Black Manor, named for its devious owner and bleak look. No one goes there, no one even drives by. Secluded and secretive is its way. Just how its guests like it. 

A white car pulls into the winding driveway, coming to a stop at the end. A woman gets out and saunters to the house. She is too skinny; the lacy dress she is wearing hangs loose. 

At the door she is greeted by a shady fellow covered in strange tattoos. He recognizes her and lets her pass. He motions for her to follow him, though there is no need: she has walked this path many times. 

Nobody knows she is there, nobody knows of her secret. Not her husband, not her children. They all think she steps away for a smoke. Oh, how wrong they are, she thinks. 

She follows the man into the basement, stopping at a locked door. She knocks. 

Nothing. 

Then an eye peers through the peephole, examining her. 

The woman is nervous. Not of being hurt, but of being rejected. 

She hears a click and the door opens. A slim figure stands in the doorway, grinning. Some of his teeth have rotted away, most likely from years of drinking and smoking. A scar runs horizontally across his face. From what, she doesn’t know. She’s afraid to ask. 

He wraps an arm around her and leads her into the room. “Hey, Baby. You want the usual?” he asks, picking up a syringe. She shakes her head. 

“Not enough,” she murmurs. 

“You got the cash?”

She nods, pulling a plump paper bag from her purse and handing it to him. 

He takes the bag, turns and opens a safe. 

The woman turns away; she doesn’t want to see the damn stuff, she just wants to get it over with. She sits down to slow her racing heart. 

The man sits beside her with a new syringe. He takes her arm, finds a vein, injects her with the drug. 

A tear rolls down her cheek as it begins to take effect. She leans back in her seat. 

“Shh,” the man says. “Relax.”

She exhales and the room starts to spin. Her vision dims. 

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 23.07.2011

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