The Unseen
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The hall ahead is dark, a tunnel of black.
She is in bare feet, wearing just a T-shirt, her steps slow and reluctant on the polished hardwood floor.
The warm Southern California breeze breathes through gauzy curtains at the windows, wafting the fragrance of night-blooming jasmine… but the smell is cloying, gagging, and dread rolls like black waves around her as she approaches the door, their door.
The sounds are louder, now… the grunts and moans are like physical blows. She wants to scream, wants to run… and she can’t breathe, can’t breathe, something is wrapped around her chest like a vise.
In the night outside, a dog breaks into hysterical yapping; somewhere far away a siren wails. Beside her, the Art Deco clock on the wall clicks to 3:33. She steps past the ghost of her own reflection in the large gold-framed mirror… takes a jerking step forward into the doorway.
And stops, sways at the sight—