My white button-up Medona shirt stuck itself to my body by using the water I neglected to wash off as an adhesive. At this point I figured the shower was pretty much null and void, since I was sweating out of most of my pores after hearing that now infamous knock on my door, and the leftover water and soap was mixing with the perspiration, creating a film that made me feel even filthier than before.
I didn't know how to react to the knocking.
I took the necessary 2 steps it took to exit my bathroom and enter the main room. I stared at the door. The tape was still on. Good. The locks were bolted. Good. My childhood bore itself up to the surface of my present, adult situation, and forced me to close my eyes and plug my ears, taking an innocent leap of faith off of the "see no evil hear no evil" cliff. I put my hands to my ears, shut my eyes tighter than a fist bandaged in an iron cast, shook my head violently and hoped that when I opened my eyes, I would awake from a short slumber that I had managed to fall in while staring at my journal. It wouldn't be the first time I fell asleep writing. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. I opened my eyes and quickly surveyed the apartment. Yep, blood on the window. Yep, Gene Wilder's face still on the tv, this time he was yelling at Mike TV for fucking with his microwave. And yep, there was the mysterious remnants of thick pink blood spattered like flies on a windshield all over the carpeting. Damnit.
I was standing in front of the door, staring the peephole directly in the eye as if I really had a chance to see through it from 5 feet away. Vertigo was setting in as my glare grew jealous of Medusa's, wishing I could transform whatever, or whoever, was on the other side of that door, into concrete. Sadly, my eyes can't do anything too spectacular. They can only feed my brain's anxiety a hearty dinner. FUCK…again.
"KNOCK
KNOCK
KNOCK."
This time it was harder. Faster. I KNEW what was on the other side of the door. I didn't have to look through the peephole. And it wouldn't even matter what I actually SAW, or was MADE to see though the hole. It mattered what was THERE. And I knew what it was. And it scared me. Something so beautiful and new and mysterious. Something scientists and occultists would give a pound of flesh to spend a minute studying its surface. Something so…mundane in appearance….scared me shitless.
KNOCK
KNOCK
KNOCK
KNOCK.
Again, even FASTER, and more assertive and impatient.
Though I have a ridiculous imagination, I see myself as quite a skeptic when it comes to real life experiences, but these past couple of hours have thrown all of my previous opinions and inhibitions out of the window with the resurrected pigeon. I was beyond questioning my sanity at this point. I was simply ACCEPTING. And this is why I KNEW what was on the other side of the door. These acts weren't possible in the world that I am familiar with. But that didn't matter now. "All bets are off", as Patrick Dempsey would say circa the year 2000. What mattered was that there was about 1 foot in between myself and something possibly very, very fucking dangerous...