. TRUE HORROR STORY FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE
. Chapter 1
Before my dispatch to Hades, at the hands of Pink, I would usually awaken each morning, at, around the seventh hour. Once compos mentis, it was customary for me to vacate my bed-space, stealthily( to avoid disturbing my wife), and proceed downstairs to prepare breakfast for my beloved.
Twas but a simple act, and, one for which my beloved never failed to show her appreciation( by emitting the cutest of meows, whilst rubbing herself seductively against my ankles, left naked, deliberately, in anticipation.
Being a fanatical, Waste Not, Want Not obsessive, before washing my beloveds two dishes; I would scrape any residual,Kit-i-Kat milk(seen the price of that stuff?), and the one or two spoonfuls of dried all-in one complete cat food, left over from the previous evening , into the dish, in which I would eventually prepare my wifes muesli.
Despite the inevitability of that, exquisitely, sensuous encounter, between me and my beloved, that short journey twixt bedchamber and kitchen, was never embarked upon, without a dreadful sense of foreboding.
Short of walking downstairs; unlocking and going through two sets of exterior front door; scuttling like a frozen perished rat around the side of chez nous and re-entering through the backdoor, the only other alternative, was: Traverse the length of the oak panelled hallway, with the unavoidable passing en route, of the locked oak door to my Aspiring Writers Room. A brisk, ten steps should have sufficed, to see me from foot of stairs, to kitchen door, and in deed would have, were it not for my almost obligatory, faltering gait, each time I neared that door. A barely perceptible falter sometimes, but faltering, nonetheless. Damn it to Hell!…damn it. Unless I was intent upon entering that place, I would never look at the door; resolutely, refusing to respond to the insidious mental invectives, that assailed my inner being, from behind it. Their progenitor may just as well have been reaching out for and gripping me, either side of my head with its talons…pulling…twisting. Such was the nature of the battles I endured But! I prevailed! Not It!… I did. It never turned my head, unless,I`, wanted to turn it. I say those words, not boastfully, but with pride. Acquiescence would only have fuelled its insufferable ego, beyond my ability to endure and resist. Therein lay my motivation. Nothing more than common sense, really.
“But whatâ€
Please be kind Pinkingtons
