The House of Wax....
I awoke yesterday morning in a pool of my own sweat and shaking, uncontrollably; I had just had a very bad dream; one of the scariest I had since a long time. Staring at my hands, I couldn't believe what I had just seen in my own mind....
It was late o
ne dark, foggy evening in London, I was walking up and down Marylebone Road looking for my friend, Mikey, who had just moved to London for school not too long ago. I don't remember much as I still suffered from the 5 hour jet lag, but all I recall is that we had made plans to attend the new exhibit opening gala at the Madam Tussaud's Wax Museum. But come to think of it, I never gotten a call from Mikey himself. I received an invitation card in the mail with poor handwriting that didn’t' really resemble that of Mikey's, but of course, I didn't think much of it at the time.
I flew to London, checked myself into Le Meridie
n Piccadilly located in the epicenter of the West End with immediate access to London's "Theatreland". I had spent most of my morning trying to find the perfect outfit on Regents Street, Old Bond Street and Knightsbridge at the top of Sloane Street. Surrounded by "Sloane Rangers," as that was the label given to female socialites shopping in this area, I battled my way into Harrods’s for a quick gift, as I believe it's impolite not to bring a gift to whomever invited. Quickly after that, I went back to my hotel and retired to my suite to rest in preparation for the evening to come.
My driver is late, as usual, not wanting to miss the opening of the new exhibit, I took the tube and gotten off at Baker St. and that's where I had started my story. Walking up and down Marylebone Street, I did not recognize a single person attending this event, nor did they look like they were dressed to attend a 5-Star Gala with the Queen as one of the honorable quests. What I find most weird is the fact that once you get off Baker Street tube, to find the Madame Tussaud building is unlike finding needle in a hay stack simply because the building is signified by a large green dome that can be seen miles away, but for some reason, I couldn't find it. Maybe it's the fog, and maybe it's the darkness, I don't know, but I just couldn't find it. I looked at my watch feeling certain that I was way early; the watch showed 10:45. "That's not right," I thought to myself, "I'm 15 minutes early so I should be able to see people by now." Sensing that something may not be right, I dashed for the museum entrance just to find complete darkness inside. Only dimly lit lights spotlighting the mannequins in the museum were able to be seen from the door. Gently I reach for the door handle and with ease; I pushed the doors open and stepped inside, much to my surprise. No locks, no alarms, just pure silence. The hair behind the back of my neck started to stand erect and chills begun to run up and down my spine; something is definitely not right.
Maybe it was my overly heightened senses, or maybe it was just pure neurosis, but the smell of iron washed over me. I've been to this museum several times before, but do not ever recall smelling rusty iron. Immediately I dismissed the smell and attributed that to my overreaction of the situation, "Everything is fine," I say to myself. As much as I try to keep my composure, I am only able to succeed to the degree of keeping my legs from stepping on one another as the deafening silence entombs me. As I walk further and further away from the door, the darkness gets thicker and thicker which does nothing to ease my neurosis; it's like adding salt to open wounds. Pretty soon, I saw nothing but darkness and my hands became my eyes feelings for any object that may point me in the right direction. As for what I'm looking for, I have no idea. The right direction was to find Mikey and to get the hell out of here. The smell of iron gets stronger and stronger until suddenly, the floor was taken from under me and I land flat on my butt; I had slipped on something wet.
I expected to find the marble floor in this museum to be cold, however, a warm sensation started engulfing my bottom, creeping higher and higher until it's up on my lower back; something's wet and warm and the smell of iron is suffocating. My mind is racing and I'm starting to get dizzy from the smell. It was like nothing I had ever smelled before. It was a mixture of rusty iron, salty ocean water and warm humidity like on a hot summer day standing in a stagnant bayou. After 5 minutes or so, I was able to compose myself enough to find the key light sitting my left pocket. The keys jingled a deathly tune as I pulled them out. The liquid covering my hands were very slippery and I had a terrible time flicking on the light, though thinking back, I had wished the light remained off; they say innocence is bliss. Fumbling with the key light like bobbing for apples in a barrel, I feel something tickling the back of my neck again and this time, it wasn't chills or sweats - it felt as though I had backed into a freshly weaved spider web. Attempting one last time with the key light, I finally flicked it on and what I saw next would haunt me for the rest of my life.
