The House

Chapter 4 - Day 1: The Room

I've locked the front door, made it to the bathroom and am sinking into the now lukewarm bathwater when my brain unfreezes, and I start to feel really scared.

I open the hot water tap again and then wish I hadn't because now I cannot hear the silence of the house.

Choices: Be attacked while naked, wet and cold, jerking with involuntary muscle spasms, unable to fight or flee. Be attacked after taking a warm bath and putting on loads of clothing, and finding a weapon.

It's a no-brainer. 

The bathroom door is locked out of habit. I'm relatively safe for now.

I close the tap when the water is warm enough, and though I'm unable to relax, I'm able to scrub myself clean, wash my hair and warm myself up. I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror earlier. 

Bedraggled. Deranged... I can think of a few other choice words that will describe my current look well. Desirable and sexy are not among them. I might even be gross enough to discourage any kind of attack. Most people will take one look at me and run the other way. I'm sure of it. I think...

After dressing and towel-drying my hair, I stay in the bathroom long enough to dump my dirty clothing into the tub for a soak until I find a way to wash it. I think I might have some detergent in my groceries. Maybe.

I'm too scared to open the door, but I know that I cannot stay here forever. My stomach growling gives me the courage to unlock and open the door, and I gingerly step out into the cold foyer. 

Nothing has been disturbed while I was locked in the bathroom.

My art debris is still lying just inside the front door. The floor is still wet and dirty, marking my passing. Only mine. Aside from my heavy breathing, the slow ticking of a grandfather clock is the sole sound coming from inside the house.

Grandfather clock? Was it ticking before?

I can't remember. I can see it standing against the far wall of the living area. My eyes must have grown used to the dim light because I can see a lot of other things now as well. 

Faded floral couches and chairs, an intricately carved fireplace and some scattered side tables. Quite charming. Old fashioned. Next to the clock, the wall opens onto a small niche containing bay-window seats set into all three of its walls. That is the area directly on top of the utility room.

"I'm hungry."

Yes, seeing the niche, I did immediately think of the maggots down there and yet these are the words that spill from my mouth, demonstrating the magnitude of my starvation levels.

My food and the rest of my art supplies are still in the car, and so are my bedding and another suitcase filled with clothing. (I didn't intend to do a lot of laundering.) The storm is still raging. I have no desire to go out there and soak my fluffy, warm tracksuit and bunny slippers.

"But I'm hungry..."

To my left are the stairs leading to the 1st floor, and to my right is the archway going to the back of the house and further to my right is the living room area I've been studying. I decide to use the archway to see if I can find the kitchen. 

Perhaps there'll be some plastic bags there that I can use to protect parts of me from the rain if I feel like I'm about to starve to death. 

What if someone is waiting in the kitchen?

"Well, I hope he has coffee..."

I'm not really that brave, but experience has taught me that when I start with questions like that I'll still be standing in this very spot, my back pressed against the bathroom door, by the time I should be at the university for my final art evaluation.