Gromet's PlazaSelf Bondage Stories

Keeping House

by Legarsi

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© Copyright 2012 - Legarsi - Used by permission

Storycodes: Sbf; other/f; nylons; zipties; hogtie; supernatural; torment; stuck; cons/nc; X

“Thanks again Miss DelVecchio,” the man said as his two children began bouncing their way in front of the hearth towards the plain, but sturdy front door of the Warren House.

“Oh, it’s my pleasure to show you around. And, I might add, my job as well,” Valerie replied, with a smile for Jim and his wife Andie Fontaine, a young fortyish couple with an apparently keen eye for hitting some out of the way historical sites on their way through Pennsylvania. They were making their way up to Niagara Falls eventually on their road trip vacation and got to Val’s little neck of the woods just in time to see the place thoroughly before it was time to call it a week; her first week on the job, in fact.

Twenty four year old Valerie DelVecchio was just hired as the curator of the Joseph Warren House. Because of its rather remote surroundings in the mountains of the north central part of the state, it was jokingly described to her as being in “Toothpick, Pennsylvania,” by the director of the county park service when she called in about the job. In fact the nearest town of Talpert lay in the valley four miles below carved out by the local creek, or “crick” as the folks in town called it. She wasn’t even sure of its actual name, or if it even had one. It was just “The Crick.”

She had really only just settled into her apartment about thirty miles away near Bloomsburg a couple of days ago. The opportunity came to her rather suddenly through her advisor at Rutgers in New Jersey. She was still searching for something appropriate to her recently achieved masters degree in history when the call from Professor Seever came explaining how the park service needed someone up there as soon as possible. It saved her from thinking that she’d be spending another full summer and maybe a fall working in the bookstore again. Not so bad, really, but she was itching to break free from there and really start doing her thing.

Mostly, that thing would involve planning events around the history of the house and its role as a vacation retreat for the prominent early 19th century Philadelphia businessman, Joseph Warren. The house was a quite typical countryside example of the Federalist style, built in 1820 from steel gray local quarry stone, and rising two and a half stories at the end of a lovely, picturesque winding drive up from Route 573. Warren had owned quite a substantial parcel of the surrounding forested hills, in which he hosted lavish hunts that ended with fairly spectacular parties in the house and the modest but useable rear yard during the warmer months.

Those parties and his rambunctious lifestyle left the rural folks in these parts rather uncomfortable with the ‘rich invader from the city’, as they thought of him. Much was speculated about what exactly went on within those walls, but as far as Val could tell in her research so far, there was never anything actually dirty enough that could stick a scandal to him.

Warren took ill from a lung ailment in 1844 at the age of 55 and made a recuperative trip up to the country house from which he never returned. The clean, cool mountain air had, unfortunately failed him. His secrets, if any, passed away with him as well, as his servants scattered and the subsequent owners attempted to keep up with the repairs over the years. Surprisingly, it remained fairly intact when the county purchased it for offices in the 1930’s.

That was about as much as Valerie knew about the property from her quick background cramming sessions. She needed to be as well versed with the site as quickly as possible, for the Fontaine families of the world that popped by in her first few weeks as curator. Providing those spontaneous tours was, of course, the other major part of her new job. She was only the third curator since the building was changed from housing parks service offices to becoming a museum piece in the early 1990’s. Being one of the most beautiful old houses around, and having a rear yard for parties, it was felt that it would be a good backdrop for various celebrations and seminars. After a modest restoration under the first curator, Charles Kerswill, it settled into a quiet state much like those times over 150 years previous, when it was mostly empty between sporadic crashes of activity. When before, there were a handful of servants keeping it company, now there was only one, spending his weekdays giving it his care.

Mr. Kerswill was at this post for more than a decade before his plans directed him west to a retirement in Flagstaff, Arizona. He spent the better part of two months choosing his replacement before leaving, however. This would be the second curator of Warren House, a Miss Tara Marker from the Harrisburg area. Miss Marker would only spend three weeks on the job, however, before suddenly deciding that she wanted something closer to the city. She had thought that the peacefulness of the house would offer her a good opportunity to work on some of her advanced historical research, but she told the director that she found the lack of activity in the area in general made her regret her decision to take on the job.

Val watched first Christopher and then Kim, 8 and 5 years old respectively, jump meaningfully from the door sill to the small wood porch stoop, hop twice to the edge and then once on each step to the brick walkway out front. She noticed that one of the stair treads lifted up a bit at the attack and winced.

