THE HUNDRED-AND-THIRTY-SIXTH PAGE

After I had completed my carpentry work, I went into the house. It was dark inside because the open door was the only source of light. When I shut the door, the house was pitched into darkness until I turned on the lamp. There was a mysterious aura that discomforted me at first, then sickened me. The door was the last unmortared brick, for the love of God, Montresor. The claustrophobia that had trailed me through the years fell about me. Surrounded by all my friends in the world and consoled by the dog, I still could not shake off a seizure of nausea that seemed to flow over my body. I could hardly breath. I bolted up the stairs to the second floor. It was hardly better among the A’s and E’s, the Fs and H’s, even though I could see out the windows. I couldn’t make use of them without jumping a story. A story! I never liked short stories.

I could either jump or use the single exit--the downstairs front door. My only exit from the house was the front door on the first floor.

The basement. I forgot the basement. Down the stairs, down the stairs again. My god, it was as vulnerable as the windows with its glass-paned door to the outside. Better board it over, too. Easier to board it up from the inside. Boards. Hammer. Nails. Oh shit, the dark.