Part Eleven: The Creature

The Creature You stand on your toes, stretch to reach the window and can only barely see through; a fine film of dust and grime cover the once transparent glass. You feel like a kid again, eavesdropping on your parents from the next room over. This time, though, fear is deeply rooted in your stomach …

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Poem: Memory Film of Point Roberts

Memory Film of Point Roberts   Summer of ‘98 and the russet hatchback swings into a narrow, flower lined driveway. Poppies, lavender, chrysanthemums intertwine to create a marbled smudge, a watercolor painting. Further on the indigo, wind-blown log cabin perched upon a bluff blends in to the sky beyond, a two-dimensional backdrop, dangerous, a sharp …

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Part Ten: The Descent

The Descent The weight of the silence wraps around you like snow on a street at midnight. It feels different than the rest, hollow, as though inside a vacuum. You breathe in and you breathe out, in and out in and out, rapid, laboured. You wait. Your chest is tight but quickly, silently, you make …

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Part Nine: The Dark

The Dark The slammed door disrupts dust particles and cobwebs which dance across your face and into your nose. You almost sneeze, almost, but you hold it in. You stand there as the cloak of darkness and ever-present silence engulf you. You’re shaking, but only slightly, and the tabby presses close to you, silent as …

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Part Eight: The Entrace

The Entrance You walk up the cracked concrete steps towards the imposing, ink stained door. Unlike before, the tabby is close at your side, his tangerine fur grazing your jeans. He seems somber, subdued. Frightened. Does he know what lays beyond the door? Though it is august, the air has become decidedly cool, and you …

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Part Seven: The House

The House You walk over to the gate, run your hand over the rough, cold metal, rusted with age and weathering. You give it a push, it sticks, you push harder. It gives way with a grating sound, like nails on a chalkboard. You remember your grade four English teacher doing the same to get …

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Part Six: The Gate

The Gate The vines grab at you as you pass through, they cling to your shirt and your neck. You manage to untangle yourself and head forward, the wet snuffling sound getting louder as you move further down the path. The sun is trying to push its way through the canopy of vines twisted over …

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