“Sorry,” Jim said, “they like to bounce around.”

“Hey you two, take it easy, okay?” he directed at the kids.

“No it’s fine,” Val replied. “They were very good, actually. I can imagine that they’d be getting a little rambunctious by the end of the tour. I mean, it wasn’t exactly teacups and merry-go-rounds in there.”

“Well, we certainly enjoyed it,” Andie Fontaine said as she offered her hand. “Thanks again for showing us around so late.”

“Not late at all. You just made it in time,” Val said, “but it would have been no big deal anyway, I assure you. So are you seeing anything else like this on your trip?”

“Well,” said Jim, “we couldn’t pass up the opportunity to stay in a place called ‘Horseheads,’”

“New York,” his wife added. “We found a great looking Victorian Bed and Breakfast there that looks interesting.”

“Well, that sounds wonderful. I hope the rest of your trip is fun.” Val replied, waving over their heads at the kids as they piled into the Nissan SUV that would be their transport on their further travels north.

With the Fontaines gone and her workweek complete she turned from the closed door to return to her office, which had also served as Mr. Warren’s office when he was in residence. As she passed through the dining room she paused half-way across as she noticed something sitting on the far side of the sturdy oak table in the middle of the room. It was a small round metal canister about eight inches tall and about six inches in diameter. Finding it there was peculiar, because she didn’t notice it there as she was leading her little tour through the room to the door just moments before. The kids must have found it someplace and were carrying it around and placed it there on the way by, she decided, but she didn’t know where they would have found it. She didn’t remember seeing it before.

Curious, she picked it up and twisted off the round metal lid. Peering inside she discovered that it was filled most of the way with a bunch of long black plastic wire ties. There were also some odd nails and bolts mixed in with the ties. “Must have come from a closet or something,” she thought to herself as she grabbed a tie and pulled it out of the canister. It was about 3/8 of an inch wide and was much longer than she expected, since she discovered that the bundle of ties was wound inside the can a bit. They were at least a foot long, she realized, maybe more.

A sudden thought rippled through her brain as she took another of the plastic strips from the metal can. A fluttery feeling in the base of her stomach responded at the notion. She was just about to leave for the weekend, but she thought that this could be a really good opportunity to re-visit something she hadn’t done in some time.

Before she went away to college, Val realized that she got a turn on from being tied up. One of her high school boyfriends, Devon, whom she trusted, asked her if he could tie her hands to her bedposts after he stripped her thigh high stockings off of her legs when they were getting a little busy after a Friday night flick at the multiplex. They’d been having sex when they could for a good six months now and were very cautious about pregnancy issues and not getting caught by either of their parents. Up for a new idea and a little excitement she let him.

Just when things were getting serious, Valerie heard a car pull up into the driveway below her window. Her parents? They were supposed to be gone for hours playing cards with their friends the Martins. Springing up with a jolt of terror, Devon quickly ambled to the window and peeked out from the blinds. The DelVecchio’s white Riviera was definitely disgorging Val’s parents. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” he started chanting as he quickly started grabbing up his underwear, socks, and jeans in an attempt to set a new record in speed dressing. Meanwhile, Val started struggling against her nylons which Devon had firmly affixed to her wrists and the thin iron bars of the headboard. She was lying there almost completely naked. He hadn’t gotten to her panties just yet, which were pinkly announcing themselves to the rest of her bedroom.

The panic to escape set something off within her, she thought, as she twisted to get free, already kinda charged up and ready to go. Devon’s excitement was quickly extinguished, she noticed as her own grew stronger with the very real threat that she would be caught there by her parents. Fully dressed except for his sneakers, Devon went to work first on her right wrist, fumbling at the knot with shaking fingers. They heard the door open downstairs and her mother call out an announcement of their arrival to the house. They pretended not to hear as he finally loosened her bond enough for her to slip her hand out and start grabbing for her skirt and blouse as he picked at the knot on her left wrist.

