so terribly, but perhaps it had something to do with the death-like stillness which seemingly stood guard over the scene. I felt as if I were entering a vault or chamber where only the dead were displayed. With every destroyed item, I grew frantic knowing my girl was still in this house.
Trying to absorb my surroundings quickly, I spun wildly as the enormity of the area, its appearance and state of recent degradation, pulled on my psyche painfully. If there was a fight here, it was horribly unleashed by a demonic mind who sought only more anger and hatred for its sustenance. I knew this because my ex-wife suffered such a mental fate. Oh, God. If she were the architect of this shambled space, what could have become of my daughter? I realized then I was questioning the air, but I cared little. Seized by an impulse of fear, I shook off the tremors encircling my mind and the air of silence I held fast around me and, opening my mouth, shouted the name of my daughter.
“Lexi? LEXI! Where are you? I’m here.” There was no response, though I listened with all intentness. Silence crept through the halls and slowly descended the grand staircase, carefully placing its all-concealed foot gently upon the damaged boards. Again I called, but heard nothing. The hair on my neck stood on end.
I was shining my light on the bookshelves when behind me, off the hall behind the kitchen, I heard a door slowly close. There are some noises which the mind hears involuntarily and does not comprehend, and others it hears definitely, without question. I know I heard a door; it was simple to surmise someone was there, moving around the master suite. Was it my daughter? Did she hear my voice? Was she coming out? I took a step towards the sound.
As I closed upon the entrance, it opened and seemed to engulf me in an unearthly, ethereal darkness; a blackness I had never imagined existed on the earthly planes. Like the mouth of Jonah’s whale, it opened only to swallow me.
I shone my light down the hall. Paintings still hung from the walls, and no debris cluttered the path. The intimate sitting room outside the master suite was clearly in the light of my beam, and it, too, seemed unscathed by the recent madness. I walked cautiously and slowly towards the room, watching every shadow that moved across the wooden floor. My mind took in every sight and heard every sound. I became more frightened and anticipated more monstrous depravity than I should have. I was alert -too alert for such a moment- and my worst enemy became my collective senses, which absorbed in a sponge-like manner everything in their path.
A lone window threw the moon’s light into the sitting room, a sort of ante-chamber for the master suite. It was comfortably and tastefully designed, with a small fireplace, cozy chase-lounge and small sofa. The room was neat and tidy, nearly the foil of the place I just vacated. If the torrent started here, it did not culminate here.
I stopped and listened for any sound to reach my ear, yet nothing echoed. I crept closer, and while reaching the door, I heard a scurrying beyond the partially closed entrance. Footsteps! They moved quickly and softly, pattering across the floor. First to the left, then back again; then, moving across the room until they turned and started towards me! My light was on, but the fear welling in me overpowered the strength of my arm, and I did not raise the light to shine into the darkness. Quick steps moved, then nearly ran to me. I held my breath, expecting only danger. Steps, steps, steps; they came running maddeningly with agility.
I threw up the light as it reached me: their only dog, Maxwell, restless and shaking, passed briskly. Oh God, how I exhaled when the weight of fear slipped from my chest. With the passing of the animal, my anxiety also passed into regions wholly darker than that which I inhabited. I moved my light around, then slowly went in. It was the master suite I entered.
In grandiose design did Alexandretta furnish the abode. If the house were an empire, then this was its administrative core. I only visited this section of the house on a few occasions, and never ventured far into its recesses; now, the room spread out before me, delicate and tempting, drawing at me in some primitive manner of intrique.
The suite was untouched; every article was neatly placed just as it always had been, while the ravages of the house were left at its threshold. I could see some casual articles of clothing on the bed, as if the lady were going to change upon arriving home. One closet door was ajar. I began moving around the room, softly calling Lexi’s name. The frightful experience I just endured softened my approach, but did not squash my resolve or determination.
