September 4, 2003

I know, I probably shouldn’t have. But we don’t even have a fire alarm in this place.

Naturally I opened her door at midnight, and naturally my heart was in my mouth. Any decent horror movie can make me crap my pants; I’m not even a challenge. There was the smell of melted plastic, and I didn’t have any idea where the light switch was. I walked cautiously into the room, hands extended before me, and I finally managed to get a lamp on.

It threw a circle on the hardwood floor, where an inverted pentagram was clearly visible. I hadn’t noticed what Lilith was sitting in. There was a stain where the mound had been, but there was nothing there.

Aiming the light around the room as best I could, I finally found the light switch behind a bookshelf.

In the brighter light, the pentagram looked a little silly. It’d been drawn in charcoal and was a bit wavery where the floorboards weren’t flush. There were still boxes everywhere, half-unpacked.

“Better check to see if there’s anything burning in here,” I said aloud to my twinge of conscience. Feeling like Nancy Drew, I looked in the trash can by her desk, which was practically overflowing with evidence. It looked to be a ritually disembowelled VHS tape—a pile of the thin black innards coiled up on itself, slightly sticky and gooey where she’d burned parts of it.

Better than finding intestines, I suppose.

Posted at 12:58am