The Chronicles Of A Bohemian Teenager (Part VIII, Finale part I).

Toystore from hell. Awful, terrible place. Outside. Thumbtack rain. Clink! Clink! Puddles of plastic and metal. Shock of incinerated puppets has worn off. Worry. Worry starts. Overpowering everything else. Consuming. What have I done?

Cityscape. Used to it. Morphing. Melts. But differently, this time. Into one grand being. Taller, taller, wider, and dark. Oh, how dark. Void of all light. Seems to absorb it, in fact. Doesn't reflect. Just outside the gate, I peer into the courtyard. Underneath the gathering thunderstorm. Through the iron bars, I see a fountain. But of course, as per usual, not usual at all. Spewing forth liquid dark. Rippling, terror, fear. In the topmost tower, a light burns dim. Someone. Hopefully, it isn't you. Cognizant of necessary actions, I step forth into the umbra of the castle. Just like the Glass Cathedral. Doors open. Sans sound. Second thoughts. Never trust anything that you cannot see where it keeps its brain. But just like the Glass Cathedral, I step inside. The Chateau closes its mouth.

Inside, just as black as the brick outside. At least. Is it brick? Brink. Verge of madness. So many strange, off-beat things. Cannot think clearly. Clearheadedness has committed suicide.
No. I will go on. I must go on. For...someone's sake. I am plagued by something I cannot define. As eyes adjust, stilted darkness becomes not so stilted. Grand Chateau, lobby. Sweeping staircases left and right, joining at a balcony hallway. Enormous chandelier. What's the point? Pitch black anyway. And rooms. Oh, the rooms. Doors to my left, doors to my right, doors on the floor. Ceiling. Walls. Staircases. Everywhere. Portals to another world, for all I know. Filling my lungs with oxygen, I start up the stairs.

Trapdoor. Damn. Halfway up, the stair swings open. And I fall. Fall. Through suffocating darkness. Darker than the house itself. If that's possible. Marshmallow splat. Stand. Light behind a door. Behind a wooden door. A voice. Old, certainly. Man or woman? Seeing no other exit, I enter. Light floods the darkened chamber behind me. In front of me, an old woman. Wispy, white, scraggly hair. In a rocking chair. She looks at me.

There was a boy. A very strange, enchanted boy. They say he wandered very far. Very far. Over land and sea. A little shy, and sad of eye. But very wise, was he.

And then one day. One magic day, he passed my way, and while we spoke of many things, fools and kings, this he said to me --

A voice emanates out of the chamber behind me. Your voice.

"If this is the life, why does it feel so good to die today?"

The door, which I had left open, slams shut. The old woman cackles. Door. Other wall. I start towards it. Woman, with surprising speed an agility, blocks my path. Crazed.

Where do you think you're going, Dearie!

Disregard age. Thump! Threw her aside. Like a puppet. Run. Door opens, before I even touch it. Stop. Glance at woman. She's a puppet. Strings attached. Slap-dash makeup. Pained eyes. Painted eyes. Slash of a grin. Awful flashbacks of Toyshop From Hell. No. Stop. I bolt out the door, careless of what lies beyond the haven of this well-lit room.

Will-o-the-wisps dance like a hundred thousand fireflies in this room. Illuminating light switches. Great. I flip each and every one. Light floods the room, blazing shadows in the corner. The will-o-the-wisps seem agitated. Moving faster. Sparks fly from flying sparks. Moving towards me. Bzzt! Bzzt! They're charged with electricity. Shocking.

Another door. Off like a shot. Avoiding airborne electric chair. Door springs open on a spiral staircase. Winding up and down. Split moment decision. Up. Fell to get here. Must ascend to arrive at the light in the topmost tower. Figures, however. Ghosts float up the stair, like silent moving pictures. Loyal phantoms of the in-house staff. Regardless of floating spectres. The dead are better than joining their ranks. Up, up, up, up, up, up. Does it ever end? Bolting up and up. Regardless of what horrors lie in wait.