Another call, this time closer to the stairs as her mom was putting her coat away in the hall closet. She had to reply. “We’re up here mom!” she yelled with a quaver in her voice as Devon yanked the stocking enough for her to wrench her left hand free, leaving a thin burn mark on the inside of her wrist. “We’re just watchin’ a movie!” she yelled as she gestured with her head for Devon to throw something quickly into the VCR while she yanked up her skirt and tossed a nearby t-shirt over her head. She heard steps approaching as her mother scaled the stairs and begin walking down the hall. Devon flung himself at the armchair in the room and Val bounced back onto the bed as the TV picked up the tape in the middle of “Scream.” Thank God he grabbed one she hadn’t finished or rewound. Just as a piercing shriek came from the television, the door began to open and Valerie suddenly noticed her stockings still looped on the back of her bed. She had just enough time to throw a pillow against one and lean her back against the other to block them from the view of her mother.

Her mom looked in at them and said in a rather annoyed voice about how she’d told them about being in here with the door closed. “I’m sorry Mom, I didn’t even think of that. We’re just watching ‘Scream’.”

“Again?” she asked. “I don’t see what you see in that movie, honestly,” she added in a vaguely dismayed tone. “I’ll take a Hammer Horror any day over that.”

“I know, Mom. I really should watch some of those. Why are you guys home so early?” she asked.

“Well, after dinner Ken Martin was feeling sick to his stomach, so he wasn’t up for playing cards. I’ll tell ya, I might never go back to that seafood place. My scampi didn’t taste right either.”

Devon, whose heart was probably finally slinking back down his throat to where it belonged, apologized to Mrs. DelVecchio and announced to the room that he really ought to be going. He played it pretty cool. Eventually Val was left alone in her room with the movie playing on the tube. She turned her face to the nylon stocking still hanging behind her back and got a quiver at the memory of her near disaster and the helplessness she’d felt as Devon was trying to free her. She left the stockings there, however, and that night she slipped her hands into them and twined them around her wrists as she dropped off to sleep.

After that, Valerie took opportunities to tie herself up with things when she reasonably could. At night or when her parents were away she would twist her hands up in her socks or stockings and try and re-live the feeling she got that day. She moved on to using ropes and electrical cords sometimes to tie her ankles and knees and try to twine her hands behind her like in a hogtie. She would run scenarios though her mind of being a damsel in distress of some sort, the victim of a kidnapping or burglar or something. These scenes always gave her a thrill, but she never wound up being tied up by Devon again. They had a falling out over some petty teenaged jealousy or other and wound up breaking up before the school year was out.

During her senior year and her college career Val did have some suitors who would tie her up from time to time, but she was so busy with school that she didn’t have a good chance to really develop a long term relationship with anyone. As far as the self-bondage went, she got less and less opportunity at the dorms or at home after graduation. It just didn’t cross her mind as much as it had when she was in high school.

But looking at these ties, she got an immediate idea of how to use them to actually tie herself up for real, and to add the excitement of doing it here inside the Warren House, where nobody would be stopping by anytime soon. She had it to herself for as long as she needed. She went to the main doors and checked that they were all locked. She didn’t want anyone unexpectedly popping in even though the likelihood was very minimal. From the office she grabbed her cellphone and reached inside a drawer to retrieve a pair of long, sharp scissors. With those and the canister under her arm, she ascended the rear staircase nearby to the second floor hall.

Turning left she entered the rear bathroom and placed the scissors on the floor on the opposite side of the room leaning against the backside of the single pedestal of the sink between it and the wall. The handles were on the ground and the tips pointing upward as they lay against the off-white porcelain. The bath was meant for the servants in the original design and was near the back of the house. It was nothing lavish, but very functional and clean with a toilet in the right rear corner behind a little half wall and a footed tub against the wall opposite the door next to the toilet. Before leaving, she grabbed the small metal trashcan and propped open the door with it. She didn’t know whether it might accidentally shut itself, as doors in old houses can, and she didn’t want to take any chances.

Walking down the hall towards the front of the house, she came to the second floor landing of the main staircase and made a right turn down another short hall parallel to the front of the house and entered the left front bedroom at the end of the hall. On the wall opposite the door was a simple low bed of a style similar to that which may have been there in the past. The room had no closet, but contained a tall wardrobe cabinet to the right of the window which faced on the front yard of the property. Against the left wall opposite the bed and just beside the door was a beautiful mahogany desk and chair, which, itself, was believed to be an original piece of furniture. A bunch of quills protruded from a holder next to an ink well, which was partially submerged below the surface of the desk. The armless, colonial style chair was pulled up fully to the desk.

