Seventh

The door closes gently behind her as Scarlett pauses at the beginning of the stairs. The pitch-black flight becomes illuminated by candles, one in a large, elegant gold crusted wall sconce next to the door, six on a tall stand in the middle landing, and another, large and fused to the final post before the hallway below. The old and crooked stair with torn carpet and gaps in the floorboards is one of two entrances into the bottom rooms. Although, no other soul than her, alive, knew of the second. She glances at the candle beside her face as it flickers in appreciation for its awakening. Her mouth curls tightly, the warmth of the flame kisses her cheek. The stairs creak as she makes her way down to the lower rooms. Scarlett stops a moment and turns towards the stand on the landing, and bows her head, ‘tonight,’ she whispers and looks at the candles as they dance before her. She picks up a book from beside the waxed light dancers, a picture falls from the pages. Quickly, Scarlett reaches out her hand in front. As if in answer, the image curves around and lands in her palm. Two young women, herself and one other, are sitting on a tree swing with a large house in the background, both women in each other’s arms, basking in the love of the moonlight. Placing the photo back into the now opened page of the book, she strokes the image of the second woman, ‘soon,’ she chokes as she closes the book and pulls it in close to her heart. Scarlett clears her throat and wipes her dampened face before she travels down further towards the thick air of the hallway. Again, the lights are awakened at the bottom of the steps welcoming the beautiful woman with a spark.

The hallway had a character of its own. The walls felt cold, wet, seeped when touched, but the blackened scratches along the wallpaper told a different story. As if something, and nothing at all, had happened to these lower rooms. Scarlett felt a pull that she couldn’t understand towards this part of the house since she was a child. But her father had closed the entrance to this area and forbidden her to ever come near, and she never did until he died. She never grew curious of these rooms, as if it were bound from her memory, and up until the moment of his passing, she was unaware of its wicked charm. There are six rooms and seven doors in this lowest part of the house. Three doors on each side of the hallway, opposite each other, and the final door at the end, with no room behind it, or at least no room that wasn’t another. The door at the end of the hall is cloaked in darkness and almost missed entirely, perhaps, by will. For it does not appear until it feels the viewer is worthy, and where it takes you is not of your own choice but of the door itself. She knew better than to trust the whims of that door. The first time she made that mistake, she found herself walking into the lake at the back of her estate. Her last curious opening found her in a closet of one of the other rooms.

Scarlett walks past the first four doors and enters the last door on the left. The room was, to no surprise, dark, lit only upon her entering, and only enough for her to find her way to the other side. A window that gave way to the moonlight that should not be possible illuminates the bench before her. The air tasted of a strange, sickly sweet mix of blood, formaldehyde, and sage. The polish of the tools along the bench glistens as she runs her fingers from one instrument to another, picking up the second to the last. She puts the book down to her side and holds the nail clippers to her chest in its place, smiling gently as the warmth grew in her heart and beckoned up through her throat to push out an escaped sigh. There are two tables in the room. She does not care much for the one to her left. She hovers over to the table on the right, running her hand over the ice-cold flesh. The candle at the top edge of the table flickers. Scarlett is taken by the image of her slain lover, captivated by her soft flowing eyelashes that would make a butterfly flash with envy. Her lips, a mix of a deep raven, lined with ocean blue, reminded Scarlett of the crimson and ruby that they once were, still pursed, beckoning for that last kiss they never gave. Her strong jaw connects the beauty of her face with the divine features of her body. A mix of curve, finesse and curated imperfection lay on the table, with surgical scars peeking out underneath her breasts. Scarlett pulls the fallen sheet back over the woman’s naked body, covering her genitals. She sits down on the stool and places the listless veined hand in her own. Pulling it up to her lips, she kisses the back part of the flesh down to the fingertips and hovers there a moment. A shallow moan reaches out from across the room. Scarlett looks up, glares, raising her upper lip, baring her fangs as she observes the shadowed body in front of her. He is awake.

The light above his head blinks in anticipation, his closed eyes tensed by the blinding light. His olive skin glistened with the uneasy heat of the bulb. His mouth, bound with a black cloth, sunken into the crevice of his lips, ripped and crusted in his blood. He smelt of pennies and mixed fruit. Scarlett could not help but watch the man lying on the slate table. She could see the subtle movements as he lay, trying desperately to go unnoticed by her. His whitening knuckles as he listlessly tightened them was worthy of a small chuckle from Scarlett.

