by Bob'n Around
Invisible matters of the mind turned real into the written word.
|Welcome. This is not an easy place to find, yet you prevailed. The cavernous expanse is a private museum of sorts, a celebration of the history of horror.
Uncle was a devotee with exacting standards. His personal favorite was ‘The Pit And The Pendulum’ brought forth from Edgar Allen Poe fame. There is something about the swing and flash of the scythe passing ever closer over a victim’s center mass that evokes a timeless picture of imminent doom, does it not?
A contender of my own is ‘The Man In The Iron Mask’ as provided by Alexandre Dumas. To wear such an apparatus for years, prisoned in relative silence and isolation and still remain sane would be a difficult task, indeed. Experiment has revealed it is not easy.
No, I read the question in your eyes. Uncle was not a fanciful man chained to literature. He remained bound to history more than not. The implements of torture used during the famed Spanish Inquisition, the screw, rack, so many heavenly devices find their places here with devotion.
Yes, you will notice tribute to the true Count Dracula. The man who drank the blood of his enemies impaled on tall spikes along the roadsides way to his castle, to warn others transgressing his land’s boundaries of a similar fate. It is said a whole army of attack disbanded and fled when facing a thousand screaming, wiggling, living remains pleading for death who were posted for review.
Such savagery turned him into a hero with his previously war torn populace. Kindred spirits in heart, I am sure. Enough of speech. You have not come for that. Being a writer of some wishful acclaim in this genre, let me introduce you to ‘The Red Room’, an inspiration to your craft. You will be staying here to break whatever writer’s block prevents the opus from erupting inside you.
Certain preparations have been made for your stay. You will experience each of the other rooms either directly or by way of observation witnessing how they work. The only requirement is that when you recover, you put pen to paper. We provide the blood as ink. It may be some of your own prized possession recovered from an excited state. The task of creation is demanding.
Fear is an excellent and time proven motivation. All earthly limits of imagination fall away at its entrance. The likes of the mass murderer, Theodore Bundy, with his willingly charmed victims is instructive. You, a visitor to this realm, will carry on my Uncle’s passion. Here we are. Let me unlock the door. The Red Room.
Surprisingly bare at the moment. Sleeping on rock and drinking from this trickling ice cold stream is enough. You have just moved in. You will be seeing blood red soon filling your vision, both when asleep or awake. That is the sign you are onto something. The hollowed out space yields only it’s ceiling and floor of long toothed stalagmites and stalactites. They await your command to be fashioned according to your taste. I look forward to your addition to our other rooms of state.
What would the act of writing be if it were all tell instead of show? Pity, No famous scrawled manuscript that. A rock to sit upon, another slightly larger used as table, have been provided for. The skin of prisoners like those used by Ille Kock, wife of the commandment Buchenwald concentration camp to make lampshades fashioned for that purpose, will be provided you as blank pages for your text.
My Uncle started a tradition I carry on in a simple well focused manner. Here is a list of our growing number of rooms now made ready. I am sure yours will be equally inventive. I will begin with simple fare by way of observation rather than requiring you take part or perchance not, depending on your revealed nature.
Set your meager belongings down. I will leave you to ponder. Ring the bell dangling from a hangman’s rope when you are ready to share which room you would prefer to visit first. Until then, I bid you adieu. I am sure it will become everything and more that you imagined. Welcome to your second home, horror devotee.