You aren’t supposed to look in the scary room. Even if nothing is supposed to be there, what might happen if there was something there the one time someone looks? Well, flashlight in hand, kicking boxes aside, I had to look. Even with a doll two feet from me that might develop satanic glowing red eyes right out of Baba Yaga’s skull fence.

I’m scared out of my wits, but I also know what the crucifix of my darkness is – getting a date. I’m scared and annoyed that this has to be me. There’s danger and a good laugh at the same time. The suspense is driving me crazy.

I shine my flashlight into the room, and I spot a rectangular cardboard box. The coffin analogy is not lost on me. I use a broom to pull it towards me, afraid of what may or may not be in the cardboard box with dangly packing tape ends. If it’s empty, does that mean the doll-sized dweller is about to jump on my neck and suck my blood from behind? The doll is behind me, mind you, and I am most vulnerable.

I pry open the box, and I find a rolled length of blue-gray, cut carpet remnant inside. I struggle to figure out the meaning. After some nervous sweating in a cold room, I pull the carpet out and unroll it onto the floor. I’m thinking I need a magic carpet ride.

I stand on the carpet and wait for something to happen. It’s nice to stand on a soft carpet instead of a cold concrete floor. I experience spooky feelings of trouble, and a sense of conflict. I’ve got to worry and not worry. There’s work to be done, but I’m clueless.

I turn out the lights and close my eyes.