Scarlett drew in bated breath with the knowledge of what was about to happen. She held up her lover’s hand, kissed it one last time, and placed it gently on the slate before she stood and walked over to the bench illuminated by the moonlight. A sweet moment had passed before she clasped her hands together. Tonight was the night for revenge. She looked over the bench with the tools as they sparkled with ecstasy in her approach. Again, she rolled her fingers over the very instruments that had caused her such delight these past few nights. The faint stains of blood matched perfectly with the fresh incisions on his body. Beside them lay an assortment of bowls and jars ready to be filled, but not yet. Scarlett was to have one last night of fun with this man before she would gut him like the animal he was. He needed to feel the torment and fear he put on his own victims. She wanted to smell the blood and sweat of a destroyed man, to taste the bittersweetness in the victory of his defeat before she sacrificed him. Swaying to the tune of her broken heart, Scarlett grabs the syringe beside his freshly collected blood bag. She takes a step closer to the slate holding the terrible monster of a man.

After a deep breath, Scarlett bends down to the man’s ear. ‘My love is gone, her heart doesn’t beat anymore, but yours does, and very fast, I could fix that for you,’ she taunts, running her hand down from his head to his arms. Scarlett grabs the catheter in his hand and injects a clear fluid. The man opens his eyes and looks up into hers. Fear had sparked as he felt the cold rush of death enter his body. Was this how he was going to die? he asked himself. Scarlett saw the mix of confusion, fear, and unexpected acceptance in the eyes that glared back at her. ‘Oh no,’ she responds, ‘not yet,’ she giggles as she slowly uncuffs the man from the slate, watching as his eyes roll back into the folds of his lid and close again. She finishes untying the monster and stalks over to the door. Grabbing hold of the door handle, Scarlett stands at the open doorway. She looks back at her love with a softened gaze, then over to the man, sucks her teeth to her lips and scowls as she leans back toward the seventh door. ‘You’re up,’ Scarlett announces as she taps the door to tag it in. to answer her request, the lights in the room before her are snuffed at once. A humming of energy is heard from the lights in the hallway. Scarlett closes the door, shifts her head, and smiles at the seventh door before walking towards to stairs at the other end of the hall. With each step forward, a growing shadow engulfs the hallway and stairs behind her, leaving no trail of her exit.

His eyes jolt open. He reaches his heavy hands forward with every effort of strength in his being, grabbing at the thick air surrounding his throat. He was no longer cuffed to the bench. His heart begins to sink into his chest, bile rumbles in his throat. He curls and leans over the slate, expelling a sickly tar, covering his chin and arm as he wipes his mouth with his leaded limbs. The cuts on his chest sting from the icy cold as he slowly pushes his chest upwards. He blinks tightly, trying to catch the glow of the moonlight around the room. He looks across from him. A dark mass lies in front. The voluptuous form excites him. He is not alone. Maybe they can help each other escape. With this newfound hope, he springs his weighted body, grabbing onto every possible surface in his reach so as not to buckle his legs and fall. He reached over to the second slated table and looked at the lying figure. Alice? He lets go of the slate and stumbles to the floor. The door swings open with a rush of air, brushing his face with a loud exhale. He crawls over to the now opened door and into the lit hallway with a thrust onto his palms. Turning his head slightly to the right, he sees the back of his torturer at the end of the hall. Standing on the bottom of the stairs. The candle next to her looks to dance at her as she plays with the aura of its burn. Then, one by one, the bulbs near her, at the far end of the hall, flash and shatter towards him, in a wave of gloom impending darkness, causing the man to back up heatedly towards the final door. He reaches up and breathlessly grabs at a door handle and opens it.

Scarlett hears the creaking welcome of the door open at the end of the hallway. The warmth from the candle has reached the empty hold in her chest. He has found it. He will be prey to the strange charms of the seventh door. She hums to herself softly and continues up the stairs, for only the house knows what will happen this night, but come morning, she will be waiting for him, dead or alive.