Dripping (pt. 1)

The dripping. The dripping from the roof unto the hard paved floor was what woke me up. Constant dripping, the interval of time between the maddening ticks did not change. It appeared to have been dripping since the dawn of the awful place, as the place where the water dripped onto had eroded into a bowl where the water gathered. How I got there I know not, I used to work as a contractor before this maddening series of events. Now my mind is too cluttered with eldritch thoughts and visuals, none of which comforting, that I cannot keep a job. I now sit at home in a small apartment with shabby walls and old furniture, trying to figure out my shattered mind, lest I cast myself onto the street below my window to finally rid my mind of this taint.

The last thing I do remember, when my mind was unfettered, was a job to renovate an old house sat solitarily atop one of the mountains looming over a forest so dense, that nearly no vehicle could pass through.

The man who owned the house was an old man with a crooked back, a tired old face with saggy eyes and mouth corners hung low and a look of constant fear and confusion. He at first was weary of me and asked me many questions concerning my thoughts and my mind. After a long introduction we finally entered the mansion, and I was struck with confusion and awe. The man, who claimed to be living here, had cleared out the entire house. A foyer bereft of any furniture or decorations. Walls covered in flaking paint, on the floor were chips of paint and wallpaper. The stairs coming up from the centre of the foyer and leading as balconies around the rounded walls of the room were old, wooden and decrepit. Large beams of wood had come down from the ceiling and crashed into the floor below.

The man led me to a room to the left of the foyer, the entrance set between two other doors either side of the room. The room was decorated with a shabby single-person bed and a chair and a table. Papers riddled with unreadable words and incoherent drawings and scribblings littered the room. All furniture was stowed away in a corner lacking any windows, and was lit by a single candle. This was where the man lived.

 From our walking out of the room I remember little, besides unworldly crunching noises and a sudden darkness befalling my vision. This is where the maddening visions and thoughts take their origin in my mind. Since these events my thoughts cannot cohere correctly. Trains of thought crash into eldritch walls constructed by corrupted memories.

To be continued!

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