church today.”
I ate my sandwich in the kitchen. The rosemary bun was buttered and toasted, the Rockfish peppered and lemony. I wadded the grease paper into the trash and dipped my wrinkled hands into another bucket. Cobwebs covered the wainscoting so I swept the black iron grills, bench, and windowsills before mopping the hall, living and dining room. When I opened the cupboard gnats swarmed like pepper-black lentigines. The bathroom was equally vile, a broken toilet leaking into the subfloor.
I worked until dark, rolling the trash out onto the parking strip. Flurries licked rooftops clean of glistening sheens of freezing rain. I returned to the kitchen and got a brown paper sack.
All that remained was the basement.
The light bulb swayed over the basement landing. The pattern was no longer visible. I set the sack on the floor and unplugged the power cord, placing a fan at the base of the stairs. I reset the pump, checked the hose, and began to sweep the floor.
The broom caught the door under the flue.
“Idiot. Door’s right here.”
I swept, keeping an eye on the door.
“Damned House is falling apart.”
The floor was caked. I got a can of aerosol baking soda and powdered the drywall. Mold dissolved into gray bands, the deteriorated foundation a moldy plunge pool of agar and soot. I set the can down and wiped my hands. The Mephistophelean House was finished except for one place.
The door under the flue was moldered in cobwebs.
I palmed the knob.
“Hello?”
The inner, windowless chamber was utterly dark.
I opened the circuit panel. All the circuits were on, except #16 and #17. I flicked #16. Nothing happened. I tried again. The switch had no effect.
“Hmmm. Must be something upstairs.”
I flicked #17. A light bulb hung on a wire inside the windowless chamber. It was dark so I pulled a box of light bulbs from the sack and found a socket on a line.
The bulb didn’t light.
I tried another.
It was no good.
It was impenetrably dim. A second iron line ran parallel the first. I snatched another bulb from the box but it rang dead. I fit a third bulb in the socket, but it did not light.
The cinderblock fell over.
I looked behind my shoulder.
There was something on the line.
I fumbled another bulb, but it, like the others, did not light. The single working bulb distorted the dimensions of the room. I glanced one final socket, desperate it was true and the line had power.
The element caught.
It was as bright as day.
The windowless chamber was pockmarked in marl and gley. Double ringed upside-down stars paralleled symbols, numbers and bars under a bursiform blackletter X and a bright freshly painted pink circle.
“X marks the spot.”
A third bulb illuminated the windowless chamber. It was long and fell. The air was full of cinders. I went over and inspected the items on a shelf, god's pennies, a holy water sprinkler, a porcelain angel. The porcelain angel was missing its eyes.
The dumbwaiter was empty. Rungs of a ladder led up the dark shaft.
“I was right. There is a way up to the attic.”
For a flooded basement, the windowless chamber was exceptionally wired. I wondered what it had been used for, what the upside-down numbers meant. The foamy pink circle was a void star. The black X was a field of scalars. As I pondered the black X and pink circle I hardly noticed the light bulbs fading, thinking perhaps there had been something there, hanging on the wall, something you couldn’t take your eyes off, and though the light bulbs muddied, giving off the light of two, then one, then hardly any light at all, I gazed into the black X and pink circle, the wall overlapping, lights out, the black X and pink circle one continuous, nonterminating figure.
I stood in the windowless chamber though it would have been difficult to call myself me.
There was a red box.
Inside was a mirror.
When I looked in the mirror, I saw something I wasn't supposed to see.
Chapter 3
The Sickness
It snowed
I ate my sandwich in the kitchen. The rosemary bun was buttered and toasted, the Rockfish peppered and lemony. I wadded the grease paper into the trash and dipped my wrinkled hands into another bucket. Cobwebs covered the wainscoting so I swept the black iron grills, bench, and windowsills before mopping the hall, living and dining room. When I opened the cupboard gnats swarmed like pepper-black lentigines. The bathroom was equally vile, a broken toilet leaking into the subfloor.
I worked until dark, rolling the trash out onto the parking strip. Flurries licked rooftops clean of glistening sheens of freezing rain. I returned to the kitchen and got a brown paper sack.
All that remained was the basement.
The light bulb swayed over the basement landing. The pattern was no longer visible. I set the sack on the floor and unplugged the power cord, placing a fan at the base of the stairs. I reset the pump, checked the hose, and began to sweep the floor.
The broom caught the door under the flue.
“Idiot. Door’s right here.”
I swept, keeping an eye on the door.
“Damned House is falling apart.”
The floor was caked. I got a can of aerosol baking soda and powdered the drywall. Mold dissolved into gray bands, the deteriorated foundation a moldy plunge pool of agar and soot. I set the can down and wiped my hands. The Mephistophelean House was finished except for one place.
The door under the flue was moldered in cobwebs.
I palmed the knob.
“Hello?”
The inner, windowless chamber was utterly dark.
I opened the circuit panel. All the circuits were on, except #16 and #17. I flicked #16. Nothing happened. I tried again. The switch had no effect.
“Hmmm. Must be something upstairs.”
I flicked #17. A light bulb hung on a wire inside the windowless chamber. It was dark so I pulled a box of light bulbs from the sack and found a socket on a line.
The bulb didn’t light.
I tried another.
It was no good.
It was impenetrably dim. A second iron line ran parallel the first. I snatched another bulb from the box but it rang dead. I fit a third bulb in the socket, but it did not light.
The cinderblock fell over.
I looked behind my shoulder.
There was something on the line.
I fumbled another bulb, but it, like the others, did not light. The single working bulb distorted the dimensions of the room. I glanced one final socket, desperate it was true and the line had power.
The element caught.
It was as bright as day.
The windowless chamber was pockmarked in marl and gley. Double ringed upside-down stars paralleled symbols, numbers and bars under a bursiform blackletter X and a bright freshly painted pink circle.
“X marks the spot.”
A third bulb illuminated the windowless chamber. It was long and fell. The air was full of cinders. I went over and inspected the items on a shelf, god's pennies, a holy water sprinkler, a porcelain angel. The porcelain angel was missing its eyes.
The dumbwaiter was empty. Rungs of a ladder led up the dark shaft.
“I was right. There is a way up to the attic.”
For a flooded basement, the windowless chamber was exceptionally wired. I wondered what it had been used for, what the upside-down numbers meant. The foamy pink circle was a void star. The black X was a field of scalars. As I pondered the black X and pink circle I hardly noticed the light bulbs fading, thinking perhaps there had been something there, hanging on the wall, something you couldn’t take your eyes off, and though the light bulbs muddied, giving off the light of two, then one, then hardly any light at all, I gazed into the black X and pink circle, the wall overlapping, lights out, the black X and pink circle one continuous, nonterminating figure.
I stood in the windowless chamber though it would have been difficult to call myself me.
There was a red box.
Inside was a mirror.
When I looked in the mirror, I saw something I wasn't supposed to see.
Chapter 3
The Sickness
It snowed
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