Beneath this desk was another modern metal trash can. She wasn’t sure why it needed to be here, but she moved it to the bedroom doorway and propped that door open just like the bathroom door on the other side of the house. Next, Valerie took her phone and placed it on the floor beneath the window next to the wardrobe. This would be her safety, just in case something went wrong and she absolutely had to call someone to free her. This was the very last thing she wanted, however. The humiliation would be severe and might cost her her job. She didn’t think there would be any problems of that sort, however.

Sitting on the edge of the bed she turned on the lamp on the small square end table and slipped her flat soled shoes off her feet. She was wearing dark brown slacks with tan hose, a cream colored button-down short-sleeved blouse, and a pair of earrings which matched the entwined loop pattern of the pendant around her neck. Next she sat on the floor and placed the metal can beside her, drawing out a total of four of the sturdy looking wire ties. They were stronger than the usual ones you saw used to hang wires or affix cables to things. These looked like they could hold something safely that was attached to a moving vehicle like a bicycle or something. She wondered what they were usually used for as she shivered a little realizing that they would be more than enough to hold her.

She took the first tie, crossed her ankles and looped it around them, lining up the end in the eyelet and pulling it tight around them. She heard the zipping sound as it contracted, pulling it tight enough so that there would be no way for her to separate her feet. These ties could be tightened, but could not be loosened unless they were cut. She took a few seconds to twist her feet against the tie, feeling its firmness and control and hearing the rustling of her nylons against each other.

Next she removed her watch and placed it on the bed above her and to her left. She took a second tie and looped it around her left wrist, tightening in enough so that she would be able to keep the circulation going in her hands and be able to slip the third wire underneath. She did so, forming it into a wide loop with a leader. Reaching behind her back now with both hands she put her right hand into this loop and grabbed the leader with the fingers of her left hand and began pulling the other loop tightly enough around her right wrist that she now had her hands immobilized behind her back. She took another moment to test these bonds, realizing that they too were secure.

At this point she started hearing her pulse thudding away inside her head in the quiet bedroom. The light behind her illuminated the room, but with the growing twilight of dusk outside the light inside the rest of the house started slowly diminishing as less and less light entered through the windows. She realized that she hadn’t turned on any other lights in the place at that moment, but she knew where her destination was, so that shouldn’t be a problem. If anything it would probably add to her excitement, so she decided to move on to the third and final part of her bondage.

Val lay back on the floor and grabbed the remaining wire tie, then rolled onto her stomach facing the wall next to the bed. She maneuvered the tie so that it slipped beneath the ties looped around each of her wrists. Then she pulled her bound feet up behind her and spread her knees so that she could more easily reach the tie which lashed them together. She pushed the leading end beneath this tie and attempted, with some degree of difficulty to hold her feet there so she could place the leader through the eyelet on the final tie. This wasn’t as easy as she thought and she wound up pulling the tie out from beneath her ankle tie twice before finally grappling the tip into the eyelet and getting it to zip shut a few times indicating to her that she’d achieved her goal. She grabbed the leader with the fingers on her right hand and began twisting to pull it tight. Val heard the zipping noise as she felt her heels pull closer and closer to her bound hands. Finally with a big yank and an aggressive sideways tug, she tightened the last bond as far as it would go. She felt the nylon on her crossed heels brushing against the palms of her hands. She felt about with her fingers and realized that she could touch some areas of her feet, but that was about all. Her wrists and ankles were firmly lashed together.

The strain on her arms was more than she was expecting. She’d never so firmly hogtied herself in the past. Nor had she ever actually bound her hands in such a way that she couldn’t twist them free when she wanted to. Right now she was really and truly hogtied; and tightly. Realizing this, a shudder blasted through her entire body. She spread her knees out as far as she could to relieve the pressure on her wrists, which was fairly significant. The plastic of the wires were already establishing some discomfort at the sides of her wrists, which were being pulled back by the pressure from her drawn up feet. She started to shuffle herself into a sideways turn with her knees and her chin and realized that her maneuverability was going to be tougher than she’d realized. It was hard to get any grip on these smooth hardwood floors. In the past, she had benefited from some nice carpeting to squirm on.

