..and he stares at it.
The WHISTLE is LOUDER!
His heart is pounding in his ears. He
squeezes them shut, looks up…
He bolts to his feet, paces back and
forth in a panic! The train is HOWLING!
A rope in the corner of the room, his
face, the gun…
He sits dully, gazes at the rope as if
in a trance. The TRAIN is ROARING past
the house, it’s HORN BLASTING. The
rope, the gun, and his body dangling
from the rafters in the night breeze–
He lurches to his feet, cuts through the
basement like a madman. He grabs a
stick and starts SLASHING things
crazily, moving through the room
swinging his stick wildly again and
He’s lost to himself now, deep in the
pit of an unknown terror, expurgating a
horror that has been festering in him
for years. He flings his stick at the
wall, upends shelves and bureaus,
trampling old memories that have lain
dormant for years.
Drawer after drawer is flung against the
wall, their contents smashing and
scattering about. He opens a large,
oaken chest and flips over. Thick three
inch piles of yellowed paper fall out.
He snaps through the rubber bands
holding them together and flings the