Losing Charity

Losing Charity - 11

Peter carries me right up the stairs.

I'm impressed. Not that I'm heavy, but I'm not exactly petite.

He doesn't breath hard or slouch. Right up the stairs we go.

To the second floor. Where the bedrooms are.

Which I can't wait to see.

I let my shoes fall off. They hit the stairs with muted thumps. Don't think I'll be needing them.

The staircase is interesting. All mahogany and ebony.

The newel posts at the base are onyx. Carved in the shape of winged women. Nudes.

Don't see that every day.

The carpet runner is dark red, with a motif of vines and leaves and ... are those snakes?

The strange details I notice on my way up.

"Mmm, you're so strong," I say.

Purr it, really.

With half-lidded eyes.

That I can't quite keep open.

What is wrong with me?

It's not even midnight yet, though probably close.

I shouldn't be this tired.

Peter carries me down a dim hallway toward a door that glows with the warm wavering light of many candles. And a fire.

How romantic.

I nod toward the door. "Is that your room?"

"They're all my rooms," says Peter.

I laugh. I feel giddy.

Charity is about to get lucky.

So, so, very, very lucky.

If I don't fall asleep first.

We get closer to the door at the end of the hall.

The door jamb is unusually wide. Decorative. Ebony like the balusters on the stairs. All carved with grotesque leering faces.

Snarling mouths. Saucer eyes.

Like little goblins or Halloween critters. They sneer at me.

Kind of off-putting. But not entirely mood-killing.

Peter maneuvers me through the doorway. Deftly.

I expect a bedroom.

But it's something else entirely.

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Losing Charity © Dan McGirt 2019. All rights reserved.

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