Sublimination

There was only one rule: don’t open the door.

My buddies and I were worried. Friends from high school through college, and marriages, and divorces, and kids and all. And Bryan, our “something's off with him” guy, was more and more going off the deep end.

His obsession with murderers ramped up. He reveled in it. After a while, that's all he wanted to talk about, and would go off and drink alone if we switched to other topics at our get-togethers.

We staged an intervention: Look dude, we care about you, but you're going down a twisted path. Please, channel it into something beneficial before you become a serial killer.

Next thing we know, we all get invites to the new Nazi Museum opening in the city.

We had to go. We're the ones who suggested he channel his obsession.

It was pristine, and it seemed like everyone in the city was there. And Bryan was at the door, welcoming the crowd to his museum. When he saw us, he smiled, and pulled on a section of blank wall. It opened into the behind-the-scenes areas, where we were allowed to explore. Only, don't open the locked door.

The exhibits were graphic.

The exhibits he was working on... were worse. Dear God, the models...

I had suspicions. I had concerns. Some of my buddies and their spouses agreed.

Some argued that we had to open the door. Me and my wife decided to leave, and so did most of the group. Some stayed to try unlocking it.

We've never seen the ones that stayed behind ever again.

A lot of neo-Nazis have now vanished, too.

When asked, Bryan just smiles enigmatically, and invites us back to the museum.

There are new models on exhibit, he says...