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Third to the Left

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It’s a lonely existence being me. In a circular room of black with one small pinprick of light, the eight doors around me my only friends, standing forever. But, when the moon is new, I appear. My location is never constant, always changing. Someone will stumble in and my fun will begin.

I will chant and circle around them, working them into a state of panic as they search for the way they came in. They will stumble and look at every door as I give a cautionary warning.

“Pick a door, any door, any door will do. But, hurry up and pick one, your time is almost through. Choose wisely, I should warn, for seven lead to end. One leads to freedom. Pick well my friend!”

It is then they will freeze, their breathing speeds up and their hands sweat. Some will cry, others will beg, still others will ask for help. I love it when they ask for help, I just laugh in their face. Laugh and laugh anD LAUGH AND LAUGH! Soon they all pick and open to their fate. When they pick I wait with bated breath, watching to see what fate will befall them. No one has ever made it to freedom, all meet their end.

When they pick, sometimes they see the fire. They try to run, but the hands always pull them in. Other times they just break. Their heads roll off their bodies, arms and legs in a pile on the floor. That my favorite, when the heads roll towards me. It gives me company for a couple weeks.

My best advice for you is, if you ever meet me on a dark night, pick the third door on the left.

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