Blood was everywhere as if the place was a Halloween fun house and kids were splashing around in red Cool-Aid amusing themselves while they're parents chatted away outside planning their favorite Trick Or Treat route around the neighborhood. This, however, what I'm witnessing
before me, was no Halloweens hokes; I was covered in blood and I was by myself. No kids screaming and punching and pushing, it was just me, until I looked up and discovered that what I thought was spider web was in fact no web at all. It was human hair. 17 human corpses were hung upside down from the ceiling held up only by bike chains tied to their feet. Their heads were partly severed from their necks as if done purposely to drain the blood out from their lifeless limbs. Each had their eyes fixed on me as if to warn me to get out before I become the next victim. Scrambling to my feet, I tried to look for the nearest exist but could only see darkness as my key light was only able to show me three inches in front of my face. As if someone had hit me on the back of my head, my eyes started to fade out. "No, not now, I need to get....oo...uuu..tttt". Just like that, tunnel vision invited the darkness and once again, silence entombed me.
I woke up the next day in my luxurious hotel suite with no visible evident of the night prior. "It was only a dream," I happily thought to myself. As I prepared to take a much needed bath, I sense something is not right again; someone is in the room with me. Alert, but wary from all the commotion of the dream, I searched high and low, inside and out of my room and the hotel living room. I laugh to myself, "I'm slowly going insane", and with that thought and a chuckle, I hopped out of my clothes and into my bathrobe and proceeded into the bathroom to take that bath. As I drew back the curtain, instantly I knew that last night was real and it is as real as the lifeless body submerged in a pool of his blood sitting in my bath tub. The tub was half way filled and Mikey's head was half detached from his body......
It was late o
ne dark, foggy evening in London, I was walking up and down Marylebone Road looking for my friend, Mikey, who had just moved to London for school not too long ago. I don't remember much as I still suffered from the 5 hour jet lag, but all I recall is that we had made plans to attend the new exhibit opening gala at the Madam Tussaud's Wax Museum. But come to think of it, I never gotten a call from Mikey himself. I received an invitation card in the mail with poor handwriting that didn’t' really resemble that of Mikey's, but of course, I didn't think much of it at the time.I flew to London, checked myself into Le Meridie
n Piccadilly located in the epicenter of the West End with immediate access to London's "Theatreland". I had spent most of my morning trying to find the perfect outfit on Regents Street, Old Bond Street and Knightsbridge at the top of Sloane Street. Surrounded by "Sloane Rangers," as that was the label given to female socialites shopping in this area, I battled my way into Harrods’s for a quick gift, as I believe it's impolite not to bring a gift to whomever invited. Quickly after that, I went back to my hotel and retired to my suite to rest in preparation for the evening to come.My driver is late, as usual, not wanting to miss the opening of the new exhibit, I took the tube and gotten off at Baker St. and that's where I had started my story. Walking up and down Marylebone Street, I did not recognize a single person attending this event, nor did they look like they were dressed to attend a 5-Star Gala with the Queen as one of the honorable quests. What I find most weird is the fact that once you get off Baker Street tube, to find the Madame Tussaud building is unlike finding needle in a hay stack simply because the building is signified by a large green dome that can be seen miles away, but for some reason, I couldn't find it. Maybe it's the fog, and maybe it's the darkness, I don't know, but I just couldn't find it. I looked at my watch feeling certain that I was way early; the watch showed 10:45. "That's not right," I thought to myself, "I'm 15 minutes early so I should be able to see people by now." Sensing that something may not be right, I dashed for the museum entrance just to find complete darkness inside. Only dimly lit lights spotlighting the mannequins in the museum were able to be seen from the door. Gently I reach for the door handle and with ease; I pushed the doors open and stepped inside, much to my surprise. No locks, no alarms, just pure silence. The hair behind the back of my neck started to stand erect and chills begun to run up and down my spine; something is definitely not right.
