Chapter 8

  Finally, after the eternity of the road, we reached the houses. They were all identical and arranged in a huge, sickening grid of streets branching out from the center, like a colony of wasps. It was almost hypnotic, going by the same building over and over again, of course with the occasional lawn ornament or American flag. As I peered through the passenger side window, I began to imagine seeing little blue flames, flickering amidst the mailboxes and fake grass. This was not a good place to be. I was struggling to remember the number of Leopold's house. 3527? 3474? 4347? 3437? 3774? It doesn't matter. We'll find him eventually.

  Something I’ve always found fascinating is the capability of the human mind for self-spiflication, particularly its attempts at vastation through strategic ecmnesia and the deliberate rasure of perceived delenda it finds inimical to our overall salubriousness. Of course, this hygeian praxis appears possibly boethetic at first, but upon its exercitation, it reveals itself to be little more than balderdash and hogwash. In fact, these luctations against reality mostly serve to misorient and pericilitate the mind into dereism, which leads me to question and almost entirely vitiate the benevolence of the mind. From my experiences, I believe the mind simply sneers at the soul, coining gleeks and gauds to transform itself into a sottisier of sorts, but the explanation could also lie with the historical quettaconsciousness and its associated traumas. But not to lapse into neology.

  “Hey, Lewis? I think this is it. We're here.” Isobel's eyes were wide.

  So, here was the castle. Portentously wide, 2 stories tall. A pitch black sky hung overhead, much more early darkness in August than usual. Perhaps even the Sun could not bear to shine over this lodge of sorrow. I nodded at Isobel wordlessly and stepped out of the car. She was clutching Edith by her heart. Leopold’s yellow car stood out against the muted environment like a light in the dark. Not a good light. As I walked up to the house, I dragged my hand along the engraved numbers on the mailbox. 3437. This was it. My phone rang. I picked it up.

  “It’s Isobel. Like I said, I can’t go in there. But I can help you. Go around the perimeter and see if you can find a way in.”

  I stood in front of the house and looked at my options. There was an unusually large quantity of windows, so some of them had to be unlocked. My first order of business, though, was to try the front door, even though I didn’t really think it would work. You never know unless you try.

  “Lewis, I don’t think the door is gonna- well I guess it is unlocked, okay, wow.”

  I opened the door. Instinctively I closed my eyes out of fear, but after regaining my senses, I peered inwards. It was a mess. I could hardly even see the floor through all the garbage strewn about the house, and the furniture looked older than me. There were no lights on.

  “Well, I guess there’s nothing left for you to do but go inside. Good luck.”

  Standing at the threshold, it felt like there was an invisible forcefield separating the interior of the house from the outside world. Of course, this was not the case, and I could walk in at any moment, but my body seemed to almost have a physical reaction to the environment. Every part of me rejected this. Still, I had to do this, so against my better judgment, I stepped into the intramural landfill and closed the door behind me as quietly as I could. By now, I was pretty much fully freaking out, but doing a decent job of acting confident. The truth is that I was so, so scared. More scared than I’ve ever been in my life. I was in the house of my father, who I haven’t seen in over 20 years, who by all accounts I thought was dead, who apparently has been tormenting Isobel for years. It was terrifying. But somehow overpowering the abject fear in my mind was the illimitably passionate hate that I had for Leopold. What good has he done for anyone? Why does he think he can just live life being who he is? Why don’t I remember him? There were a lot of conflicting emotions in my head about him, but the overall message was clear: this man cannot continue doing this.

  I had just regained my confidence and started moving to explore more of the house when I heard a loud bang behind me. Obviously startled, I turned, and felt my confidence disintegrate when I saw that the door had fallen clean off its hinges, revealing a solid wall in its place.