again, to spurt with laughter at his antics. ‘I seem to have offended his delicate sensibilities’, I shrug to myself, not really caring if I had. I rise clasping my hands behind my back, feeling as if I’m in the first giggling stages of drunkenness; where you can’t resist being stupid. And stomp like a stroppy child trying to vex its parents onto the hallway’s grand Indian carpet after my feline guide. ‘Keep that sense of humor, Miss Magpie. It’ll serve you well in here’, he remarks with surprisingly sudden seriousness to his tone. And glancing back at me with sharpness in his eyes I feel as if I’m an adolescent receiving a penultimate warning. Strolling together, feeling thoroughly reprimanded, I decide to stifle any more childish antics. And not wanting to offend my only guide to this fun house further, I follow him silently through the murky hallway. Looking around, (letting my curiosity take over the hysterics and shock of earlier) I discern that the red faded walls seem to shimmer as if a mirage before a wary desert traveler. I feel, albeit ever so slightly, that this house is in perpetual motion; not like looking from a speeding car window but more like a gentle breathing as if resting your head upon someone’s chest as they slept. A sensation I have never experienced in a house before, and let me tell you I’ve been in a few. As we progress slowly, as if viewing pieces in the Tate, I observe many a curio and oddment- in particular a large aspidistra growing unbound from a large, blue design Ming vase- I must be a fake I mused to myself briefly but then again… My train of thoughts trails off as I move towards the tom who is balanced perfectly a top of a small, twisted legged table, arranging himself nobly so that his tail curls about is paws; he doesn’t disturb the precariously placed ashtray brimming with the contents of a hearty smoker. The tom indicates with a small nod and a blink of his eyes that this is a point of interest. Dropping my hands to my sides I step closer to the well-worn wooden door and get a twinge of something familiar; as if something is trying to worm its way from the back of my mind to push through the miasma of forgotten memories. Examining the door closer I can just make out the etchings surrounding the frame. The seemingly random twists and scores cover the entire inner-frame and the floor beneath it. - Sigils? - I’ve seen some of these before but the recognition goes no deeper than that. Stepping back a little to gain some perspective, hoping a different angle might snap those memories into action, I’m temporarily distracted by a faint aroma that passes across my nostrils… Sage and…I inhale deeper to identify the second more flowery odor…lavender… Letting my nose be the guide, I look down at the bottom of the door to see slight wisps of smoke curling up through the slit beneath the door; its brown tinged milky appearance is reminiscent of bonfire smoke. Puzzled but unconcerned by the potential hazard, I disregard it as I feel drawn to touch some of the strange markings that adorn the frame, and as if in a dream I trace my fingers around a deeply gouged mark to my left. ‘Navajo’, I exclaim to myself in hazy remembrance, and with a sharp intake of breath withdraw my hand as a splinter finds its way into flesh of my forefinger. I mutter to myself as I root deep with my teeth to extract this inconvenient shard and start to realize… ‘I know this room’, I assert with an unsure confidence. ‘I dreamt about it’. ‘Indeed, Miss’, the tom replies sagely, flicking his tail to fan the quickly thickening smoke from his face. ‘But the current occupier is not the one’. And as the smoke rises in thick plumes around us as we speak, I’m jolted by a visual memory of a dream catcher, huge and covering one wall, in what I believe is inside that room. I close my eyes to strengthen the image but as I do so it is veiled again like clouds over a full moon. ‘Sht!’, I curse in frustration ‘ I nearly had it’. Stamping my foot in a manner I had not done since I was 4. As the smoke is now gathering in thickness and threatening to engulf the hall, the tom alights his lofty perch and circles behind me as I struggle with the memory of this room. Taking in a deep lungful of the sweet smoke, to remember where the scent came from, I grasp at my larynx as a cool, burning sensation sees me spluttering for breath. I heave my chest to try to inhale some clear air and a searing pain (or is that a memory of pain) permeates my temples. I open my eyes wide choking on the fogbank of smoke that surrounds me, clutching my throat and head. … Another memory interjects, this time a feeling of panic, of wanting to escape. Reeling from the claustrophobic memory and almost bent double from the burning sensation that clutches my head, I feel the urge to look up. Through the smog. I can just make out that the door seems to bow inwards as if a vortex is sucking in to its core. Instinctively I take a step back; I assume the tom has already retreated to safety- a nearby grandfather clock seems the mostly likely place- A texture of fear now lies thickly in my guts; I feel like a snake caught in a bush fire. ‘Diya’, I scream in a deep sonic tone at the door, which now threatens to rend itself inwards. And staggering back from the force of my voice, not knowing what I’ve said, I watch in amazement as the hallway suddenly returns to normal. It’s as if someone has flicked a switch. There’s no smoke, no bowing door and no pain. I slide down the adjacent wall with a sigh of relief. My arms hung over my bent knees eyeing the door with suspicion, I turn to the tom, who has appeared as if from nowhere to sit calmly at my side, ‘Ok, so that was…Unusual…’ I say as if talking myself through furniture assembly instructions. ‘That room seems familiar’, I continue still somewhat shaken. ‘I get the feeling I’ve been there before?’ I state uncertainly, hoping for answer from my feline guide. ‘It’s because you have’, he states plainly in between grooming a paw. ‘Thanks, Mr. Crypto’, I retort with a snort of laughter but still keeping one eye on the door. The scent of smoke still etched inside my nostrils, I take a moment to gather myself. But something more uncomfortable than the choking smoke stirs deep inside my mind and I get the feeling that on this little excursion of ours I’m going to find out just what it is. Distracting me from my procrastination the warm wet nose of the tom nudges my hand as if to indicate ‘the shows over, time to move on’. I watch (my eyes not even slightly stinging) as the tom, tail aloft, as if everything is going to some preordained plan, trots off jauntily down the hallway. ‘Oh, so there’s more to see is there?’ I call after him, already knowing the answer would be yes.



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