Finally she got herself pointed towards the front wall of the room, but not without fully charging up a very real sense of unease in herself. ‘God, what if I can’t make it all the way there?’ she thought to herself. A pull at her bonds sent a painful stab through her wrists. “My God, I really am stuck here.” She said aloud to the room and let out a bit of a moan. Seeing her shoes on the floor in front of her she pushed herself forward onto them, positioning them beneath her crotch. The pressure was enough to send her into a bit of an erotic buck as she ground her pelvis down onto them as best as she could until she has some semblance of sexual relief. It wasn’t enough, however. Breathlessly, she said aloud to the room, “next time I’m bringing a vibrator.”

As she said the phrase she heard the sound of something suddenly scrape across the floor around the front of the bed. She heard herself gasp in surprise at the sudden, unbidden sound. ‘What the fuck was that?’ she asked in her head, her pulse suddenly pounding like it did on that long ago day in her bedroom with Devon. Was someone else in here with her?

She lay deadly still and silent for a full minute or more listening with every fiber of her body for another sound somewhere in the room or elsewhere in the house beyond. Hearing nothing, she cautiously moved herself forward with chin and knees as quietly as possible to a point where she could peer around the edge of the bedpost. She saw the wooden desk chair, previously pushed in neatly against the desk, now shifted completely away from the desk facing her at an angle in the middle of the floor between the desk and the foot of the bed. The sight of it sitting there like that sent a spear of icy fear through her entire body. “Huh! Uhhhhhh. Who’s there?” She asked the room in an unsteady voice with the beginnings of a raised edge of panic creeping in. She of course, got nothing in reply but a silence even quieter than before, if possible. With the darkening of approaching night increasing in the hallway it even seemed like the sounds of the nighttime woods from outside, which should be growing in volume, even seemed to be abandoning her. The air felt heavy and suddenly colder to her, but she recognized that this was probably just her imagination running wild within her head.

She had no explanation for why the chair was like that, but she willed herself to calm down with a series of deep breaths and some more verbalization. “Okay Valerie, you are fine here. It is just time to move on and get out and go home.” She saw her phone sitting a few feet away to her left and considered its use, but knew that was ridiculous and unnecessary. “You’re just freakin’ yourself out, girl. Let’s go get those scissors.” And with that, she crept her way to the chair, trying not to think anything about it as she passed it by and went on to the bedroom door.

Upon reaching it and looking down the hall, the rest of the house interior had darkened significantly. She could still see well enough not to accidentally turn left too soon and tumble headfirst down the main stairs, which was good. But it was just dark enough to spark an irrational primal fear within her, like she was leaving the campfire and heading out into the dangerous woods at night. Not only that, she had purposefully trussed herself up to the point of almost complete helplessness. If something were out there it would have a field day with her. Again she had to draw some strength before proceeding. She had to go. “No one is there,” she said aloud to herself. “Just a trip down the hall.” With that she crossed the threshold and entered the hall.

She established a rhythm of pivoting her knees and shuffling her chin and shoulders, to propel herself down the wood-floored hall. With each motion, the discomfort on her wrists, and now increasingly her ankles, intensified. She kept her motions regular and not extreme, however, so the pain was kept reasonably in check. It was more uncomfortable than painful, although she did begin to wonder if she would have any cuts on her wrists left over from this little extravaganza. Val reached the top of the steps and began pushing more with her right knee to turn herself to the left around the corner banister and down the rear hallway. Looking to her left as she passed the last bit of railing in the stairwell, she saw long shadows and dim orange light hitting the floor from the west parlor window. Then she was in the deeper, darker part of the hall, leaving the best of the light behind.

‘Keep up the rhythm’ she said to herself in her head now. She suddenly became afraid to vocalize aloud the farther down the hall she went, as if there were someone there with her who she didn’t want to announce herself to. Despite her efforts, her concentration lagged and she struggled to keep from pitching herself forward in a hellbent frenzy for freedom. She turned for a doorway on her right, thinking at first that she had reached the bathroom, but realized quickly that it was just one of the servant’s quarters. Pushing herself back with her forehead, her shoulder-length brown hair falling across her eyes, she twisted herself back out from the doorframe and continued down the hall. Halfway to the next door, which definitely WAS the bathroom door, it occurred to her that she thought that she had closed that other door after leading the Fontaines by the room for a quick peek in on the way to more interesting features of the house’s second floor. ‘No, I didn’t. I didn’t close it. I didn’t,’ she started telling herself in her head as she finally reached the bathroom door.