That quietness, which formally hung about the scene before the advent of the dog, regained its position in the house. Every step I took landed roughly and echoed loudly upon the wooden floors. Even the rugs seemed to enhance the sound of my footfalls.
I toured the room, then the bathroom, before I finally concluded Lexi was nowhere to be seen. Every corner, closet and little nook was searched with the hope of finding her, but my searches were in vain. Anger and frustration at my helplessness drove me wild, and I tore once more through the room. I was nearing the door again when, from the main living room, I heard something fall and shatter.
The sound resembled glass breaking, and like a piranha to blood, I sliced through the suite and down the corridor, hoping to see my Lexi there. The beam flashed before me, illuminating a dizzying array of items as I rushed forward. Coming into the living room and past the kitchen, I stopped suddenly. The area was again so open and I felt extremely exposed. I stared around the space, searching for the broken glass. It was incredibly difficult to discern the source of the noise due to the ravaged condition sprawled before me.
Something fell, of that I was certain. My ears easily detected the sound, and my mind, without hesitation, assigned the sound correctly. Yet I could not see anyone, or hear any voice call to me. Was it Lexi? Could the dog have knocked something over? Or was it Her?
I moved against the wall, feeling rather uneasy about my position in the open. Tortured, bleak shades of darkness covered me as I crept along the wall, stepping over palms and an overturned table. Looking over the mess with my light, I tried to remember the placement of the many items before me, hoping to see if anything was moved. I was not successful.
Only half of the lower level was searched, and I was growing more worried by the moment. If Lexi heard my voice before and did not respond, that meant only one thing: Alexandretta was still in the house. One thought threatened me more than even the appearance of the woman: what if Lexi was dead?
Shaking my fears away, I mustered my courage and began to move out into the open again. There was another shorter hallway just beyond the living room, and it was in that direction I went. A few intensified moments and I was on the other side, near the hall. I crept past the grand staircase and slowly pressed into the darkness.
This hall, unlike the previous one, was not nearly as long or as dark, yet it still pulled at those fearful strings within my mind. It is a very nervous feeling to venture through an area when you are quite possibly the hunted one. Every shadow moves in a menacing manner, and all the world, from the tangible and visible to the very particles of air, seem to stalk you relentlessly.
The first door I reached was to the study. Pressing my light into the darkness, I could see that this room was not spared her vengeance, either. A chair was on its side, and papers littered the floor along with various items from the bookshelves. I stepped in cautiously, watching all that my flashlight allowed me to see. I searched for any suitable hiding place and called for Lexi, but she did not respond. As I neared Alexandretta’s desk, a mammoth structure placed along the back wall of windows, I tripped upon something: it was a computer, or what remained of one.
The desk was destroyed, as the wreck of the computer foretold. Few items remained on the surface, but something caught my eye when my beam fell over it. I saw, near the far corner, a substance on the top. I leaned over and found, much to my horror and shock, a bloody handprint!
I drew back quickly, nearly stumbling over the desk chair. I heard glass
break under my feet, but paid little attention. That print, so crimson in color and still wet, told of more than just violence. It bespoke of the hellish inner psyche, the troubled and twisted avenues of the human mind which seldom are allowed to look upon the doings of the natural world; but when the dark psyche is provoked, when it is touched upon and allowed freedom, it reacts in so violent a manner as to create barbarism in even the most sane of persons. God, how I shuddered when my eyes, transfixed as they were, could not help but stare deeply into the print and wonder.
The hand print, I told myself repeatedly, seemed too large to be Lexi’s, though I could not be certain. I saw one, then two more along the edge of the desk. As I looked around the room, they all started to appear; little smudges and streaks here and there, on books and chairs, along the side of the wall and on the furniture. What had happened?
I followed the trail of blood prints back to the door. I tried to hide the alternative possibility to finding Lexi alive deep within me, but now the sight of blood brought so many fears to my mind and began to confirm that which I detested and feared: something happened, and it was deathly violent. I needed to find Lexi