The Room Over Head

By APPLEBY

As we slowly wind our way up the first, of three flights of tortuous stairs towards our little room, dragging our 300 pound frame awkwardly, from far above is heard the scream...The blood curtling scream of one or more of the 12 cats of the old mansion. And, as we continue our ascent, down the wide stairwell come tearing, wild with fear, all of the cats...running for their lives. Why?

We stand to one side, allowing the poor little bastards room to pass us... We are amazed that not one takes notice of us as in past but rather flies past, downward, ever downward, with the look of terror upon their faces... the look of one who has seen the Evil One Himself!

Upward we climb ever upward... We must yet finish these last fews briefs for the morning, our desk awaits us, littered with 3 years of foolish motions and appeal after appeal. Slowly we climb, slowly, dragging the crippled left foot up, distance... torture! Up, up, up, move forward and up, don't think of anything fool! But getting up to the top but one more time. Reaching the first landing, yet another scream is heard, but this is no scream of any mortal my friend! Nay! This scream, this animal cry is that of a wounded beast...of another world...looking for it's tormentor. Wishes to destroy that which has sent...it...to the next plain.

We must stop, have to stop! God! But it's hot! Lord but give me the strength to conquer these 437 little wooden crucifixes but this one final time. We are alone...as always, weary after a long, hot and humid July day. We stand and listen to our own irregular breathing the pulse of the worm

and fractured heart, thumping our temples. The grip on the two heavily laiden briefcases is wet and sticky from the sweat from our fat hands. Our crippled left arm and hand throb in anticipation of yet more pain to be endured. The heaviest of our two burdens in our right and only strong hand and arm. But what in HELL are we doing standing here with so much work yet to be done? What in HELL are we listening for exactly? Something is amiss...but what?

It is quite dark, but for the dim yellow light-bulb overhead, we would be in total darkness. The heat and humidity, the sweat running into our eyes is nearly overpowering. Get moving! Or stay here forever! Get up there now...What! Lightning? Yes, as yet another slash of red crosses the sky, seen through the tall barred windows. The thunder strikes it's booming beat seconds after the flash...it's close, very close. We are alone...almost.

The old stairs of the century and a half prison/mansion groan under our weight as if in protest to yet another intrusion into the solitude of the place. Slowly, ever more slowly we continue upward...not far now old boy, it's almost over again...for this nite. We listen, trying desperately to determine what in HELL is making that now low gurgling and moaning sound above us, that tormented sound has changed tempo since we've reached the last flight of stairs, hasn't it?

Again the crash of thunder and the red illumination of the lightning, this time it's found it's mark...somewhere close by. Thank you Lord! We've reached the top and GOD! What a stink! Sulfer and the stench of rotting flesh! Where in HELL is this coming from?

Through the heavily barred chapel windows the red glow is apparent. Our heart is pounding and wrists aching, head thumping with the surge of each blood rush...is this our nite for release? The pain in the left is with us, more tonite then as is usual. Are our prayers to be answered after these 3 long years? We can clearly hear the pounding of our heart, the irregular beating against the confines of our tortured bulk, desperately the worn pump tries to keep the rest of the battered machine alive...trying to catch up, trying to keep us a part of the hated, infernal, forsaken world, for whatever the unknown reason.

The huge room with the 40 foot ceilings is dark as the grave and the unfamiliar sound of small feet running can be heard. What in HELL is that noise now! The noise is all around us now even trying to get behind us...keep your back to the wall fool...never let it get behind you...remember! These can't be the cats for they are now far below us.

Our skin tingles and the little hair we have left stands to attention, something is amiss. There is a sudden rush within us and the old feeling has returned, the feeling that we are soon to do battle again with Him. But, we aren't what we were 3 long years Iago. We are tired, as tired as a dead man. What in HELL is this that's now happening? We must continue, don't back off...you are still a man, aren't you? You still know the words, don't you? We must get to the office, the roomour sanctuary. Whatever lies ahead, in that, our little room, must not and will not be kept waiting much longer. If only Nick were here, his youth and strength would lift us up, but nay, we are alone, fat and tired but still ready

and damn it! able, to do battle! Forward!

Something is here, no man can make that sound and emit that stench. No living man that is! What beast of prey is come now?

Slowly we drag our left side ahead of the right and repeat the process in reverse. Slowly we gain ground carrying our heavy burden with us. God! but it's hard to breathe...must open the windows! We gasp for each breath, it's getting harder yet it's become familiar by this time. Oh what a god damned torture this is! Trapped in this decaying body. Having to move so slowly with such effort. Trapped! A young healthy mind trapped in this citadel of the decayed and forgotten past, that's part of the price for knowledge. Our mind races ahead, wanting to engage in the conflict while this old hulk holds us back. Come on! I must get in there. Come on!

Turn right, yes that's it, 13 paces then right then three more paces, reach out and...snap, yes, there, the light's on. GOD! WHAT A STINK! SULFUR! Rottening corpse smells. Ummm, open the window! What? What's this? The bloody door to the hanging room over head is wide open! How in HELL did that solid oak door open? The lock is open too. Get the window open first. But none will lift. They all are tight shut! HOW? Sit at your desk fool and catch your wind...or you'll surely drop!

The massive oak door has been swung open and the steep worn brown stairs can be seen behind. They are worn, worn from the dragging feet of the condemned and the captors, the "enforcers" of "justice". Bullshit! The webs are thick as are the mounds of collected dust of the past century. The door, which leads to the

Crown & Anchor

IN THE BACKROOM

highest point of this old fortress...which leads to the ultimate "justice" of our beloved system, the handman's rope.

The smell is getting stronger and the damn noises are increasing in pitch...my brain won't work fast enough, why am I so tired all of a sudden? What? Who is comning down those steep stairs from overhead? no foot prints in the dust but someone, something is stumbling down them. More voices, tortured voices, join in with the loudest, the one which speaks in Latin...my name, they call my name? Yes, so it appears.

Quick: "PADRE, FELLIO, SPIRITU, SANCTO, DOMNI"! "We invoke the name of Michael the Arch-Angel, protect us in this battle that we perish not the fearful judgement"! "Michael, hear us! Protect us now against thy fallen Brother who is now with us...this we beseech thee". "Saint Benedict who breathed forth his soul while at Mass, we invoke thy name now...protect us with this thy medal, touched with the relic."

What a scream! My ear is going to burst. What a sound of pain and torture! The smell, it's gone, the sounds too are gone! Yes, we've lost not our protection nor our strength to do battle, not yet. What poor damned victims must have been forced to the top of this place...forced there and then out onto the next plain, yet still trapped in part in this one! Which one has come this night looking for his or her replacement in HELL? Not yet! I've still work to do. My time is not yet at hand.

now

The windows have opened, the door closed and locked. We are alone...with only our thoughts...not yet...I'm still here...I still serve some purpose. Don't I Nick? I fight on until...I am assured that I don't.

MR. TIFFANY JONES

the Texas Tornado starring in "A Touch of Class"

Shows Daily at 5 p.m.

Special Added Attraction

The Inimitable

ALLAN

LOZITO

In A Special Concert

Thursday, July 23rd at 7 pm

The Seabreezes

every afternoon & Wed. night

IN THE LOBBY BAR

At the piano nightly (except Wed. & Thurs.)

HOUSTON ALLRED

Richard Collins & Craig Simmons

Thurs. Night & Fri.. Sat.. Sun. & Wed. Afternoon

Dancing Nightly ★ Pool Bar Open Daily at Noon

Crown & Anchor Motor Inn 247 Commercial St. 487-1430

July 29, 1981 Esplanade 7