The room seemed colder to her as she crossed into it, causing her to pause halfway through the door. She was feeling an even stronger sense of dread in this room. She knew she was psyching herself out, but the fact was that this was the darkest area of the house now, since only a small frosted window emitted the last of the failing daylight near the tub. The gloom beneath the pedestal sink across the room seemed somehow darker than it should be, like real night. She heard herself emit a sob. “Stop it!” she yelled aloud at herself in response as a reply. She was almost there. She just needed to go another ten feet to get the scissors, but it was all she could do to make herself enter the room.

Finally, she summoned up some self-anger to get her moving in a series of aggressive lurches across the six inch square tiled floor. Finally reaching the wall with her head she let out a long sigh of relief and twisted onto her left side to retrieve the scissors she had planted there and cut herself free.

But they weren’t there. She felt with her fingers against the pedestal where she had placed them. She KNEW she had placed them there not a half an hour before, dammit! The surging thud of her heartbeat immediately began roaring through her head again as she twisted onto her back feeling desperately all around the floor against the sink and the wall with her hands and her toes for the scissors. “Where the fuck are they?” she yelled at the room.

A second after asking she heard a metallic clatter come from the inside of the large tub standing against the wall to her left. She stopped and remained still at the sound like she had been shot with a gun. Again she strained her ears to hear another sound and she heard one finally. It was a high-pitched whimpering. But she soon realized that it was being emitted from her own clenched teeth.

Still in a semblance of a sitting position, she scooted as best as possible on her hands, feet and ass to the edge of the large white tub. She rocked herself forward on her feet until she pitched forward and was leaning her shoulders against the rim of the tub, standing on her splayed knees, bound hands and feet hanging in the air behind her. In the dim light she saw the scissors lying in the middle of the base of the tub, opened slightly. She imagined the open blades being like a mouth laughing at her; the small circular handle like an eye glaring at her.

Moaning aloud she tried to lean up to get some leverage to enable her to climb the lip of the tub, but she knew the effort was useless. She tried leaning standing on her left knee, which was now seriously hurting from supporting her weight on the hard tile floor, while she rested her head and left shoulder against the rim of the tub. She tried to lift her right knee up to the rim to get it over the edge but could just not raise it up far enough. After her third try she finally slipped and crashed onto her left side hard onto the floor, her left shoulder jolted and her wrists pulled painfully against the bonds attached to her feet. She cried out aloud at the impact and rolled onto her stomach. A decision was made. As much as she hated to do it, she had to go back to her phone and call for help. She had no idea what the fuck was going on here, whether it was a ghost or what, but, she knew she was done for. There was no way she could get out of this and she was definitely way past ready to be released.

With that idea firmly resolved in her head, it was immediately dashed away in a blast of cold wind that rushed through the room from nowhere that first shoved the trashcan away from the door and next slammed the heavy solid wood bathroom door shut with a resounding bang, that echoed like an explosion within the relatively small confines of the servants bath. Valerie screamed at the sound and the sight, the darkness now encroaching to the point where she could barely see anything but basic shapes in the room; the tall rectangle of the now closed door, the hulking curve of the tub looming beside her, the brighter rectangle of the small frosted double hung window.

For a moment, she did nothing, completely unbelieving of what she had witnessed. Her final means of escape was removed. She was trapped in the bathroom. She screamed loudly at the room to open the door. She began an unfocused and useless struggle with her hands and feet against the ties which bound her, yanking painfully with all of her strength against them. She moved her way, sobbing, to the door and turned onto her side so she could clutch the underside of the door with her fingers in a vain attempt to yank the solid door forward against its latch. The shrieks of her hysteria increased with each yank as she finally rolled onto her stomach screaming in terror at her pain and captivity and the presence of the unseen spirit which tormented her.

Her last sane thought as she lay twisting and screaming was that she had done this to herself. Why had she done this to herself?

During that night, in Harrisburg, the short-term former curator, Tara, dreamt of the bathroom of the Warren House again, like she did at least once a week, still to this day. In the dream she was paralyzed and drowning in the tub in the darkness while a pair of scissors snipped at her viciously from the lip above, like a ravenous dog, while someone else in the room beyond and out of sight, a woman, screamed at the top of her lungs.

In the morning, she forgot the dream, but thought idly at breakfast over a bowl of Rice Chex about how right it felt to give up that Warren House gig.


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