I notice him because there’s no-one else walking, and he looks rough, like he’s been sleeping on a bench or something. Because of the workmen, he’s forced to walk in the road, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. He moves with purpose, like he’s in a hurry.
As he passes the side road, a car emerges, and it’s going fast…
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Now the wallpaper moves—just like in the story, not the one I tell the kids, the one I read to myself, the one I read in secret—and I’m part of it. I move within the contours of its gentle obscurity. It’s where I am free, at last.
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He followed as the priest turned and flitted into a recessed archway. Stone steps curved in an endless spiral, the walls narrowing as they went higher. Soon his breath came in short bursts and his knees ached, but he pressed on. He wondered how the older man managed so effortlessly.
A voice trailed back to him in the pitch like gloom. “Try not to be nervous. All will be well.”
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Sliding. Slithering. Scuttling in the dark. The unidentifiable sounds were the only things answering his silent pleas. He closed his eyes in the dark to focus. The shaking got worse, the noises amplified. Eyes flew open…
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