Maybe it was my overly heightened senses, or maybe it was just pure neurosis, but the smell of iron washed over me. I've been to this museum several times before, but do not ever recall smelling rusty iron. Immediately I dismissed the smell and attributed that to my overreaction of the situation, "Everything is fine," I say to myself. As much as I try to keep my composure, I am only able to succeed to the degree of keeping my legs from stepping on one another as the deafening silence entombs me. As I walk further and further away from the door, the darkness gets thicker and thicker which does nothing to ease my neurosis; it's like adding salt to open wounds. Pretty soon, I saw nothing but darkness and my hands became my eyes feelings for any object that may point me in the right direction. As for what I'm looking for, I have no idea. The right direction was to find Mikey and to get the hell out of here. The smell of iron gets stronger and stronger until suddenly, the floor was taken from under me and I land flat on my butt; I had slipped on something wet.
I expected to find the marble floor in this museum to be cold, however, a warm sensation started engulfing my bottom, creeping higher and higher until it's up on my lower back; something's wet and warm and the smell of iron is suffocating. My mind is racing and I'm starting to get dizzy from the smell. It was like nothing I had ever smelled before. It was a mixture of rusty iron, salty ocean water and warm humidity like on a hot summer day standing in a stagnant bayou. After 5 minutes or so, I was able to compose myself enough to find the key light sitting my left pocket. The keys jingled a deathly tune as I pulled them out. The liquid covering my hands were very slippery and I had a terrible time flicking on the light, though thinking back, I had wished the light remained off; they say innocence is bliss. Fumbling with the key light like bobbing for apples in a barrel, I feel something tickling the back of my neck again and this time, it wasn't chills or sweats - it felt as though I had backed into a freshly weaved spider web. Attempting one last time with the key light, I finally flicked it on and what I saw next would haunt me for the rest of my life.
Blood was everywhere as if the place was a Halloween fun house and kids were splashing around in red Cool-Aid amusing themselves while they're parents chatted away outside planning their favorite Trick Or Treat route around the neighborhood. This, however, what I'm witnessing
before me, was no Halloweens hokes; I was covered in blood and I was by myself. No kids screaming and punching and pushing, it was just me, until I looked up and discovered that what I thought was spider web was in fact no web at all. It was human hair. 17 human corpses were hung upside down from the ceiling held up only by bike chains tied to their feet. Their heads were partly severed from their necks as if done purposely to drain the blood out from their lifeless limbs. Each had their eyes fixed on me as if to warn me to get out before I become the next victim. Scrambling to my feet, I tried to look for the nearest exist but could only see darkness as my key light was only able to show me three inches in front of my face. As if someone had hit me on the back of my head, my eyes started to fade out. "No, not now, I need to get....oo...uuu..tttt". Just like that, tunnel vision invited the darkness and once again, silence entombed me.I woke up the next day in my luxurious hotel suite with no visible evident of the night prior. "It was only a dream," I happily thought to myself. As I prepared to take a much needed bath, I sense something is not right again; someone is in the room with me. Alert, but wary from all the commotion of the dream, I searched high and low, inside and out of my room and the hotel living room. I laugh to myself, "I'm slowly going insane", and with that thought and a chuckle, I hopped out of my clothes and into my bathrobe and proceeded into the bathroom to take that bath. As I drew back the curtain, instantly I knew that last night was real and it is as real as the lifeless body submerged in a pool of his blood sitting in my bath tub. The tub was half way filled and Mikey's head was half detached from his body......
posted by Max E Pad at
10:38 AM
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